Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 226, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 September 1915 — Page 2

SEEING LIFE with JOHN HENRY

THE Idea originated with Bunch Jefferson. You can always count on Bunch having a tew freak ideas in the belfry where he keeps his butterlies. Bunch and his wife, Alice, live out in Westchester county, about half a mile from Uncle Peter's bungalow, where friend wife and I are spending the winter. The fact that Uncle Peter and Aunt Martha had decided to give us a party was the inspiration for Bunch's brilliant idea. “Listen, John,” he macchiavellied; “not one of this push out here knows a thing about the tango. Most of them have a foolish idea that it's a wicked institution invented by the devil who sold his patent rights to the Evil-Do-ers association. Now, I’ll tell you what we’ll do. John: We’ll put them wise. We’ll take about two lessons from a good instructor in town and on the night of the party we’ll make the hit of our lives teaching them all to tango. Are you James to the possibilities?” "It listens like a good spiel.” I agreed; “but will a couple of lessons be enough for us ?” "Sure," he came back; “we’re not a couple of Patsys with the pump! We can learn enough in two lessons to make good in this boob community. Why, we’ll start a tango craze out here that will put life and ginger in the whole outfit and presently they’ll be putting up statues in our honor.” Well, to make a long story lose its cunning, we made arrangements next day with Ikey Schwartz, dancing instructor, to explain the mysteries of this modern home-wrecking proposition known as the tango, and paid him in advance the sum of SIOO. We made an appointment to meet Ikey at his “studio” for our first lesson the following afternoon. Then we hiked for home on the 4,: 14, well pleased with our investment and its promise of golden returns. That night Bunch and Alice were over to our place for dinner. After dinner Bunch and I sat down by the log fire in the Dutch room, filled our faces with Havana panatellas and proceeded to enjoy life in silence.

"He Had Both Paws Working Overtime, and Such a Knuckle Twisting No Mortal Man Ever indulged in Before.”

Into the next rooija came Alice and Peaches and sat dovfh for their usual cackle. Bunch and I started from our reveries when we heard Alice say to Peaches, “You don't know what a source of comfort it has been to me to realize thatj Bunch doesn’t know a blessed thing about the tango or any of those hatefully intimate new dances.”

“The same with me, Alice,” friend wife chirped in. “I believe if John were to suddenly display ability to dance the tango I’d be broken-hearted. Naturally, I’d know that he must have learned it with a wicked companion In some lawless cabaret. And if he frequented cabarets without my knowledge—oh, Alice, what would I do?” I looked at Bunch, he looked at me and then we both looked out the window.

“For my part,” Alice went on; “I trust Bunch so implicitly that I don’t even question his motive when he telephones me he has to take dinner in town with a prospective real estate customer.” , “And I know enough of human nature,” Peaches gurgled, “to be sure that if either one of them could tango he would be crazy to show off at home. I think we're very lucky, both of us, to have such steady-going husbands, don’t you, Alice?” At this point Aunt Martha buzzed Into the other room and the cackle took on another complexion. ...

In the meantime Bunch and . I had passed away. * "It’s cold turkey!” I whispered. “I've been in the refrigerator for ten minutes and I’m chilled to the bone,” Bunch whispered back. “Can we get our coin away from Ikey?” I asked. The next morning we had Ikey Schwartz for luncheon with us at the Bt. Astorbilt The Idea being to dazzle hifw and get a few of the Iron men IwHr ■ ~ X ~' 1

by George V.Hobart

John Henry Takes a Tango Lesson

“Leave everything to me,” Bunch growled as we shaved our hats and Indianfiled to a trough. “A quart of Happysuds,” Bunch ordered. "How about it, Ikey?” Ikey flashed a grin and tried to swallow his palate, so it wouldn't interfere with the wet spell suggested by Bunch. Ikey belonged to the “dis, dose and dem" push. Every long sentence he uttered was full of splintered grammar. Thero was surely something wrong with Ikey’s switchboard, because he could wrap his system around more Indian laughing Juice without getting lit up than any other man in the world. But Ikey was the compliments oi the season, all right, all right. The luncheon had been ordered and Bunch was Just about to switch the conversation around to the subject of rebates when suddenly his eyes took on the appearance of saucers and, tapping me on the arm, he gasped, “Look!” I looked and beheld Peaches, Alice and Aunt Martha sailing over in our direction. With a whispered admonition to Bunch to keep Ikey still I went forward to meet flriend wife, her aunt and Alice. They were as much surprised as I was. “It was such a delightful day that Aunt Martha couldn’t resist the temptation to do a little shopping,” Peaches rattled on; “and then we decided to come here for a bit of luncheon — hello, Bunch! I’m so glad to see you! John, hadn’t we better take another table so that your friendly conference may not be interrupted?” I hastened to assure Peaches that it wasn’t a conference at all. We had met Mr. Schwartz quite by accident. Then I introduced Ikey to the ladies. He got up and did something that was supposed to be a bow, but you couldn't tell whether he was tying his shoe or coming down a stepladder. After they had ordered club sandwiches and coffee I explained to Peaches and the others that Mr. Schwartz was a real estate dealer. Ikey began to swell up at once.

