Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 190, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 August 1915 — Page 2

SEEING LIFE with JOHN HENRY

I WAS complaining to some of my friends in the Club the other evening because a germ General Villa •was storming the outposts of my digestive tract when a Nut In the party began to slip me a line of talk about a vegetable diet I didn’t fall for it until he proved to me that Kid Methuselah had prolonged an otherwise uneveatful life and was enabled to make funny faces at the undertakers until he reached the age of 969 simply because he ate nothing but dandelion salad, mashed potatoes and stewed prunes. Then I went home and told friend wife about it She approved eagerly because she felt that it might solve the servant problem. Since we started housekeeping about eight months ago we’ve averaged two cooks a week. Tuesdays and Fridays are our days for changing chefs. The old cook leaves Monday evening and the new cook arrives Tuesday morning. Then the new’ cook leaves on Thursday evening and the newest cook arrives on Friday, and so on, world without end. Friend wife decided she could dip a few parsnips in boiling water without the aid of a European kitchen mechanician. Vegetarians! What a great idea! Now she could get out into the sunlight once in a while instead of standing forever at the hall door as a perpetual reception committee to frowsyheaded Slavonian exiles demanding $35 per and nix on the washing. But it was Friday and our latest cook was at that moment annoying the gas range in the kitchen, so why not experiment and find out what merit there Is In a vegetarian menu? The ayes have it —send for the Duchess of Dishwater. Enter the Duchess, so proud and haughty, with a rolling pin in one hand and a guide to the City of New York in the other. During her idle moments she studied the Guide. Even now’, and only three weeks from Ellis Island, she knew the city so well that she could go from one situation to another with her eyes closed. “Ollie.” said friend wife, “do you know how to cook vegetables in an appetizing manner?” "Of course.” answered Ollie, her Ups curling disdainfully. Then I chipped in with: “Very well. Ollie. The members of this household

Enter the Duchess, So Proud and Haughty, With a Rolling Pin in One Hand and a Guide to the City of New York In the Other.

are vegetarians for the time being. All of us are vegetarians, including the dog, so please govern yourself accordingly." Ollie smiled in a broad Hungarian manner and whispered that vegetarianisms was where she lived. She confided to us that she could cook vegetables so artistically that the palate would believe them to be filet Mignon with champagne sauce. Then she shook the rolling pin at a picture of friend wife’s grandfather, and started in to fool the Beef Trust who put all the butchers out of business. Dinnertime came and we were all expectancy. The first course was potato soup, filling but not fascinating. The second course was potato chips, which we nibbled slightly while we looked eagerly at the butler’s pantry. The next course was French fried potatoes with some shoestring potatoes on the side, and I began to get nervous. This was followed by a dish of German fried potatoes, some hash-browned potatoes and some potato saute, whereupon my appetite got up and left the room. The next course was plain boiled potato as with the jackets on and baked potatoes with the jackets open at the throat and then some roasted potatoes with Bolero jackets. I was beginning to see that a man must have in his veins the blood of martyrs and of heroes to be a vegetarian and at the same time I could feel myself fixing my fingers to choke Ollie. . . _ The next course was a plate of potato salad, and then I fainted.

by George V. Hobart

John Henry on Dieting

When I got back. Ollie was standing near the table with a sweet smile on each side of her face waiting for the applause of those present. “Have you anything else?” I Inquired, hungrily. “Oh, yes!" said Ollie. "I have some potato pudding for dessert.” When I got through swearing, Ollie was under the stove, my wife was under the table, the dog was under the bed and 1 was under the influence of liquor. I’m cured. After this my digestive tract will have to fight a sirloin steak every time I get hungry. Besides, I don’t want to live as long as Methuselah. If I did I’d have to learn to Tango some time in the 900 years to come —then I’d be just the same as everybody else In the world. Can you get a flash of Methuselah at the age of sixty-four taking Tango lessons from Baldy Sloane up at Welsenfeffer’s pedal parlors? And then having to survive for 905 years with the dance bug in his dome! Close the door, Della; there’s a draft. When Peaches recovered from the shock of my outburst over the potato pudding she said the only way I could square myself was to take her to the very-latest-to-datest hotel In New York for dinner. That is some task If you live up town, believe me, because they open new hotels in New York now the same as they open oysters —by the dozen. However, after stuffing my pockets with all my earthly possessions, we hiked forth and started for the Builtfast —the very latest thing in expensive beaneries. Directly we entered its polished portals we could see from the faces of the clerks and the clocks that a lot of money changed hands before the Builtfast finally became an assessment center. In the lobby the furniture was covered with men about town, who sat around with a checkbook in each hand and made faces at the cash register. There are more bellboys than bedrooms in the hotel. They use them for change. Every time you give the cashier sls he hands you back $1.50 and six bellboys. We took a peep at the diamondbacked dining room, and when I saw

