Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 199, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 August 1915 — Page 2

SEEING LIFE with JOHN HENRY

nHEN Peaches and I get tired of the W Big Town—tired of Its noises and hullabaloo; tired of being tagged by taxis as we cross a street; tired of watching grocers and butchers hoisting higher the highest cost of living—that's our cue to grab a choo-choo and breeze out to Uncle Peter Grant’s term and bungalow in the wilds of Westchester, which he calls TroolyrooraL Just to even matters up, Uncle Peter and his wife visit us from time to time in our amateur apartment in the Big Town. Uncle Peter is a very stout old gentleman. When he squeezes into our little flat the walls act as if they were bowlegged. Uncle Peter always goes through the folding doors sideways, and every time he sits down the man in the apartment below us kicks because we move the piano so often. Aunt Martha is Uncle Peter's wife she weighs more and breatheß oftener. When the two of them visit our bird cage at the same time the Janitor has to go out and stand in front of the building with a view to catching it If it falls. When we reached Troolyrooral we found that “Cousin Elsie” Schulz was also a visitor there. “Cousin Elsie” is a sort of privileged character in the family, having lived with Aunt Maria for over twenty years as a sort of housekeeper. They call her “Cousin Elsie” just to make it more difficult Three or four years ago Elsie married Gustave Blerbauer and quit her Job. “Cousin Elsie” believes that conversation was invented for her exclusive use, and the way she can grab a bundle of the English language and break it up is a caution. Two years after their marriage old Gustave stopped living so abruptly that the coroner had to sit on him. The post mortem found out that Gustave had died from a rush of words to his brainpan. The coroner also found, upon further examination, that all of these words had formerly belonged to Elsie,

Then Lizzie and the Green Umbrella Struck a Casey-at-the-Bat Pose.

with the exception of a few which were once the property of Gustave s favorite bartender. After Gustave’s exit. Aunt Maria tried to get Elsie back on her job, but the old Dutch had her eye on Herman Schulz, and finally married him. So now every once in a while Elsie moseys over from Plainfield, N. J-. where she lives with Herman, and proceeds to sew a lot of pillow slips and things for Aunt Martha. One morning while Peaches and I were at breakfast, Elsie meandered in, bearing in her hand a wedding invitation which Herman had forwarded to her from Plainfield. Elsie read the invitation: “Mr. and Mrs. Rudolph Ganderkurds request der honor of your presence at der marriage of deir daughter, \ erbena, to Galahad * Schalzenberger, at der home of der bride's parents, Plainfield. N. J. March Sixteenth. R. S. V. P.” “Veil,” said Elsie, “I know der Ganderkurds und I know deir daughter, Verbena, und I know Galahad Schmalzenberger; he’s a floorwalker in Bauerhaupt’s grocery store, but I know vot it is dot R. S. V. P. yet! I gently kicked Peaches on the instep under the table, and said to Elsie, “Well, that is a new one on me. Are you sure it isn’t B. & O. or C. R. Ros N. J.? I’ve heard of those two railroads in New Jersey, but I never heard of the R. S. V. P.” For the first time in her life since she’s been able to grab a sentence between her teeth and shake the pronouns of it Elsie was fazed. She kept looking at the invitation and saying to herself, “R. S. V. P.! Vot is it?. I know der honor of your presence; I know der bride’s parents, but I don’t know R. S. V. P.” All that day Elsie wandered through the house muttering to herself: “R. S. V. P-! Vot is it? Is it some secret between the bride and groom? R~ S. V. P.i It ain’d my initials, because they begin mlt E. S. Vot is dot R. S. V, P.? Vot is it? Vot is it?” That evening we were all at dinner when Elsie rushed in with a cry of

by George V.Hobart

John Henry on Servant Problem

Joy. “I got it!” she said. “I has untied der meaning of dot R. 8. V. P. It means Real Silver Veddlng Presents!" I was Just about to drink a glass of water, so I changed my mind and nearly choked to death. Elsie’s interpretation of that wedding invitation is going to set Herman Schulz back several dollars, or I’m not a foot high. And maybe they don’t have their troubles at Troolyrooral with the servant problem. One morning later on Peaches and I were out on the top porch drinking in the glorious air and chatting with Hep Hardy, who had come out to spend Sunday with us, when Aunt Martha came bustling out, followed by Uncle Peter, who, in turn, was followed by Lizzie Joyce, their latest cook. Lizze wore a new lid, trimmed with prairie glass and field daisies, hanging like a shade over the left lamp; she had a grouchy looking grip in one hand and a green umbrella with black freckles in the other. She was made up to catch the first trflin that sniffed into the station. Aunt Martha whispered to us plaintively: “Lizzie has been here only two days, and this makes the seventh time she has started lor town.” But Lizzie took the center of the stage and scowled at her audience. “I’m takin’ the next train for town, mem!” she announced with considerable bitterness. “What is it this time, Lizzie?” inquired Aunt Martha. Lizzie put the grouchy grip d'own, folded her arms, and said: “Oh, I have me grievances!" Uncle Peter sidled up to Aunt Martha and said in a hoarse whisper: “My dear, this shows a lack of firmness on your part. Now leave everything to me and let me settle this obstreperous servant once and for all!" Uncle Peter crossed over and got in the limelight with Lizzie. “It occurs to me,” he began In polished accents, “that this is an occasion upon which I should publicly point out to you the error of your ways, and send you back to your hum-

