Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 281, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 November 1912 — Page 3

HOW SAM PROPOSED

Ended in Force of Arms, Compulsion, Extortion, All That, and Then Some.

By JOHN PHILIP ORTH.

Same Andrews was a bachelor of 40, one of the three carpenters in the village of Dover. Being a bachelor it was perfectly logical that he should keep bachelor’s hall. He had -imade his own bed and cooked his own lineals for ten years when things happened. In preparing his own dinner one Klay the bachelor burned the meat, forgot to put the coffee in the pot with . the water, and fried the potatoes until the odor could be scented across the street. Then he broke a platter, kicked the cat and went out on the back and said to himself: “Dog gone it, but I’m a fool!”,^ Mrs. Brown, wife of his nearest neighbor, was on her back steps and saw and heard him and answered: “Of course you are!’ "I ought to have a wife.” ! “Everybody knows that.” \ “I won’t stand it another month!” I “Don’t!” “But where in Jericho am I going to iget one?” “That’s it—where?” She passed into her house and was gone ten minutes, while the bachelor sat and stared at the beet-tops in his garden and wondered how a feller managftri to kick himself when he felt he needed kicking. Then she reappeared to say: “Oh, Sam, come to the fence.” A breast-high fence divided the lots, and the two were soon leaning over it. “Well?” queried the carpenter in a sulky voice. “You are a single faan.” “Don’t I know that?” “You want a wife.” “I do. I’m gosh-hanged tired of this housework.” “Say, Sam, I can get you a wife in a day.” “I —I don’t believe it. Who is she?” “The widow Martin.” “Why—why,” stammered the bachelor as he tried to turn pale. “She wouldn’t have the likes of me.” “You can’t tell that ’till you ask her. I happen to think she’d jump at the chance. We were talking the other day, and she said —said —!” “Said what?” “I'm not going to do your courting for you,” laughed the woman as she turned away from the fence. “If I wore a man named Sam Andrews I know where I’d be about 8 o’clock this evening." “Oh Lord, where?” “Right over at the widow’s house, asking her to set the wedding day. That would be me, but of course you haven’t got much grit. Light your pipe and think it over.” The carpenter didn’t go back to his saw and hammer that afternoon. He sat for hours with his feet cocked up and pipe in mouth and went over the case. He had known the widow Martin for years, and had a good opinion of her. He wasn’t in love, but he had read and heard that that sentiment would come along a few days after marriage. Should there be calls and a courtship, or should he transact business on the plan of matrimonial answers given while you wait?” At sundown he had decided on the latter course. It was to be or not to be. There were three interested parties here.

Mrs. Martin, the widow, party of the first part. ' Mrs. Brown, party of the second part. Sam Andrews, party of the third part. It might seem more than neighborly for the party of the second part to offer her assistance in the emergency recorded. The widow was a harmless sort of flirt, as all widows have a right to be. Mrs. Brown was a married woman, but she liked to flirt a little notwithstanding. ' But for her husband's jealous disposition she might have had more opportunities. To be restrained while the other was free galled and rankled. She had hoped for yeafs that the widow would get married and to a mighty jealous man at that, and thus leave her a clear field, but no such event had happened. Ther& were nineteen chances out of twenty that the party of the third part would get turned down with a prompt “No, sir!” but the flirtatious woman wasn’t missing anything that came her way. Under other conditions* she would have Hold Sam Andrews that he was bow-back-ed and bow-legged and to go and hire out to a side show. At 8 o’clock that evening the widow Martin was considerably surprised to open the door in response to a knock and find the old bachelor on the steps. He was dressed in his Sunday suit. His hair was oiled and his boots greased. He looked pale, ahd he made earnest efforts to swallow HUs Adam's apple, but he finally got seated. The widow wondered wnat errand .had brought him, and as the minuted* passed and he did not explain she asked: “Did you call to see if I had any carpenter work to do?” “Why, no,” was the reply. “No, I didn't call for carpenter work. I called to ask you to marry me!” “Mr. Andrews! ’’ “You see, I want a wife." “I should say you did.” “And I’ll be a good husband to her.” “But—but you see—” ■*Mrs. Martin, I’m a pretty good man.”