the waiters refusing everything but certified checks in the way of a tip, I said to Peaches, “This is no place for us!” But she wouldn’t let go, and we filed in to the appetite killery. A very polite lieutenant-waiter, with a sergeant-waiter and two cor-poral-waiters. greeted us and we gave the countersign, "Abandon wealth, all ye who enter here.” Then the lieutenant-waiter and his army corps deployed by columns of four and escorted us to the most expensive looking trough I ever saw in a dining room. "Peaches,” I said to friend wife, “Tm doing this to please you, but after I pay the check, it’s me to file a petition in bankruptcy.” She just grinned, picked up the point-lace napkin and began to admire the onyx furniture. "Qu souhaitez-vous?” said the waiter, bowing so low that I could feel a chill running through my little bank account. “I guess he means you?’ I whispered to Peaches, but she looked very solemnly at the menu card and began to bite her lips. “Je suis tout a votre service,” the waiter crosscountered before I could recover, and he had me gasping. It never struck me that I had to take a course in French before entering the Builtfast hungry foundry, and there I sat making funny faces at the tablecloth, while friend wife blushed crimson and the waiter kept on bowing like an animated jack-knife. "Say, Mike!” I ventured after a bit; "tip us off to a quiet bunch of eating that will fit a couple of appetites just out seeing the sights. Nothing that will put a kink in a year's income, you

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

know, Bo; Just suggest some little thing that looks better than It tastes, but Is not too expensive to keep down." "Que eouhaites-vous?** said he back at me. “Un diner confortable doit se composer do potage, de volatile boulllle ou rotie, chaude ou froide, de glbler, de plats rares et distingues. de sucreriea, de patisseries et de fruits!" I looked at my wife, and she looked at me; then we both looked out the window and wished we had never been born. “Say, Garsong," I said, after we came to, “my wife Is a daughter of the American Revolution and she’s so patriotic she eats only In United States; so cut out the Moulin Rouge lyrics and let’s get down to cases. How much will It set me back If I order a plain steak —just enough to flirt with two very polite appetites?" “Nine dollars and seventy cents,” said Joan of Arc’s brother Bill. “The seventy cents is for the steak and the nine dollars will help to pay for the Looey the Fifteenth furniture in the bridal chamber." "Save the money, John, whispered Peaches; “and we’ll buy a pianola with it." “How about a sliver of roast beef with some simple vegetable,” I said to

A Flash of Methusaleh at the Ape of Sixty-Four Taking Tango Lessens From Baldy Sloane.

the waiter. 'Ts It a bull market for an order like that?" “Three dollars and forty-two cents," answered Henri of Navarre. “Fortytwo cents for the order and three dollars to help pay for the French velvet curtains in the golden suite on the second floor.” “Keep on guessing, John; you’ll wear him out,” Peaches whispered. “Possibly a little cold lamb with a suggestion of potato salad on the side might satisfy us,” I said. Make me an estimate.” . “Four dollars and eighteen cents” replied Patsey Boulanger. “Eighteen cents for the lamb and salad and the four dollars for the Looey the Fifteenth draperies in the drawingroom.” “Ask him If there’s a bargain counter anywhere in the dining room,” whispered Peaches. “My dear,” I said to friend wife, "we have already displaced about sixty dollars worth of space in this dyspepsia emporium, and we must, therefore, behave like gentlemen and order something, no matter what the cost What are the savings of a lifetime compared with our honor!” The waiter bowed so. low that his shoulder blades cracked like a whip. “Bring us,” I said, “a plain omelet and one dish of prunes." I waited till Peter Girofla translated this Into French and then I added: “And on the side, please, two glasses of water and three toothpicks. Have the prunes fricassed, wash the water on both corners and bring the tooth--picks rare.” The waiter rushed away and all around us we could hear money talking to itself. Fair women sat at the tables picking dishes out of the bill of fare which brought the blush of sorrow to the faces of their escorts. It was a wonderful sight, especially for those who have a nervous chill every time the gas bill comes In. When we ate our modest little dinner the waiter presented a check which called for three dollars and thirty-three cents. “The thirty-three cents Is for what you ordered,” Alexander J. Dumas explained, “and the three dollars is for the French hangings in the parlor.” “Holy Smoke!” I cried, “That fellow Looey the Fifteenth has been doing a lot of work around here, hasn’t he?” But the waiter was so busy watching the finish of the change he handed me that he didn’t crack a smile. Then I got reckless and handed him a fifty-cent tip. The waiter looked at the fifty cents and turned pale. Then he looked at me and turned paler. Then he tried to thank me, but he oaught another flash of that plebeian fifty and it choked him. Then he took a long look at the halfdollar and with a low moan he passed away., In the excitement I grabbed Peaches and we flew for home. The next time I go to one of those expensive shacks it will be just after I’ve had a hearty dinner. Even at that I may change my mind and go to a moving picture show.

