Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 October 1895 — ALL IN HER CHIN. [ARTICLE]

ALL IN HER CHIN.

The Right Kind of a Woman for a Man to Marry. "Never marry a woman with a square, prominent chin," said the philosopher with a beard, gazing abstractedly out of the car window, “unless you want a boss." “And don’t go off and get a wife with a retreating chin, either, if you care to know just what’s going to happen when you come home at two in the morning.” This wise observation came from a small nervous man on the opposite seat. "That’s right," put in a third, n slovenly lookiug. stout gentleman in a red necktie that had gone wrong, "that’s right; nor a woman with one of those little, round, sharp pointed chins, for she’ll expect too much of you, sure. She wou’t wash —no, sir; she won’t wash." "But I don’t want to get married," I protested. "I don’t want a boss. Neither cjo I want a woman who will take in washing. If I did waut to get married, I’d never think of hunting up a woman by her ehin.” “Tlie chin is the best indicator of a woman's true disposition,” replied the philosopher. "By her ctcn ye shall know her. Now, there is an ideal domestic chin up there in the end of this ear—the other end. One of of chins, neither pointed nor square, retreating nor prominent, hut round and dimpled -tlio blue shirt waist” - “Hold on there, old man!” exclaimed a red faced man, with a slight discoloration beneath his left eye, who had been listening from an adjacent sent. “You have beeu chinning there about chins a long time and 1 ain’t said no word, because it ain’t none o’ my business, but now you bring in the little woman in the blue waist up there, who Itas boon a watchin’ down this way, and site’s my wife, and you’re dead wrong and don’t know nothin’ about chins. That’s what! For site can talk the whitewash off’n a fence and does her wash before breakfast every Monday. And if you art 1 looking for a boss she’s right in it. As for knowln' what site’ll do when you come in full at two o’clock in the morning—do you see that eye of mine? Huh! You fellers make me sirk!" The philosopher looked silently out of the cur window while the rest of us busily got our traps together for the next station.