ble station with a better knowledge of your status in this household.” “Scat!” said Lizzie, and Uncle Peter began to fish for his next line. “I want you to understand,” he went on, “that I pay you your wages!” “Sure, if you didn’t.” was Lizzie’s come-back, “I’d land on you good and hard, that I would. What else are you here for, you fathead?" “Fathead!’’echoed Uncle Peter in astonishment. “Peter, leave her to me,” pleaded Aunt Martha. Bpt Uncle Peter rushed blindly on to destruction. “Elizabeth,” he said sternly, “in view of your most unrefined and unladylike language, it behooves me to reprimand you severely. I will therefore —” Then Lizzie and the green umbrella struck a Casey-at-the-bat pose, and cut in: “G’wan away from me with your dime novel talk or I’ll place the back of me unladylike hand on your jowls! ” “Peter!” warningly exclaimed the perturbed Aunt Martha. “Yes, Martha, you’re right,” the old gentleman said, turning hastily. “I must hurry and finish my correspondence before the morning mail goes.” And he faded away. "It isn’t an easy matter to get servants out here,” Aunt Martha whispered to us. *1 must humor her. Now, Lizzie, what’s wrong?” “You told me, mem. that I should have a room with a southern exposure,” said the Queen of the Bungalow. “And isn’t the room as described?” asked Aunt Martha. “The room is all right, but I don’t care for the exposure,” said the Princess of Porkchops. “Well, what’s wrong?” insisted our patient auntie. “Sure,’- said the Baroness of Bread Pudding, “the room is so exposed, mem, that every breeze from the North Pole just nachully hikes in there and keeps me settin’ up in bed all Dight shiverin’ like I was shakin’ dice for the drinks. When I want that kind of exercise I’ll hire out as chamber-

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

maid In a' oold storage. l*m a took, mem, it's true, but I’m no relation to Doctor Cook, and I ain't eager to sleep In h room where even a Polar bear would be growlin’ for a fur coat” ... "Very well, Lizie,” said Aunt Martha, soothingly. "11l have storm windows put on at once and extra quilts sent to the room, and a gas stove if you wish.” “All right, mem,” said the Countess of Cornbeef, removing the lid. “I'll stay, but keep that husband of youra with the woozy lingo out of the kitchen, because I’m a nervous woman —I am that!” And then the Duchess 6f Deviled Kidneys got a strangle hold on her green umbrella and ducked for the grub foundry. Aunt Martha sighed and went in the house. “Hep,” I said; “this scene with Her Highness of Clamchowder ought to be an awful warning to you. No man should get married these days unless he's sure his wife can juggle the frying pan and take a fall out of an eggbeater. They've had eight cooks in eight days, and every time a new face

Uncle Peter is a Very Stout Old Gentleman.