She saw that he was very much In earnest, and she thought for a moment before saying: • “Mr. Andrews, I know you to be a steady, hard-working man, and you'd make some woman a good husband, but I’m not the woman. I’ve no thoughts of marrying again.” “But you may change your iflind,” he answered. “It is barely possible.” “And If you do, then —” “We can’t tell what may happen further." “I -may propose,” againsaid Mr. Andrews as he was ready to go. “I hope not.” “And I may keep proposing.” “Good night, Mr. Andrews —good night" ’ , " ■ Next morning bright and early Mrs.' 1 Brown was at the fence to hear the news, and when told by the carpenter that he had been turned down, she gasped and replied: “Sam, the widow was grf ng you a jolly!” : “No.” “But she is. She wants to be run after. She wants to keep you on the hooks. Don’t - you let her fool you. Propose again.” “I* told her I should.” “Good for you! Don’t you let her make a fool of you.” Every day for the next fortnight the party of the second part kept encouragaing the party of the third part, and be began to feel that it was time to propose again. In doing his carpenter work it became necessary for him to go to the woods to cut a stick of timber. It was a tramp of half a mile. It was after dinner that he started out, and while he was tramping about in search of’the right tree he heard a woman’s calls for help. When he traced them to their source his surprise was great. The widow Martin was stuck fast in a quagmire! “Why—how—when—” gasped Sam. “I came out for a walk,” was explained. “I have been stuck here for two houra. I thought help would never come.” “Stuck, eh?” queried the man, as he took a seat on a log. “Mrs Martin, I warned you that I should propose again.” , v “Are you going to make a f6ol of yourself?” she demanded. “This is no time for nonsense. Cut a pole and reach me the end of it.” “There’s other business ahead of that. In the last fortnight I have learned to love you.” “I am a good man, widow—a good man. You couldn’t find a better husband in the state. I want you to think things over. I’m not handsome, but I can help to make a happy home. I’m no swell, but you are no aristocrat yourself. I’m a carpenter working by the day, but you are a humble widow. Think it over. I’ll be back in half an hour.” “Sam Andrews!” “Half an hour!” “But I’m being drawn down.” “Half an hour!” “Sam, don't you know you are acting mighty mean? Here I am, utterly helpless, and you—” “I ask you to marry me. What d’ye say?” “Y-yes,” answered the widow after three long minutes had gone past. It was force of arms—compulsion—extortion and all of £hat, but she stuck to her promise and has never regretted it. (Copyright, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)

IS THOUGHT OLDEST MUMMY

Skeleton of Women, Recently Found, Has Been Accorded Distinction by the Scientists. The mummy known as Ra-Nefer, which is in the museum of the Royal college of surgeons, London, England, has been described as the oldest mummy known. The date assigned to it by Prof. Elliot Smith was the age of Senefru, the beginning of Egypt’s fourth dynasty, about 3700 years B. C. Some human remains, however, have now been discovered at about 16 miles from Cairo, belonging to the period of the end of the second and the beginning of the third dynasties, about 4,000 years B. C. Among them is the ekeleton of a woman about 35 years of age, which was found completely invested In a large series of bandages, and next to the body was a corroded woven cloth. The corrosion, says Prof. Smith, was presumptive evidence that some material, probably crude natron, was applied to the surface of the body, with a view to its preservation, and he has thus been able to trace to a higher antiquity than had previously been done, the use of this method for preserving the body of the dead. n^-

They Were Really Moving.

