Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 260, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 October 1913 — When He Died [ARTICLE]

When He Died

“Poor old Ganby!” sighed the sen-timental-looking man with the thin •ide whisker®. “What’s wrong with him?" growled the double-chinned citizen wKh the shaggy eyebrows. “He don’t need any of your pity, does he?" "Didn’t you hear about it?" asked the sentimental-looking man. “He’s dead. He died last Wednesday. Took pneumonia.” “He’d take anything he could get his hands on if the owner wasn’t looking,” said the double-chinned dtiaen. “Well, if he’s dead, he probably is to be pitied.” “He’s dead,” remonstrated the sentimental-looking man. “Bo you told me,” said the doublechinned efttsen. “It’s a long lane that hasn’t any turntag. So he died a natural tteath, eh? I never expected it.”

“Why?” “He took out an accident policy for a* year less than nine months ago,” replied the double-chinned man. “He left quite a good deal of money, I heard,” said the sentimen-tal-looking man. , “The first thime in his life,” said the double-chinned man. “I don’t see how he brought himself to do it, at that. He must have lost consciousness at the last.” “Tut, tut!” said the sentimentallooking mtm. “When a man’s dead we ought to forget his faul.s and remember bis virtues.” "I can’t remember any that he had,” said the double-chinned citizen, “and my memory is a pretty good one.” * “I was at the funeral," Mid ths sentimetnaHooklng man. “Ths ser ” “Did they give him a funeral?” asked the double-chinned citizen. “Of course they did.” "I didn't know. I thought perhaps—l beg pardon. You were going to say something about the sermon, weren’t you? I think he was a good subject for a sermon. Anybody there besides you?” “The family H»aye, naturally —and a few of his friends.” “I thought he had always lived In Chicago.” “What do you mean?” “Where did his friends come from, then?” asked the double-chinned citizen. “I*m mighty sure he didn’t have any'here.” “Well, be wasn’t a man who had many intimates,” admitted the sent!? mental-looking man. “J can’t say I knew him intimately, myself.” “If you had you wouldn’t have attended the funeral,” said the doublechinned citizen. “I knew him fairly well. About |6OO worth, exclusive of attorney’s fees. Still, I don’t know that I wouldn’t have gone if I had got an invitation, Just to make sure. You're positive that he was dead, are you? You aren’t just telling me he is to please me?” “I should hope that you wouldn’t feel pleasure to hear of the death of any fellow creature," said the senti-mental-looking man. “I know you are not in earnest, though, when you say things like that. Ho was a good husband." “He had to be," said the doublechinned citizen. “You mw his widow, didn’t you? A man would have to be good to her, unless he preferred the society of a trained nurse and the hospital atmosphere. Bo they preached a funeral sermon! Did the minister mention his watch?"

“No,- vepleid the sentimentallooking man, wonderlngly. “Why should her* “It’s customary to speak of a man’s good works on such an occasion,” said th* double-chinned cltlsen. “I supposed that he would have to make tbs most of Ganby’s.” “You must have disliked the poor fellow,” said the sentimental-look-ing man with the thin whiskers. “What makes you think that?” asked the double-chinned eitteen.— Chicago Dully News.