For Those Who Can See.

See deep enough and you see musically; the heart of nature being everywhere music, If you can only reach it. —Carlyle.

THE BALLOON PATCH

Became Means of Reuniting Two Lovers Who Had Quarreled and Parted.

By CLARISSA MACKIE.

(Copyright. IMS, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Donald Warren carefully blotted the sheet of paper and reread the letter written in his splashing black characters. It was a manly letter of regret over a mistake he had made —a misunderstanding between Donald and the girl he loved, and It had parted them. He was in the wrong, and he frankly acknowledged it. Then he had poured out his love and his longing for a reconciliation. He slipped the letter In an envelope and addressed it to Marjorie Human at her father’s country home over on the other side of the Island. His young nephews were calling him with lusty lungs: “Uncle Don! Come and open the box of fireworks!” Smiling, be went out on the lawn where the expressman had dumped the packing case. The three boys were pecking at the boards with hammers and chisel. “I expect, if we were to set off the whole box it would shake the island,” boasted little Frank. “I’ll bet Aunt Marjorie could hear it,” remarked Bob. Donald reddened hotly. He paused with one sunbrowned arm in midair. "Aunt Marjorie?" he repeated grimly. “Where did you learn that?” Bob shrugged carelessly. “Cousin Patty said when you and Miss Marjorie were married, why, she’d be our aunt. So I asked her if she minded our calling her Aunt Marjorie right off—just to get used to it, you know,” he explained. “What did she say?” asked Donald. “She got awful red and said I was a dear and she guessed she didn’t mind. Just like a girl not to know whether she did mind or not!” he added contemptuously. “When did this happen T’ “Last week. I say. Uncle Don, hurry up and open it, won’t you, please?” Amid the splintering of pine covers and the chatter of the boys Donald’s thoughts ran swiftly. She had said it last week. Ah! Last week all had been well with them; their happiness seemed assured. But now, because of his unreasoning jealousy, their bliss had turned to sorrow and bitterness. There was one comfort, he thought —when she received his repentant letter she might relent. He would take It down and mail it that evening. She would receive it the next morning, the Fourth, and perhaps she would call him by telephone to tell him that he was forgiven and that he must come across the island at once. Perhaps she would meet him half way! His meditations were drowned In a chorus of excited cries as his nephews fell upon the fireworks and sorted them into shape. “Look, Uncle Don,” cried Ned. "One of these fire balloons is torn.” "I’ll put a patch on it,” said Donald. "We’ll send that fellow up now, eh? There’s a good stiff breeze. Bob, go and bring me the paste pot and a sheet of paper." “Here comes Cousin Patty,” said Frank, running to meet the little gossipy, bright-eyed relative whose cottage was almost at the end of the cliff.

“Well, Patty?” smiled Donald, as he shook hands. “I am well, Don," said Cousin Patty. “I’ve been fishing all morning off the Topstone light” “What luck?” "Not much —except that I caught Peter Gray’s scarlet sweater and nearly pulled him overboard!” giggled Patty. “Peter Gray—here?" scowled Donald, for he was jealous of young Gray, who had a singularly winning way with him. “Stopping at the Hinmans, I suppose, as usual. He was out there fishing with Marjorie and her Sister. Our boats were quite close together, and my line flew over my head and the hook caught in his collar. It was all very funny. Peter said it would have been a fair capture only he had been hooked already.” Donald’s face darkened. He wondered if it was one of Gray’s ill-timed jests or had Marjorie really accepted him on the rebound? Jealousy possessed him again and he lost his temper. He was glad he had not sent the letter. *