comes in the kitchen the coalscuttle screams with fright. “We had one last week who answered roll call when you yelled Phyllis. “Isn’t that a peach of a handle for a kitchen queen with a map like the Borough of Bronx on a dark night? “She came here well recommended —by herself. She said she knew how to cook backward. “We believed her after the first meal, because that’s how she cooked. “When Phyllis found there was no shredded oats in the house for breakfast she changed the cover of the washtub into sawdust and sprinkled it with the whisk broom, chopped fine. “It wasn’t a half bad breakfast food of the homemade kind, but every time I took a drink of water the sawdust used to float up in my throat and tickle me. “The first and only day she was with us Phyllis squandered two dollars’ worth of eggs to make a lemon meringue potpie. “She tried to be artistic with this, but one of the eggs was old and nervous and it slipped. “Uncle Peter asked Phyllis if she could cook some Hungarian goulash, and Phyllis screamed: ’No; my parents have been Swedes all their lives!’ Then she ran him across the lawn with the carving knife. “Aunt Martha went in the kitchen to ask what was for dinner, and Phyllis got back at her: ‘l’m a woman, it is true, but I will show you that I can keep a secret!” “When the meal came on the table we were compelled to keep the secret with her. “On the second day it suddenly occurred to Phyllis that she was working, so she handed in her resignation, handed Hank, the gardener, a jolt in his case department, handed out a lot of unnecessary talk, and left us flat. “The next rebate we got in the kitchen was a colored man named James Buchanan Pendergrast. “James waq all there is and carry four. He was one of the most careful cooks that ever made faces at roast beef. “The evening he arrived we intended to have shad roe for dinner, and James informed us that that was where he lived. “Eight o’clock came, and no dinner. Then Aunt Martha went in the kitchen to convince him that we were human beings with appetites. “She found Careful James counting the roe to see if the fish dealer had sent the right number. “He was up to 2,196,493, and still had half a pound to go. “James left that night, followed by shouts of approval from all present. v -“l’m telling you all this. Hep, Just to prove that fate is kind while it delays your wedding until some genius invents an automatic cook made of aluminum and electricity.” Hep laughed and shook his head. “This servant problem won’t delay my wedding,” he chortled; “if there wasn’t a cook left in the world we wouldn’t care; we’re going to be vegetarians because we’re going to live in the Garden of Eden.” “Tush!” I snickered. “Tush, yourself!” said Hep. “Oh, tush, both of you,” said Peaches. “John said that very thing to me three weeks before we were married.” “Sure I did,” I went back, “and we’re still in the Garden, aren’t we? Of course if you want to sublet part of it and have Hep and his bride roaming moonstruck through your strawberry beds, that’s up to you!” “Well," said friend wife, “being alone in the Garden of Eden is aV right, but after you’ve been there three or four years there’s a-mild excitement in hearing a strange Voice, even if it is that of a serpentt” Close the door, Delia, I feel a draft

WRONG NUMBER 33

A Messenger’s Mistake Made a Lasting Change in the Life of Nurse Ewing.

By LESLIE COOMBS.

(Copyright, 1916, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Nurse Sylvia Ewing was resting. She Bat in her room as Mrs. Bill’s boarding house, sorting over the basket of freshly laundered uniforms, aprons and caps. She was packing a suitcase ready for any emergency call and she had just completed her task and shut away the extra garments in her bureau drawers when there came a tap at the door. “Come In," said Sylvia. It was Martha, the maid. “Please, Miss Ewing, there’s a man downstairs says he’s come for you to go out to Windberry—a lady has been taken suddenly. He’s got a car down at the door.” She handed Sylvia a card and went away. Sylvia glanced at It. It bore the name of Richard Waring and scribbled underneath In pencil were a few words: “My mother has been suddenly stricken. Can you come at once? Adolph will bring you in the car.” Sylvia did not know Richard Waring—she had never heard of him, but she supposed it was one of Doctor Dorman’s cases. She was surprised that the call had not come through the customary channel, the doctor’s office. But there was no time for speculation. A handsome limousine praited at the curb, and Sylvia donned her white uniform, slipped on a topcoat, snatched up her suitcase and, with a hurried word to Mrs. Bill, went out and was assisted Into the car by a trim looking chauffeur. In another moment they were spinning along the fine road toward Windberry, a charming suburb. She was not prepared for the Imposing house —a long, rambling pile of stone broken Into many gables and with a score of red tiled chimneys. The footman was waiting in the lower hall. He opened a door and apnounced—“Miss Young!” A man came forward to meet her. There was blank surprise in his keen, clear face, but he quickly masked it and held out his hand. "I am very glad to see you, Miss — er—Young?” "Ewing,” corrected Sylvia. “I received your card, Mr. Waring.” She gave him the card Adolph had presented and he thrust it into his pocket. - “I suppose it Is one of Doctor Dorman’s cases?” “Ah —no; Doctor Laidlaw Is our physician. Will you come to my mother’s room now, Miss Ewing?” Mrs. Waring had suffered a slight stroke of paralysis; her speech was not affected, but one arm and hand were numb and helpless. She opened her eyes when Sylvia came to her bedside; and her eyes widened and the same look of surprise that the nurse had noted in the son’s gaze was here. “This is Miss Ewing, mother,” said Waring. “She has come to take care of you. The doctor has just telephoned that he is on the way to pay you another visit.” He stooped over and kissed the pale, lined face on the pillow and tiptoed out of the room. The maid who had been sitting with her mistress gave the nurse the paper with the doctor’s directions and left Sylvia alone with her patient. Mrs. Waring’s dark eyes followed the graceful movements of the new nurse. One could read disappointment in her cold glance, and some bewilderment. At last she spoke: “Why did you come?” Sylvia turned a surprised face to her. “Because I was sent sor —to take care of you,” she added, with her best smile. “You won’t do,” said the patient coldly. "I’m sorry you don’t like me,” faltered Sylvia, taken aback. “I like you well enough—but you’re too pretty!” Sylvia’s hands flew up to her hot cheeks. Her eyes flashed and then she remembered that perhaps her patient was not entirely responsible for her utterances.