He -had had intimate acquaintance with the contents of several flagons ere he went aboard one of those surface cars in Brooklyn in which the “ads" revolve, that all who sit may read. “Shay,” he said confidentially, as he nudged his neighbor, while gazing at the advertisements of talcum powder, soap, dandruff cure and what not as th« 7 passed before him —“shay, m’ fren’, are them things movin’, or am I seein’ things?” Assured that they were really moving he heaved a sigh of great relief, looked at the signs with a softer eye, and then dozed off into a peaceful nap.

Looks Ominous.

“I fear I have made a mistake.” “Why?” ; “He proposed in a taxicab. The minute I accepted he paid the bill and we got out and walked.”

FURS IN FROZEN NORTH

JUST the other day it was chronicled that “furs~ valued~at f726,000 were brought to Edmonton, Alberta, from the north country and trans-shipped to London, Paris, SL Petersburg, New York and Boston to supply half the world eventually. Three great companies sent in furs yalued at $626,000, while independent traders brought in the balance. The catch of fox furs was especially large. There are several silver fox skins appraised from $1,250 to $1,500. Experienced trappers have this year made from $1,500 to $2,000 on the average. Scattered the length and breath of the great lone land of northern Canada and along the lonely coast of Labrador at Cartwright, Rigolet, and even to Davis inlet, and still again about the shores of Hudson bay, refined and intelligent Scotch, English and Canadian families live, taking charge of the lone trading posts of the oldest trust in the world. Round about them stretches the wilderness. North of Cartwright, in fact, and almost at that place itself, there is not even a tree of trunk thicker than a sapling’s to comfort the eye, for it is beyond the tree line. Outside, about the post, in the winter nights, the wolves cpme and howl and the call of the wild is answered by the yelp of the Eskimo dog, who is not a dog at all but a species of wolf.

SMp Long Awaited by Exiles. Off to one side is the humble men’s house. There some Indians, or Eskimo, or half breed trappers for the company, who have come in with the load of fur, make merry. In the little whitewashed home, before the twig fire, the factor and hts wife gather and read and write letters, each one long, long letter, a volume almost, to which they add as fancy dictates, for It cannot go until the passage opens in the spring. And then, in the factor’s home, and in the men’s house, both, they look for the coming of the company ship from England. What wealth of good things, what novelties, what dire necessities will not relatives send, or else more prosaic traders ship them! What surprises will there be in store! And what has the world done in all the long months since they lost ear of it? So, like the return of the Mayflower, the exiles speculate, night upon nighty When the ship drops into the har-‘ bor, however, it is to unload as rapidly as possible the supplies for factor and employes, the things to trade with the Eskimo and objects Indians and half breeds covet. And meanwhile they take aboard the furs. It is a perpetual call of “Hurry!” and of “Hasten!” for the summer is short and they must make the round of the posts before the passage closes with the ice, or they will be frozen in. Out in the harbor, where the ship drops anchor, there is the small gray schooner of the factor to catch the eye. It flies a dark blue flag, with a yellow crescent moon, the crescent filled in, then, with red. Off behind several low wooded hills circle about the hamlet. Several neat frames are scattered about and one sees a single main white painted building. This wears a quaint shingle roof, sloping to either side, much like a barn in Ohio. Skiffs lie about outside; two or three other white structures are hidden from view behind it. Again, reflected on the leaden sea is the residence of the factor or agent.

It is icy and drear and lonely here and one is glad to get ashore. First, of course, visitors must peep into the warehouse for furs, killed in the early spring, and awaiting shipment to London. It seems Just a long shed with an aisle down its length, find with barrels to right and to left, four high. Some of the barrels are bound with iron hoops, others with hoops of birch. Brooms stand gathered in a corner, for trading to the trappers, a bundle of withes lies at hand for working into future hoops. Salt is scattered about the floor in lieu ; «f sawdust. Beyond this hut, to right and left of the path, what seem wigwams, but what really are tree trunks, tbin as poles stacked together, rise, the fire

