Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 266, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 November 1911 — A NATION SAVED [ARTICLE]

A NATION SAVED

“What stnmp?” asked Mirs Merriweil, heedlessly. “The great stump of American education,” said Mr. Merriwell, becoming oratorical. ‘“The nation is rotten to tfye core. The great common jieople”— i! 4. “ are happy digging ditches, raising corn and dodging automobiles,” tbdk up Mrs. Merriwell. “You’d better let them alone.” Mr. Merriwell was set in his purpose. The campaign was in progress. , Mr. Meniwell’s appointment was for the densely populated eleventh ward. He found awaiting him probably a thousand Lithuanians, Czechs, Hungarians, Slavonians and and . Finns. As*Boon aa',he mounted the goodsbox from which he was to declaim, other hundreds of Greeks, Bohemians Syrians, Armenians and Turks came run: hg up. Mr. Merriwell bowed in his most pleasing manner. “Pipe do swell guy!” cried a shrill voicp in front of him. Mr. Merriwell smiled benevolently and waved his right hand an encompassing gesture. “Friends, fellow fljtizens,” he began, in a voice into which, he endeavored to put feeling, “I am for-the man in harness, the man with- the hoe, the man.” There was a roar from the assemblage. “We don’t care a ting about yer men with hoes and bridle,” cried an auditor. “Are youse for Gas Hov-e McConnell? Are youse for Slippery Heel Dineen? What yer tink of de wharf gang?” Mr. Merriwell did not ceaae to smile benevolently. He raised his large fat hand, palm outstretched for silence. It was well that he did so. In his early dajyj Mr. Merriwell had been a splendid sand-lot baseball artist The outstretched hand was just in time to seize and neatly hold a far-flung turnip.

‘‘Good ketch! Out at first!” shouted the crowd. Mr. Merriwell, in an effort to be funny and carry the crowd, bit into the turnip. Days had passed since it had been a good turnip. He frowned and choked and spat all over a swarthy Sicilicfian directly beneath him. “Ah, looka oust! Spitta lika da spreenkler!” sputtered the outraged one. Mr. Merriwell, stilj game, raised both hands and began anew. "The time has come” he shouted vigorously, when he was interupfed by a strolling street piano performer. When all good citizens should pause to think” shouted Mr. Merriwell at the top of his thin, treulvoice. * “Sling-clang-cling, ting-tang, >tee ooh!” chimed the nojsy,- gaudy piano. The crowd clapped hands in glee. A hundred young Americans in the making danced and shouted about the street piano. Someone kicked the box on which Mr Merriwell stood wildly gesticulating into the crowd he sprawled. By the time Mr. Merriwell reached the car line his face resembled a water-splashed checkerboard. “What is this large, blue spot, dear?” asked Mrs. Merriwell, as she tenderly dressed his wounds." “I think a Chinaman did it,” explained Mr. Merriwell. “Ah, the brawney hand of labor,” murmered Mrs. Merriwell. "And what is this?” ;/ “I believe that was a tfabbage,” be groaned. ‘ V "The fruit of American industry,” murmered Mrs. Merriwell . “And what about the country?" “Let the country go % to Topbet!” growled Mr. Merriwell. “Ouch, be easy that’s tender!”