Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 174, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 July 1913 — SHORT FURROWS [ARTICLE]

SHORT FURROWS

ABB MARTIN, Is MisMgslis News

When th’ summer landscape takes on a scuffed an’ faded appearance like a overexposed ten dollar suit we know we are face t’ face with dog days, that midsummer season o’ th’ year When all living things jis t sorter peter out an’ languor rule® supreme in shop an’ mart an’ field. Th’ brawny wage earner with muscles o’ iron mopes about his work with a disposition t’ do so much an’ no more. Even th’ ideal wife sets th’ succotash back t’ simmer while she feels her way, red an’ faintin’’, t’ th’ verandy fer a little breathin’ spell, an’ t’ git a line on her neighbors. In th’ dark musty parlor th’ spider embroiders his filmy lace from th’ crayon portrait o’ grandma t’ th’ hangin’ lamp with impunity. Th’ upstairs smells like a lumber yard an’ th’ sewin machine is takin’ a much fleeded rest. Country butter is tinged with ragweed an’'th’ trousers t’ your light suit are failin’ fast, an’ th’ same ole hot, tortuous, dusty summer days come an’ go with nothin’ t’ mar th’ monotony but an occasional straw hat sale. Dog days in a dressin’ jacket town is th’’.nearest thing t’ th’ bottom o’ a well when it comes t’ peace an’ quiet. Th’ only things that enliven th’, business section are a weller fly net an’ a pile o’ watermelons in front o’ th! general store. As th’ sun rounds th’ Baptist church steeple th’ combination pustmaster an’ storekeeper sprinkles th’ melons an’ fixes th’ bell on th’ screen door an’ goes t’ sleep near th’ prunes. Across th’ street under the low boughs o’ a wide spreadin’ cottonwood tree in front o’ th’ Citizens

Bank th’ oldest inhabitant curls up on a bench an’ positively refuses t’ be drawn out on th’ Balkan war er th’ currency question. At ten o’clock 4h’ landlady o’ th’ Central House crosses th’ road thro’ th’ dust ip her bare feet carryin’ a crock. At -twelve th’ dinner* bells o’ th’ farms fer across th’ valley ring out an’ th’ livery stable Keeper throws his terbaeker out an’ rinses his mouth at th’ town pump an’ goes home t’ dinner. ' At three o’clock th’ leadin attorney emerges from his office over the poolroom with th’ pockets o’ his alpaca eoat bulgin’ with legal ducumerits. Filling th’ crown o’ his hat with burdock leaves he ventures forth under •th’ wiltin’ rays o’ th’ sun to’ score some farmer. As th’ shades o’ evening gather th’ wheezy notes o’ a clarinet come from th’ open window o’ th’ bandroom an’ fade away irt th’ twilight. As th’ constable sets his ladder agin’ th’ lamppost on th’ public square th’ clatter o’ hoofs is heard cornin’ o’er th’ brow o’ th’ hilL Purty soon Steve & Min, in a sidebar buggy, puH up in front o’ th’ lee cream parlor, an’ th’ evenin’s revelry' begins.' As they slowly wind ther way home, thro’ th’ quiet country lanes th’ air is heavy with th’ odor o’ overripe alderberries an’ dust. With one foot on th’ dashboard an’ th’ other danglin’ carelessly on th’ outside o’ th’ buggy Steve throws th’ lines around th’ whip an’ kisses Min passionately as she holds his hat an’ implores him with all th’ earnestness in her round, husky makeup t’ give up all notion o’ th’ regular army an’ stick on th’ farm.