Captain Billy's Whiz Bang, January 1922 · page 5 of 68
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang #29 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a prose column titled "Drippings From the Fawcett," not a political cartoon. It's a folksy, humorous narrative by the magazine's editor ("Captain Billy") describing his return to a small Midwestern farming town after a two-month trip. The piece uses gentle small-town satire: it affectionately mocks local characters like postmaster "Bud Nasett" and meat-market owner "Gus Urban" through their mannerisms and dialogue. The narrator's comment about disagreeing with Gus's assertion that "bull was priceless" sets up what appears to be an incomplete joke or pun (the text cuts off mid-sentence at "pedi-"). The reference to "Gopher Prairie" is likely an allusion to Sinclair Lewis's 1920 novel *Main Street*, which satirized small-town American life—suggesting the magazine is using similar humor about rural communities. The tone is warmly satirical rather than biting, celebrating small-town characters while gently poking fun at their quirks.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
Captain Billy's Whiz Bang 3 Drippings From the Fawcett AFTER an extended trip of two months, which led me throughout the North American continent, it was a rare treat to settle down again to routine duties on the Whiz Bang farm. The main street of our own little “Gopher Prairie” looked mighty good to a tired and worn out farmer. 'Twas indeed a pleasure to view the Howard lumber yard, with its red fence and shed, and to grasp the sturdy hand of our village postmaster and storekeeper, Bud Nasett. J. J. McCormick, who is depot agent and telegraph operator, not to mention baggage smasher for genial drummers, greeted me at the station. “How are you, Bill, you old son-of-a-gun?” or words to this effect, was the whole-hearted way that Mac welcomed back a wayward and prodigal pilgrim. Arm in arm we walked along Main Street to Gus Urban’s meat market to inquire as to the price of livestock. Mr. Urban, in his usual jovial embonpoint manner, informed us that cows brought five cents a pound, but that bull was priceless. I disagreed with Gus, insisting that my recent journeys in quest of the pedi-