Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 209, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 September 1913 — LENA’S FRENCH DOG [ARTICLE]

LENA’S FRENCH DOG

Clever Ruse Whereby Popular Maiden Rids Herself of Superfluous Admirers. By LAWRENCE ALFRED CLAY. Miss Lena Walters was troubled in Iter mind. When a girl has four different admirers and can’t say which she prefers, it's a mighty solemn situation. Well might she pause and reflect. Nations have risen or fallen over easier problems than that. No. 1 had curly hair and a lisp. He was simply delightful. No. 2 had a drooping mustache and arched eyebrows. He was charming. No. 3 not only had the poetic expression, but he also wrote sonnets. He had written one sonnet to her eyes and another to her chin. No. 4 sat and sighed most of the time when he called, and he had eyes out of which a lost soul seemed to be gazing. N Mr. Walters was a business man and rather brusque. He paid very little attention to society, and to who came and went, but after pumping against a score of young men in v the hall at one time or other he said to his daughter: ft T~ HT . ~ "Lena, you tell the cook to have her young men come to the kitchen door after this.” “Why, the cook is a married woman,” was.the reply. “Are they chums of the butler?” “Of course not." “Then what do they want here?” ‘Why, papa, they are my callers.” “Humph! Better get rid of all but one. They wear out the rugs.” And, being troubled in her mind, Mis Lena did a much more sensible thing than to retire to her room and fling herself on the bed and weep. She put on her hat and took a stroll to do some serious thinking. The father hadn’t spoken seriously, and none of the four admirers would be bounced, but suppose that crisis had come? Suppose the young lady found herself compelled to say to number one: “Birdie Rockingham, your hair curls in the most delightful profusion and confusion, that lisp is something to make an angel sit up and listen for more, but this is a life of sadness and disappointments. I wish you well, and I will be a sister to you, hut you must make your hike. Find some other angel and be happy with her.” Miss Lena was finding cold chills creeping over her when a voice at her elbow addressed her: “Say, you, don’t you want to buy a dorg?” It was a gamin of about twelve, and in his arms he had a dog—a French bull dog. “Mercy on me, is that a dog?” cried the girl as she started back. “You bet. He’s worth SSO, but F’ll take 25 cents!” The French nation sends us chic dresses and hats and cloaks, but when It comes to bulldogs they are a dead failure. It Is as if they took a coon, a rabbit, a sugar beet and a cabbage head and boiled them down together and poured the hodge-podge into a and ealled lt a dog. They are warranted to scare babies into fits and the elephants of the country in a single night. “He can't be a dog,” protested Miss Lena. “He sure is, miss,” was the reply. “He's homely, but he's all the go in society. The terrier and the poodle are not in it with him.” “But you have stolen him!” “Not a bit of it.” “But you can’t own a SSO dog.” ‘•gay, lemme tell you something. He was given to ipe this morning by a young lady.” “Then he can't'be a nice dog.” “Hold on a minute. Why did she give him to me? Bekase she had bows.” i “That’s no excuse.” “It hain’t, eh? Not when he’s bitten every one of her bows and driven them away? They have all swore that either, the dorg must go or they would.” “He bit the young men that came to call on her, did he?” asked Miss Lena, all at once interested. “Fiercely." “And she gave him to you on that account?” ■ “I’ll cross my heart on it.” “Maybe I’d buy him if he wasn’t so homely.” “That’s what high society Is after — homely dorgs. The homelier the better. Got any bows?” “Yes,” admitted the girl with a blush. “Any you want to get rid of?” "Y-e^s.” “Then don't be two minits closin’ thlß deal! One of your bows come in and bows and scrapes and takes a cheer. About the time he has got his legs crossed and is ready to talk love Nero sneaks around and takes a bite,” “And what follows?" “What follers? Lemme tell you that wbat follers would make a hen laugh! There’s a sudden Jumpin’ up. There’s a sudden swear-word. There’s a giggling tit which you do all the work. Then there’s a sudden ‘good night,* and a-gettin’ out doors, and that bow never comes within a block of the house agin’. Can’t you imagine it?” “You come pack to the house and I’ll get the money for you,” said the girl, as she softly glgled at the picture the hoy had drawn. The money was paid and Nero changed hands. He made no objections, and he seemed so content and gentle that the ndw owner had her

doubts about bis biting anj body. iu fact, her father looked the dog over and doubted if he would bite a muttonchop. r “What did you get such a rat for a dog?” was asked. “To bite some of my callers.’’ “Go ahead. I guess you’ll pick out the right one from the gang. It was the poetic young man’s evening for calling. He had spent the whole day composing a sonnet to Miss Lena's nose, and had finished and brought it along. Such was his impatience to read it, and hear her words of praiße that he took no notice of the dog. He had scarcely been greeted when he took the manuscript from his pocket and began: V “No blooming rose With Lena’s nose, In soft repose Can —the devil!” “Why, Mr. Davis!” exclaimed the owner of the nose. “Some darned thing bit me! There it is—a wretched little rat of a cur!” “Sir!” “Yes, bit me to the hone, and it may be a case of the rabies!!^ “But you can have a case of the rabies and still be a gentleman, can’t you ?” . “No, sir—no, sir, I can’t! If you have started in to keep a mad dog in the house you must —ahem —excuse me from —” And out he bounced and made his way to the first hospital to be treated. It wasn’t the evening of No. 2 to call, but being at the umbrella mender’s on the corner, he thought he’d run in for a moment and aßk Miss Lena If her father’s business had been unfavorably affected by the tariff. He was cordially greeted, but hardly had he opened the subject nearest his heart when he jumped a foot high and yelled out: “Holy smoke, but I’ve run against a live wire!” “It’s only Nero,” the girl calmly assured him. “What, that litle cur? Why, he’s bitten pi§!” “Yes, he bites most every one!” “Well, you must excuse me if I don’t call again until I hear of his death!” “Oh, certainly!” Number sou of the sad eyes and sadder sighs—called the next evening to ask for Lena’s hand and heart. It was patent to her the moment she looked into those sad eyes, and she looked furtively around to see if Nero was on the job. He was. He was looking at the sad-eyed man’s right leg. “Miss Walters —Lena —you must have seen —you must realize that I I thunder and blazes!” “Why, Mr. Pilgrim!” “Your infernal little cur has bitten me!” <. > “Yes?” “And —and —” “And I’m going to keep him right along!” “Then —then,” and out went the sadeyed man, never to call again. There was only one more left —he of the lisp and the curly hair. He called next evening. Nero was ready for him, but the moments fled into hours, and there was no crisis. At length he proposed matrimony and his case was taken under advisement. Next day Miss Lena asked her father: “Papa, will a man who let’s, a (log bite his leg for two hours and never make a complaint make a good husband?” “Tip-top!” was the answer. “Better have the wedding next month!” The bridal tour had been made when the bride said to her husband: “Have you any scars where Nero bit you that night?” “Not a single scar! I was wearing sole-leather leggings!” (Copyright, 1913, bv tbe McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)