So she made no answer, but went about her duties, and when Doctor Laidlaw arrived he found the sick woman reposing comfortably. Sylvia had met him once or twice in the course of her hospital practice and she knew him for a very able physician. He greeted her pleasantly and she thought she detected a gleam of amusement in his twinkling glance. Sylvia followed him to the door as he was going. She was perplexed. She related what the sick woman had said to her, blushing as she repeated the doubtful compliment. "It will disturb her to have me here,” she added. “I hardly think so —we’ll try it out, anyway,”’ he said cheerfully as he went downstairs. As the days passed by Mrs. Waring lost her first animosity toward her nurse. But her eyes continued to follow Sylvia around the room. “Why does she care whether I am pretty or not?” the girl asked herself, impatiently, "as long as 1 do my duty?” It was Waring himself who enlightened Sylvia. One April morning Mrs. Waring, sitting in a chair by the sunny Window, watched the girl as she noiselessly put the room to rights.

“Where to Miss Yoon*?” asked Mrs. Waring abruptly. “Miss Young? I am afraid I don't know whom you mean.” “Miss Young is the nurse who has always attended me.” “Pei haps she was engaged on another case.” “No —my son sent for you. Miss Ewing?" "Yes, he sent Adolph With.the car." "Did you ever meet my son before, Miss Ewing?” Sylvia's look of surprise was genuine. i “Why, no, Mrs. Waring. Why do you ask such a question?” Mrs. Waring frowned. "Because you are so pretty,” she said, and remained silent. Sylvia’s thoughts were chaotic. Her position was growing disagreeable, and she determined to speak to Richard Waring about it. The son of the house spent his days in town and his evenings, when his mother was unable to see him, were spent among his books in the library. It was here that Sylvia found him that same evening. May I have a word with you, Mr. Waring?” she asked timidly, for she was rather afraid of the handsome, reserved man. “With pleasure, Miss Ewing,” he returned cordially. He placed a deep chair for her in front of the fire and stood leaning with one elbow on the mantelpiece. “I’m so gratified that mother has made such progress under your care. Laidlaw thinks she may regain the use of her hand and arm.” “I am glad,” said Sylvia, with a smiling flash of gray eyes. “But I’m afraid, Mr. Waring, that your mother is not quite happy with me.” A faint color flickered in her cheeks. “Not happy with you?” he exclaimed. “That is absurd.” “She asks me why I came and she inquires for a ‘Miss Young’ who has always nursed her. May I ask, Mr. Waring, why you did not send for this Miss Young?” Waring regarded her thoughtfully. Then a rueful smile overspread his face. “To tellVfri the truth, Miss Ewing, I did send for her!” “Why didn’t she respond to your ’call?” “I’ll be hanged if I know! There, it’s out, and perhaps you’ll help me clear up the mystery. I sent Adolph after Miss Young and he came back with you! I supposed she had sent you as a substitute. I spoke to Doctor Laidlaw and he complimented your work, but he also said that Miss Young was idle. Then I put Adolph through the third degree —he declares that he went to 33 Cypress street —” “Number 33 Cyclamen -street!” interrupted Sylvia. ,i “Cyclamen street? Then he made a mistake in the street and the similarity of the names —Ewing and Young—added to his confusion. Our telephone was out of order that day, and I did not call her by that means. lam sure it was a happy mistake for us.” He bowed courteously. “I am afraid your mother does not think so,” said Sylvia. “Under the circumstances I feel that I ought to yield my place to Miss Young. It is really her case.” “Please do not make any change; mother is whimsical and —I wonder if I may tell you the real reason why she prefers Miss Young?” Sylvia caught her breath. She wished he would not look at her in ttiht peculiar manner. It made her heart flutter uncomfortably. “Pray be frank with me, Mr. Waring,” sUe managed to say. With the long, curling lashes against the pink of her cheeks, the becoming white of her uniform, with its dainty cap perched in her red brown hair, Sylvia was indeed charming.