“Bunch and I are going in a little deal with Mr. Schwartz,” I explained. “He knows the real estate business backward. He, Schwartz, has a fad for collecting apartment houses. He owns the largest assortment of People Coops in the city. All the modern improvements, too. Hot and cold windows, running gas and noiseless janitors. Mr. Schw’artz is the inventor of the idea of having two baths in every apartment so that the lessees will have less excuse for not being water broke.”

Ikey never cracked a smile. “In Mr. Schwartz’s apartment houses,” I continued, while Bunch kicked my shins under the table, “you will find self-freezing refrigerators and self-leaving servants. All the rooms are light rooms, when you light the gas. Two of his houses overlook the park and all of them overlook the building laws. The floors are made of concrete, so that if you want to bring a horseHn the parlor you can do so without lacking off the plaster in the flat below. Efery room has folding doors, and when the water pipes burst the janitor has folding arms.” “Quit your joshing, John! You’ll embarrass Mr. Schwartz,” laughed Bunch somewhat nervously, but Ikey’s grin never flickered. “Is Mr. Schwartz deaf and dumb?” Peaches whispered. “Intermittently so,” I whispered back; “sometimes for hours at a time he cannot speak a word*'and can hear only .the loudest tones.” Aunt Martha heard my comment on Ikey’s infirmity and was about to become intensely sympathetic and tell him how her brother’s wife was cured when Bunch interrupted loudly by asking after Uncle Peter’s health. “Never better;” answered. Aunt Martha. “He has spent all the morning arranging the program of dancing for our little party. He insists upon having the Virginia Reel, the old-fash-ioned waits, the Polka and the Lan-

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER. INP*

eers. Uncle Peter has a perfect horror of these modern dances and Peaches and Alice and I share it with him.” Then she turned to Ikey, “Don’t you think these modern dances are perfectly disgusting?” Poor Ikey looked reproachfully at the old lady a second, then with gathering astonishment he slid silently off the chair and struck the floor with a bump. . / Aunt Martha was so rattled over this unexpected effort on Mr. Schwartz’s part that she upset her coffee and Ikey got most of it in the back of the neck. 1 When peace was finally restored the old lady came to the surface with an envelope which had been lying on the table near her plate. “Is this your letter, John?" she asked, and then arranging her glasses, read with great deliberation: “Mr. I. Schwartz. Tango Teacher, Care of Kumearly and Staylates’ Cabaret, New York.” Peaches and Alice went into the ice business right away quick. Aunt Martha in pained surprise looked at me and then at Bunch and

“Ikey Tried to Bend a Society Double."

finally focused a steady beam of interrogation upon the countenance of Mr. Schwartz.

Ikey never whimpered. Then BUnch took the letter from the open-eyed Aunt Martha and leaped to the rescue while I came out of the trance slowly.

“It’s too bad Mr. Schwartz forgot his ear trumpet,” Bunch said quickly and Ikey was wise to the tip in a minute. Peaches sniffed suspiciously and I knew she had the gloves on. "Mr. Schwartz’s affliction is terrible,” she said with a chill in every word. "How did you converse with him before our arrival?”

“Oh, he understands the lip language and can talk back on his fingers,” I hastened to explain, looking hard at Ikey. whose masklike face gave no token that he understood what was going on.

“I thought I understood you to say Mr. Schwartz is a real estate dealer,” Peaches continued, while the thermometer went lower and lower. “So he is,” I replied. "Then why does his correspondent address him as a tango teacher?” friend wife said slowly, and I could hear the icebergs grinding each other all around me. “I think I can explain that,” Bunch put in quietly. Then with the utmost deliberation he looked Ikey In the eye and said, “Mr. Schwartz, ft’s really none of my business, but would you mind telling me why you, a real estate dealer, should have a letter in your possession which is addressed to you as a tango teacher? Answer me on your fingers.” Ikey delivered the goods. —ln a minute he —had: both .paws working overtime and such knuckle twisting no mortal man ever indulged in before.