When Patty had gone on to the house Bobby came running back with the pot of paste. “I couldn’t find any paper, Uncle Don,” he said. "I have some here,” said Don, and, tearing open his letter to Marjorie, he deliberately pasted it- over the torn place in the paper balloon. He smiled grimly as his eyes fell upon the opening words: "My darling.” ' ~ _ Judged by all appearances, she was Peter Gray's darling, he argued, as he helped his nephew light the wick and inflate the balloon. “Which way is the wind, Uncle Don?" asked Ned. “Northwest, and blowing strong,” replied Don. “Your balloon will blow out to sea, kiddies!” “And we’ll play that what’s written on the patch is a merxge to some shipwrecked sailor on a desert

island,” suggested imaginative Bob. "Anything yon like," agreed Donald. It was midafternoon of the day before the Fourth when Donald and his nephews stepped back and allowed the balloon to rise up, rocking to and fro until it found balance in a higher current of air. They watched it until it disappeared beyond the trees of the hill back of the house. Then the boys returned to gloat over the fireworks and to store them away for the morrow’s celebration, while Donald threw himself into a hammock and flung an arm across his aching eyes. Peter Gray sat on the beach with his arm around a very pretty girl— Gertrude Hinman. Marjorie, with her shoulder discreetly turned to the lovers, gazed sadly out to sea. "See who’s here!” chirruped Peter blithely. Marjorie looked around and her glance followed Peter’s pointing finger. Behind them, lazily drifting down to the beach, was a limp paper balloon. Its fire was extinguished, and in the shelter of the cliff, where there was no wind, it was coming to earth. "Observe the patch,” said Peter as the balloon neared them. Marjorie got up and walked toward the fluttering thing, holding up her slim tanned arms to catch it. "Doesn’t.it look odd?” she laughed over her shoulder, and then the balloon was in her grasp—a smoky, smelling crush of paper with a stiff white patch covered with splashing black characters in a handwriting she knew so well. She tore the letter from the balloon and crushed it into her pocket. Then, flinging the mass of red paper on the ground, she sped to the shelter, of the pine grove, where she spread open the letter and read it with shining eyes. Her heart beat madly aS she read Donald’s confession and apology. “The dear, dear boy!” she murmured softly. "But what a -funny way to send a letter? Shall I telephone—or—yes, I will!” In a few moments she was talking to Mrs. Warren. "Donald is down on the beach, Marjorie,” said Donald’s sister-in-law. "He’s sitting there, staring at the sea as if he contemplated jumping in. I’ll send Bobby after him. Walt a moment.” Donald received the message and went to the telephone with scowling face. "Yes?" he inquired politely. "Donald,” wavered Marjorie’s voice, ‘1 —I received your letter.” "My letter? ‘What—tell me what you mean,” he gasped. “Why, didn’t you send me a letter by balloon ?” she asked tearfully. “Yes, I did,” declared Donald, bravely. "I —I’m coming over —may I?" “I’m expecting you,” said Marjorie, ringing off. When they met he clung to her hands while he repeated the contents of his letter and begged forgiveness. “I was a beast to be so jealous,” he admitted; “but you know Gray has been hanging around here a lot!" “He had to," said Marjorie with dancing eyes. “Gertrude is wretchedly lonesome when he’s away.” “Gertrude?" “They’re engaged, you know," explained Marjorie sweetly. Then Donald made a clean breast of how his letter came to be patched upon the balloon. “I thought it would go out to sea,” he said. “It was kindly fate that bore it into my hands,” she whispered.

Cost of a Long Tall.

On the highway between Dieppe and Gouraay, France, there is an interesting wayside inn that never fails to attract the attention of travelers who journey over the road. Nailed over the door of the inn there is a notice that reads: “Horses boarded here: Rates —Horse with a short tail 50 centimes a day. Horses with a long tail, one franc.” No one could understand a discrimination among horses based on the length of their tails until a reporter for a Paris paper questioned the proprietor, and later published the explanation in his newspaper. The honest old inn keeper gave an amusing but logical answer to the reporter’s question. “Why, that’s very simple,” he said. “A horse with a short tail is very much bothered by flies and gnats. He is kept so busy driving them off with his head that he naturally cannot eat much. A horse with a long tail does not need to use his head to keep off the flies, bet can busy himself eating. In that way he eats more than the other. Therefore it is only logical that I should charge a higher rate for his board.” The inn keeper’s argument surely sounds reasonable. — Youth’s Companion.