"My mother is a woman of prejudices,” he began, “and when her brother, in his late middle age, succumbed to the charms of a really noble woman of your profession, my mother became very angry, and from that date she denounced all trained nurses as —you will pardon me, I am sure —sirens! She believed them to be designing, and with a grown son to protect from theis wiles she uttered a decree that If sickness required a trained nurse in her house it must be one of such homely appearance that I would b e e quite out of danger!” He laughed ruefully, and Sylvia was forced to join in. “So mother made a business of searching for a thoroughly reliable nurse, whom she might call in when sickness should overtake our family, and she finally discovered* poor Miss Young, who is plain and middle aged and devoted to the memory of a longdeceased lover. She is a faithful soul and we are fond of her. So you see your coming here 'Was to my mother a menace!” “How absurd!” cried Sylvia. “But now I am convinced that my presence here could only worry her, and you must promise me you will send for Miss Young at once.” Sylvia flashed through the door and vanished up the stairs. * An hour later Miss Young appeared, tall, raw-boned, strong-visaged, a woman of kindly heart and skilled in her profession. Sylvia bade goqd-by to Mrs. Waring with some relief. To her surprise the invalid pulled her face down close to her pillow. “You are going. Miss Ewing,” she whispered, “but I feel sure that you will come back some day. I’ve watched you a long time and Richard has confessed to me, and if fate has ordained that he is to marry r trained nurse I’d rather it were you th»n anyone else in the world!”

Satan’s PresentDay Tactics

By REV. J.H. RALSTON

TEXT—Having a form of godliness but denying the power thereof. II Timothy SA

The words of this text have been very properly osed ever since Paul

of genial disposition, eminently proper In his conduct, and to the world seem to be deeply spiritual, but at the same time be utterly devoid of power. Satan’s Modern Tactics. But there is an application of the words other than to the Individual man. Satan, the malicious adversary of man since his creation, is working today as vigorously as ever and he makes use of the best methods within his power. In the earlier days of ignorance and superstition he worked through terror. He threatened men who would not follow him with death, oftentimes in Its most painful and revolting form, and as long as this method worked, for Satan is a pragmatist Of the finest type, he employed It This method prevailed through many centuries with varying success. At the close of the middle ages Satan used this method through the corrupt Christian church because into that church Ignorance and superstition had crept and were dominant, so that autos-da-fe, wheels of torture and other horrible physical torments were used to make men yield the truth in Christ Jesus. The method of force was not always physical torture. Satan h#,s entered the intellectual field and has tried, by force of human wisdom, to compel men to give up the truth, so we had the days of deists, skeptics and infidels of various kinds. These, however, are rarely before us now and anyone that would pose as an open infidel and an oppoßer of the essentials of Christianity,-would have a small following.. The Form of Godliness. Satan has changed his method, but has the same malice and is determined to ruin the souls of men and women. He does this through emissaries on the earth who have taken dn them the form of godliness. Never in the history of the world have there been so many men and societies professing to be the teachers of the truths of the Bible as today, and yet many of these are simply the emissaries of Satan. Paul tells in 2 Cor. 11: 13-15: “For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into the apostles of Christ. And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light. Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also be transformed as the ministers of righteousness; whose end shall be according to .their works.” » These men, and sometimes women, pose as teachers of the Word and take to themselves great virtue because they denounce other professed teachers of the Word as insincere, and thus secure a very large following in maiiy cases. Many of these seem to be very sincere themselves and attract many from churches where possibly the pastors are not true to the Word of God and are merely preachers of ethics, or possibly are casting doubts on the authority and integrity of the Holy Scriptures. Suggested Remedies. What is the remedy for this evil? We must first test the Bystems whether they possess the power of God or not. This, in its last analysis, means a holy life and an equally holy spirit, and here the acid test must be welcomed. Of the modern Satanic delusions there is hardly one but brehks down at this point. In all cases tho founders of these delusions are not right with God, and are soon known not to be right with man. From the days of the apostles to the present time there has been a. faith once for all delivered to the saints that has not changed. If a person has been reared in the Baptist, Episcopalian, Methodist, Presbyterian, Lutheran, or, indeed, in any one of several other communions, he has certain great truths on which these bodies agree. He may be unfor tunate enough not to have a faithful pastor, but he has the teachings oi his church, often in printed form, which is substantially true to the gospel. Let him hold to these *. hatevex may be the issue. Of course, the best answer to these delusions is a comprehensive knowledge of the Bible, but many Chris tlans who do not have this ; kno w I edge, and consequently cannot use to are deluded by the* 3 teachers. ; v- " . • " ... .V:- ' \ Yry-- ' .. " ' '•' •

first wrote them in application to formality in the individual Christian life, as something possible to realize but out of connection with spiritual power. The individual may possess all there is in Christian profession, he may practice everything enjoined as to individual religious life apart from his public profession, he may bo