wood for the winter. Between them the walk leads baek to the pier, where other storehouses reveal themselves; two story frames each and all. Towering over these is the master’s house, the seat of government for the poßt. Everywhere outside great Eskimo dogs loiter and there is a, litter of pups under a queer sawmill, with sails resting on the earth as to a salt mill of lower Austria. Newcomers, however, are eager always, first of all, to see more of the furs. To this end they visit a store of the company on the second floor of still another frame structure. Here the trading for pelts is done. All about the wall of the trading post there extend open shelves. On one side a section of these is given over to washbowls of a white porcelain, with blue pattern. The shelf Just below holds more bowls and some socks: that beneath is for worsteds and heavy underwear. Men’s suits finish the compartment. Adjacent to it one finds a section with suits of oilskin, of shirts striped in blue and white, cans of pineapples and tomatoes. Undershirts, too, figure in the availables for trading. Down from the ceiling iron buckets suspend; in a corner there are boxes. Cans of peaches, bundles of brooms, these, too, are open to barter.

Fine Pelts In Trade. A genial young agent, induced to come here from Scotland under a two year contract, takes delight in showing visitors around. He reserves for the last the great chest in which are kept the furs, arrived since the ship took away the spring quota. It is a small outlay, but of inestimable value. Here, for one, is a marten: skin the company paid $22 for. The man who caught It took it out in barter. Two or three silver foxes are brought in a year; some of these net the poor trapper S3OO. One year the post secured seventeen. Then, again, it is a long matter of selection for barter —toilet soap and jiggers for squid, jugs and knives in leather belts, all drawn on by the trapper. Down the front of the store, where the trade is consummated, there extends a heavy, old time counter, with ancient hanging scales at one end. Over these the agent’s servant presides. Out of a pile of furs ready to ship some beauties are brought for inspection. No Hudson bay sable are obtained at this place, but marten are in the yield now. All the skins are packed inside a glove like affair, lined with skin. This becomes a tight case, after proper folding, and the fur is as in a gut. All furs, the man tells us, will fade if kept exposed to the light, and so, in addition, these packets when filled are kept in the ’ tight case in the dark. Meanwhile again he shows some weasel skins from hereabouts. The animals are white in the winter, dark in summer. The skins bring from 25 to 40 cents up here, according to size. Only a part of the skin used.' Even a silver fox skin when brought in is cut in pieces, and these are set into strips from an Inch to two inches broad. These slivers then are set between other strips of cotton in such a way that the garment is made much wider, while the result, to the eye, is the same as if of fur throughout. The front of the skin is used for trimming or insertion under the arms. Only a few years ago marten were worth but $5 or $6 up he*e; now they will bring up to S4O. All furs, in fact, are very high now, since they have become so fashionable. Last winter, in Labrador, the black fox brought from S4OO to SSOO. Marten, too, have been going up each year. Mink and ermine are traded here* 1 , *s6, too, are the white hare and beaver. Mink will come to $5 or $6. Lots of small skins are utilized in filling out a trade. The mink, however, is not of the accustomed reddish tinge unless it has faded. If exposed to light, like all the skins, it turns color and becomes a pale brush red. Tailor marten alone are not so apt as this animal, in the pative state, does not come to bright light so often and nature Is mors sluggish with its n|nnents. ■; 1