“He says,” Bunch began to interpret, "that the letter is not his. It is intended for Isadore Schwartz, a wicked cousin of his who is a victim of the cabaret habit. Mr. Schwartz •is now complaining bitterly with his fingers because his letters and those intended for his renegade cousin become mixed almost every day. These mistakes are made because the initials are identical. He also says that —he —hopes —the —presence of this — particular letter in—his—possession—does—not—offend —the ladies because —while —it —is —addressed —to —a —tango —teacher —the —content^ — are—quite—harmless—being —but a —small —bill —from —the —dentist.”

Ikey’s fingers kept on working nervously as though he felt it his duty to wear them out, and the perspiration rolled off poor Bunch’s forehead. “I’m afraid we’ll miss the 5:15 train if we don’t hurry,” said Peaches, and I could see that the storm was over, although she still glanced suspiciously at poor Ikey. § “And, Bunch, you and John can come home with us now, can’t you?” Alice asked as they started to float for the door.

Then Ikey cut It as we started to follow the family parade, “I’m hep to the situation. It’s a cutey, take it from little Ikey. I’ll have to charge you $8 for the sudden attack of deafness; then there’s sl9 for hardships sustained by my finger joints while conversing. The rest of the hundred iron men I’m going to keep as a souvenir of two good-natured ginks who wouldn’t know what to do with a tango if they had one.” As we pulled out of the Mayonnaise I looked back at Ikey to thank him with a farewell nod.. He was half way under the table, holding both hands to his sides and making funny faces at the carpet (Copyright, IJIS. by the McClure Newspa» per Syndicated

MAKING PITFALL FOR FRENCHMEN

Tins photograph, taken in the forest of Argonne, shows a German soldier putting the finishing touches to a pit he has prepared In the line of an anticipated attack. These pits are covered with shrubbery and earth and the wires are charged with electricity.

TELLS WAR TRAGEDY

Wounded French Officer Describes Thrilling Escape. Slips Out of German Prison and Makes Way Back to Own Lines— Peasant Baby Shot in His Arms by German Sentinels. (International News Service.) Paris. —A lieutenant in the French Foreign legion has just told the following story here: “It was on the nigfil of .August 23, after the retreat from Luneville. Towards five I received a ball in the forehead —see the scar on the right on the-frontal bone. I fell stunned by the blow. One of my men picked me up, and I could hear him confusedly saying: ‘Our lieutenant is dead.’ My comrades took me behind a wall and left me there.

‘‘Towards seven I came to myself in a fever, and believing I was in the thick of the battle. I shouted ‘Forward,’ but those to whom I gave the order were German ambulance men. They took me on a stretcher to Luneviile and shut me in the barracks of the chasseurs, which had been transformed into a hospital. “The window bars were old and the fever gave me the strength of ten. I dug at the cement with a knife, and tore out a bar. Slipping through, I fell from the first story into an empty passage leading to the Rue Jollivet. 1 was bleeding at the knees, but what matter? I crawled a few yards and saw the uhlans defiling past in the main street. Close by was a house where I had seen a light appear and then go out. After knocking gently and getting no answer, I broke down the door with my shoulder and went in, revolver in hand. A whole family was hiding under the staircase, and in a whisper I said I was French and they had nothing to fear. “A trembling woman’s fingers were held out to guide me. ‘Give me a cloak, a hat and a pair of trousers,' 1 said. In a second or two these were forthcoming. ‘Which is the first road I come to?’ ‘The road to Bayou.’ A man’s toneless voice added: ‘Lieutenant, you are going—let us go with you!’ I lit my pocket-lamp to look at my companions—a lower middle-class family, the man pale, with chattering teeth, the woman also pale, but resolute, and two children, one of seven and the other a baby of nine months. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘we yill go—all five of us!’

“Disguised as a civilian, with bowed shoulders like an old man, I led the way, carrying the baby. We ran and crept along the banks of the Moselle where the bridges were occupied by the troops. We had to go on noiselessly, for I had heard the guttural cries of the sentinels on outpost duty. The baby began to wail. The outpost heard us and ‘Wer da?’ rang out 150 yards away. We did not reply and a shower of bullets swept us, whistling on all sides. ‘Run, and run fast!’ I cried, and I took the baby again. “He was crying just now, but was quiet again. Another shower of bullets. My left arm felt heavy and my little finger especially hurt me horhorribly. At last we fell into a dense scrub. God be thanked! we were saved! But the undergrowth was thick. The man had a knife with him and I had still mine. So we went at it cutting a path through. The woman, motherly even in her terror, offered to take the baby to lighten me. ‘No, no! ’ I said, ‘he does not weigh much and he is asleep.’ “We cut so hard into the wood —I heard afterwards that it was the forest of Parroy—that we came to a clearing and a path. But how heavy the baby was! A grand, fine boy, said the mother, and I did not doubt her in the least. We walked hard, going westward. Suddenly French voices challenged. ‘Halt, who goes there?’ ‘A French officer,’ I answered, and advanced to explain who we were and whence* we came “ ‘But you are wounded, lieutenant!’ says the sergeant. ‘Hush! Say nothing for the sake of the others,* I replied, for by the glare of the lantern I had seen blood also on the baby’s bonnet. *Two men to take these good people to the rear,' I ordered with a

