Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 212, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 September 1914 — SURPRISED MR. BALL [ARTICLE]

SURPRISED MR. BALL

DESERVED SCOLDING THAT WAS INDEFINITELY POSTPONED. ■ ~ a. . • _• Father Knew He Was Late, But* He Did Not Know of Happening That Made Family So Glad to Welcome Him. ■*! never had chicken pie for suppa yet,” sighed Mrs. Ball, "but your father took that time to be late." Tom glanced at bis watch. “And I have an engagement dbwn town at eight o’clock. If I wasn’t going anywhere he’d have been home half an hour agb.” “And it makes supper dishes so late!” murmured thlrteen-year-old Marion. The telephone bell rang and Tom took down the receiver. “Yes, this is Tom. No, he hasn’t come home yet. Is that so? Well! Yes, I’ll call you as soon as he comes. Good-by.” He tried to speak unconcernedly as he faced his mother and sister. “It was Angle, and she wanted to speak with father —” “What was she telling you about?” broke in Mrs. Ball. The boy hesitated; then he met his mother’s anxious eyes steadily. "She heard that a Myrtle avenue ear bumped into a Blossom street car. Nothing very serious, I Imagine. Besides, you know father doesn’t take that car once a year.” “Yes, he just hates the suburban line,” agreed Marlon quickly. Mrs. Ball did not speak. She walked to the bay window and pushed aside the lace draperies with trembling fingers. The children came to her side, and all three peered anxiously into the twilight. y • “Here he is!” cried Marion. Tom shook his head. "Too tall for father. It’s Mr. Stevenson. But who Is this coming now?” "Judge Daniels,” whispered Mrs. Ball, faintly. ; • During the next 15 minutes several other late comers in turn roused and disappointed the hopes off the Balls. Then, quite unexpectedly, a familiar little figure came walking briskly up the avenue. Mrs. Ball sighed with re- ’ lief, and bustled off to the kitchen while the children threw open the front door. “I guess I’m pretty late,” began Mr. Ball, meekly. He stopped In surprise as Tom politely helped him with his coat and Marion solicitously hung up his hat. "Hurry up, Henry!" called Mrs. Ball, good-naturedly. "I've your favorite chicken pie for supper. It may be a -little cold, but I thought it might taste good after a hard day’s work.” "I tried to get that Myrtle avenue car,” began Mr. Ball a second time, “but I just missed it.” Marion’s cool, red lips brushed his. “Now, father, don’t stop to talk,” she urged; “come and eat” And the Ball family sat down jubilantly to partake of soggy, lukewarm chicken pie.—Youth’s Companion.