MAN HEIR OF ALL THE AGES

Hla Body and Mind t ho Accumulated Inheritance of Countless Myriads of Forebears. Man is the heir of all the geologio ages; he inherits the earth after countless generations of animals and plants, and the beneficent forces of wind and rain, air and sky, have In the course of millions of years prepared it for him. His body has been built for him through the lives and struggles of the countless beings who are hr4he Hae-of-hls-long-descent; his mind is equally an accumulated inheritance of the mental growth of the myriads of thinking men and unthinking animals that went before him. In the forms of his humbler forebears he has himself lived and died myriads of times to make ready the spil that nurses and sustains him today. He is a debtor to Cambrian and Silurian times, to the dragons and saurians and mastodons that have roamed over the earth. Indeed, what is there or has there been in the universe that he is not indebted to? One vould fain arrive at some concrete belief or image of his life or descent in geologic times as he does In the historic period. ~~ But how hard It is to do so. Can we form any mental picture of the actual animal forms that the manward impulse has traveled through? With all the light that paleontology throws upon the animal life of the past, can we see where amid the revel of these bizarre forms our ancestor hid himself? Can we see him as a reptile In the slime of the jungle or In the waters of the Mesozoic world? What mark or sign was there upon Tilm at that time to the future that was before him? Can we see him as a fish in the old Devonian seas or lakes? The primitive fishes were mostly of the shark kind: Is there any connection between that fact and the human sharks of today? Much less can one picture to one’s self what his ancestor was like in the age of the invertebrates amid the trilobites, for example, of the earlier paleozoic seas.. But we must go back even earlier than that, back to unicellular life and to original protoplasm, and finally back to fiery nebulous matter. What can we make of it all by way of concrete conception what actually took place—of the visible, eating, warring, breeding animal forms In whose safe-keeping our heritage lay? Nothing.—-John Burroughs, In The North Americian Review.

Inadvertent Humor of Signs.

“Long before Dickens turned the limelight upon that Tooley street sign: ‘Carpets cleaned, advice given, furniture moved and poetry written on any subject,’ the study of a city’s signs has interested the strolling stranger,” remarked a stopover tourist from the west. “How suggestive that sign of a couple of ice dealers we saw this morning In Georgetown, ‘Cool and High.’ And the versatility of his race was exhibited by an Italian in a sign over his shop on Ninth street, near the public library: “Wood,' Spaghetti, Coal and Olive Oil’—all the Italian necessities of life. “ ‘Have you got any coal oil?’ I asked, urged by curiosity. “ ‘You se da sign,’ was the Delphic response! I don’t know now whether he had any or not. “As we neared the wharf, bound for Mount Vernon, my wife pointed to a great roof sign, over a large supply house: ‘lron Sinks; Wood Floats,’ it ran. “ ‘Humph,’ she sneered contemptuously, ‘we didn’t have to come all the way from Indiana to find that out.’” —Washington Times.

Many Soldiers in Munich.

One cannot walk half a square in Munich without hearing the clank of a sword. It makes one think of two things, preparedness and taxes. The German officer and soldier is omnipresent. He looms up before you, In his close-fitting gray coat and high red collar, at the theater, the opera, the concert, the cafe —everywhere. He passes your window, perhaps in the morning at the head of a company of soldiers, all of them sieging a rousing marching song at a rapid cadence. And it is the singing soldier who interests one the most. His song is unlike anything we hear at home. One hundred of him marching down a hard granite street at sunrise, with the tramp of many feet marking the time of the song, will get anyone out of bed,. The song has a way of halting here and there for a brief interval. In the middle of a phrase it suddenly rests, while three or four resounding steps ring out on the pavements. And then the 'Song goes on again until it dies away in the distance.

Dried Peas as Liver Pills.

An enterprising swindler in England has recently been arrested for selling dried peas as “little liver pillsH’ They Were sold on the assurance"'that they were "excellent medicine.” Of course, dried peas arejeot an “excellent medicine,” neither will they cure "live* trouble,” but the same may be said of the many liver pills which contain drugs and are sold under claims even more fraudulent. The British swindler should have been better Informed. When he desires to sell "liver pills” hegfhould put some drugs in them — poisonous or otherwise, the kind doesn’t matter. Then he can 9 lie about bis product to his heart’s content and he will be immune from arrest. In fact, If he cam sell enough of them he may look forward to a peerage. In Great Britain, as in the United States, it Is not the mere act 8f swindling, but the method, that proves dangerous.—From the Journal of the Amerioan Medical Association.