The Intoxicating Strawberry.

It seems difficult to believe there can be any connection between the strawberries now coming to market and poison gases, but the association PTista The steamships bringing fruit from Brittany to Plymouth refuse to carry passengers when conveying a cargo of strawberries because of the intoxicating fumes given off by the berries when packed in bulk. Even the seamen have orders to keep on deck as much as possible. As strawberries, even tons of tnem, give off no very pungent smell, the theory has been advanced that the intoxicating effect of a cargo of the fruit is due to the fermentation of the sugar In berries. —London Chronicle.

What It Costs Not to Be a Christian

Br REV. HOWARD W. POPE

SwMM'Ui'f M*. M»dr BfcUl-ita* afOanStt

TEXT—For what shall It profit a man If ha shall sain the whole world and loea his own soul?—Mark 8:38. People sometimes refuse Christ because of the sacrifice involved. It

law.” “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind_ls stayed on thee.” This is the portion of the Christian. He has peace with God, and the peace of God, and the God of peace besides. The Chrlstless soul knows nothing of this, for “there is no peace, salth my God, to the wicked.” He knows that he is disobeying God, and he is aH the time fearful. “Who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage.” Besides, he is conscious of an unseen force which is continually working against him. “The way of the transgressor is hard,” we are told. Yes, God makes it hard, in order that the sinner may weary of it, and turn his feet into the path of righteousness. “Behold I will hedge up thy way with thorns, and I will make a wall against thee.” As surely as all things work together for good to them that love God, so surely does God work against the sinner. The same love which prompts him to send blessings to the righteous, leads him to send hindrances and warnings to the sinner. The sinner calls it bad luck, but'he suspects that it is something more, even the deliberate purpose of God. 2. Not to be a Christian costs the sacrifice of the highest joy. I do not say that the Chrlstless man will have no joy. He may know the joy of health, and friendship, and domestic life; he may acquire money, and power, and fame. But there are nobler joys than those which he loses. He cannot know the joy of sin forgiven, or the comfort and companionship of the Holy Spirit, or the joy of becoming like Jesus Christ. It is God’s purpose that all his children shall be joyful—full of joy. “These things have I spoken unto you that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be fulV” How different the feeling of the Chrlstless soul! A visitor who was calling on the great Bismarck expressed the hope that he might live many days, and this was Bismarck’s reply: “There is only one happy day left for me. It is the one on which I shall not wake up again.” 3. Not to be a Christian costs the sacrifice of the highest success In life. Everyone wishes to make the most of himself, but this is impossible unless he yields his life to Christ. God has a plan for every life, and this plan alone assures, the highest success. Does not God know what is for the creature’s good better than the creature himself? It is folly to think that one can live in God’s world and achieve success, and yet disobey the laws of God.

Remember that money and popularity and power do not constitute success. One may have all these and yet be a consummate failure. The true object of life is to know God’s will and do it, and the Christless soul misses that completely. 4. Not to be a Christian costs the loss of heaven. The penalty of having one’s own way here, is to be consigned hereafter to a place where everyone has his own way, which is hell. That is what makes it hell. Heaven is a place where no one has his own way, but all delight to do God’s wilL That is what makes it heaven. The Christless soul has no hope of heaven, and even if he had, he could not enjoy it. Heaven would be hell to one who is not heavenly minded, to one who does not love Jesus, and who does love sin. The Christless soul must prepare to part forever from all his dear ones who have chosen Christ; his mother who taught him to pray, his faithful wife, his children whose little hands have long been beckoning, to woo him home to heaven. When Dwight L. Moody died he looked up and said, “Is this death? If so, it is glorious. Earth is receding, heaven is opening. God is calling me.” Instead of this welcome, the Christless soul will hear the sad words, “Depart from me.” Yes, it du£s cost something to be a Christian. It may cost you ths sacrifice of som* pleasure, some companions, some money, but not to be a Christian will cost you the loss of peace, joy, and real success. It will cost you the loss of your soul. It will cost you heaven. “What shall it profit a man if he gain the world world and lose his own sou!?”

costs too much, and they are not willing to pay the price. Yes, it does cost something to be a Christian, but it costs far more not to be a Christian. Let us see what It costs to live and die without Christ. 1. Not to be a Christian costs the sacrifice of peace. “G re a t peace have they which love thy