Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 166, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 July 1913 — SHORT FURROWS [ARTICLE]

SHORT FURROWS

Weddin’ couples are beginnin’ f return f ther old stampin grounds —t’ th’ scenes o’ ther engagement days, th’ happiest days they’lk ever know agin. They are tired an’ grimy an’ disillusioned. Some have bathed in th’ crystal waters o’ Cedar Point; some have walked solemn faced through th’ historic preeihets o’ George Washin’ton’s ole home at Mt. Vernon; some 'have crawled thro’ th’ mud o’ Mammoth Cave; some have mingled in th’ gayety o’ Atlantic City, while some have returned sun browned from th’ croquet grounds o’ inland resorts. Some are takin’ up ther new responsibilities With strong hearts, while others are either droppin into ready furnished homes er are undecided. A hot, sticky weddin’ trip in midsummer must be a beautiful experience—'all th’ way t’ Niagary In a yeller day coach, half imbedded in egg shells an’ spillin’ baked beans on th’ red plush seats at ever* lurch o’ th’/train. A groom dressed in a tight flttin’ black forced sale suit covered with cinders an’ a big brown derby bat that won’t hang anywhere an’ a high one-ply La Verdad collar an’ a unmanageable necktie. An’ a bride pinned together in a travelin’ suit o’ blue serge that turns red on th’ shoulder next t’ th’ window, an’ a hat o’ her own creation. They spend th’ first day at th’ Falls among th’ souvenir pustal booths an’ ice cream cone bazars. Then comes th’ photo studio an’ they git took t’gether settin’ in a dummy aeroplane, th’ groom with a se-gar in his mouth an’ his hat tilted back. Th’ bride places her.left hand on his shoulder (ring showin’), an’ In her other hand she clutches a red goblet bearin’ th’ inscription, “From Cecil

By ABE MARTIN in Indianapolis News

t’ Myrt, Niagary Fills, 1913.” How happy they are! She can’t see th’ Falls fer her new ring, while his breast swells with a feelin’ o’ security as he notices, hidden between two ones, a five that hasn’t been broken. - Long before they strike th’ state line on th’ return trip, th’ groom falls int’ a meditative state an’ begins t’ realize fer th’ first time that he’ll have f be some contortionist t’ make both ends meet on his weekly wage. He begins f feel that he should have held off fer another year—till he had another suit o’ clothes. He wonders if his bride is stocked up on clothes an’ if her teeth are plugged. As he enumerates th’ extra added feature? o’ married life th’ fear that he’ll be reduced t’ stogies seizes him an’ the scenery along th’ route loses its charm. Then th’ ole happy past looms up—when he boarded at home fer nothin an’ didn’t have anything on his mind but his hair an’ a little dash o’ violet water. How he used-t’ lean agin th’ courthouse fence in th’ evenin’ an’ smoke long, fragrant La Zaras till it wuz dark enough t’ set on her veranda among th’ sweet smellin honeysuckles an’ talk o’ love. How v he whistled “Sweet Marie” all th’ way home, an how his dear ole mother’s voice called down t’ him not -t’ strike matches on th’ hall wall paper. How he crept int’ bis chamber an’ put his tuberose buttonhole bouquet tenderly between th’ well thumbed pages o’ “Which Loved Him Best.” Then he looks at his bride. She is fast asleep an’ a half eated wedge o’ custard pie reposes among th’ banana peels in her lap. Her little feet are cocked up on tlier pasteboard suitcase an’ a sweet smile lights up her girlish face. She is dreamin’ o’ th’ future.