REAL FRIEND IN NEED

STORY OP JAMEB T. BRADY ANOf A NEW YORK NEWBBOY. Famous Lawyer Rescued Orphan^ From Poverty and 3tarted Him On Way to Prosperity. It is several years ago now, butj this story was told me shortly after; my admission to the bar; it left mi lasting impression, writes William Sulzer in the New York Times. How the biting-cold wind howledj and whistled that night as it swepti down avenues and around corners* A lawyer, whose fame was known far) and near, had just left his office on, Broadway, where he had been detained by an important consultation* and was hastening as fast as be could uptown. At the corner of Duane street he saw a newsboy leaning against the lamp post; under his left arm were a few evening papers. He was shivering with the cold and crying. His shoes were broken so you could see bis bare feet. His clothe* were ragged. He may have stood there for an hour or more; hundreds of people had passed him. Not so the lawyer. One glance told him the story; he approached the little urchin, and inquired the trouble. The boy, amid sobs, said that it was his birthday; ho was just five years old; he had been' out all the afternoon trying to sell his papers, with small success. The only friend he had in the world—his widowed mother —was lying ill in * tenement house a few blocks away. ; The story touched the heart of hi» questioner. He took the boy by the hand and led him home. Up the rickety stairs to the top floor of the tenement; he opened the door into m little garret room; striking a match he lit the remains of an old candle. To the side of the room some one was breathing heavily. It was a woman lying on what was not even an apology for a bed. Squalor and despair only were there. A hurried glance around told all. The little newsboy’s mother lay there; she was asleep. The boy went over and kissed her affectionately. He put" his arm* around her neck and said, “Wake up, mamma, wake up, here's a nice man who wants to see you.” She awoke with a start, dazed and frightened. The stranger reassured her. She had a raging fever—she was dying there alone, and' as well as she could she told her story of hardship and trials. The lawyer summoned a physician, and everything that could be done to save her life was done. But the dread disease had progressed too far, and, notwithstanding the best medical aid, she died the next day, and the newsboy was an orphan. That week was a busy one for the lawyer. He neglected briefs, and clients, and cases. He personally superintended the burial of the woman. After the funeral he took charge of the orphan, sent him to school and college, and for years did for him all that a fattier could do for a loved son. The lawyer has long since gone to his reward. The little newsboy is a prosperous merchant today in New York. He is loved and respected by all for his kindly spirit and his many generous benefactions. He has an office downtown, and over his desk, in a most conspicuous place, hangs a large picture. Every lawyer in the state knows that picture —that masskre head, those curly locks, that stern, kindly countenance —the picture of the newsboy’s benefactor, James T. Brady.

How to Grow Tall.

A man’s organs and those of bis bones which are not subjected to pressure grow continuously until he is forty years old; that is to say, the heart should become stronger, the capacity of the lungs increase, and the brain should develop steadily until the fourth decade of life. Also one should wear a larger hat at the age of forty than at thirty. A man ceases to grow tall, however, at the beginning of the third decade, because after that time the downward pressure exerted by the weight of the body while in the erect position compresses the vertebrae or small bones in the spine, the disks of cartilage between them, the pelvis, and the thigh bones, and the pressure overcomes the natural elasticity of the disks and the growth of these bones. However, a British scientist contends that were man a quadruped, and therefore freed from the downward pressure produced by his weight upon his spinal column, he would continue to grow in height for ten years longer than he does at present, since it has been found that bones not subjected to compression increase up to the fourth decade.

"Jag” Gone in Seven Minutes.

Dissipating a "Jag” in seven minntea 4s the record that has been established by the precooling plant recently established at San Benito, in the lower Rio Grande valley. Whill a car was being cooled preparatory to loading it with traits and vegetables, the men having charge of the work found an intoxicated man lying in the gutter. Thinking to play a Joke on him, .they placed him in the car. He had been 'lying in the sun with the temperature playing about him in the neighborhood of 100 degrees, and the sudden change to a temperature only a few degrees above the freezing point was something of a shock. > At the end of seven minutes he was beating on the car door clamoring to get out.—San Antonio Light.