sigh of satisfaction, ‘and as for me. take me to the first aid station.’ “I held out the child to its mother, saying: ‘Be careful, no shaking; he is sleeping, do not wake him.’ I went off at a Jog trot, without turning round for fear of betraying emotion. I had the little finger taken off —see — and two bullets through the shoulder, high up. “But that was nothing to compare with what I was suffering. For I can tell you now, gentlemen, I had known ever since the first shot that I was carrying a dead baby.”

FEW LEFT IN SHAKERTOWN

Only Four Elderly Persons Remain in Immensely Wealthy Settlement in Kentucky. Lexington, Ky—Four elderly and infirm persons are the only occupants of the immensely valuable Shaker settlement, one of the few remaining colonies of the sect, near here. Sisters Christine Johnson, eighty-four, and Martha Olson, eighty-seven, died one day recently within the hour. Shakertown, now so sparsely settled, once was a flourishing town, with manufactories and various business enterprises and controlling rich adjacent farm lands. Even now the property is valued at millions. Recently a trustee was appointed to manage the affairs of the colonists.

BEES’ STINGS KILL A COW

Valuable Jersey Animal Tries to Fight Insects and Gets the Worst of It. Monmouth, Ore—Stung by thousands of Italian bees, a valuable Jersey cow, owned by O. A. Wolverton, ex-postmpster of Monmouth, died Tuesday afternoon. The animal had been turned into the grass on the southwest; corner of the Normal campus. On a small lot adjoining the campus were 75 hives. When Bossie began to fight several of the Italians, hundreds, then thousands., “mobilized” and aid for the distressed cow was impossible.

SHOW ITALIAN DANCES

Show Italian Dances.

Agnes and Stefano Macchi di Collere, the children of the Italian ambassador to the United States, who aided in the Italian war relief fund by performing native dancing in native costume. The Italian festa at which they appeared was under the patronage of Ambassador and Countess Doleres Macchi di Collere, the parents of the youngsters, at Lookout Hill, the home of Mr. and Mrs. John Hays Hammond. A program of Italian music, songs and folk dances entertained the most prominent of New England’s society members. The proceeds of the entertainkent will be used for the relief of the wives and children of the Italian reservists who have gone to the front from New England.

IS "MAGIC” TO THEM

Everything Russian Cannot Understand Is “Black Art” Soldiers of the Czar Are Steeped in Superstition Distrust Officers They See Using One of the General Staff Charts. By HUGO BETTAUER. (International News Service.) Reichenberg, Bohemia. —With an officer of the Austrian ambulance service I visited the prison camp th£t has been established near here. The camp is really a large city of wooden barracks with electric lights, paved streets, sidewalks, waterworks, public baths and a small library. Surrounded on all sides by green hills the barracks and other buildings cover the beautiful valley for miles.

In this primitive town more than, forty thousand Russian soldiers are waiting for the time when the war will end and they shall be sent home. Each day the, population of the ©amp grows, as long railroad trains constantly bring more prisoners, and new barracks have to be built. Every race of the czar’s endless empire is represented. The prisoners are a queer lot, and furnish unlimited opportunity for ethnological studies. As they speak a dozen different languages and many do not understand Russian, they have formed clans which keep entirely to themselves. The real Russian, for instance, will have nothing to do with the Cossack, and the German from Courland or Livland considers it below his dignity to associate with a “mujik” from the plains of the Volga. As a rule, the different clans get along pretty well together, and quarrels and fights seldom occur. The small detachment of landsturm troops, which guards the camp, really has little to do. For visitors the prisoners have little use, and it is hard to get them to talk. All strangers are “niemtsi” (Germans) to them, and only the more educated have heard of the “austriji” (Austrians).

The Germans they consider the incarnation of all evil, and they firmly believe that every “niemtsi” is the servant and agent of the devil. Their general ignorance is only surpassed by their superstition. While we walked through the camp we came upon an old Russian first sergeant, who gravely was trying to explain the causes of the war to about fifty of the prisoners. “The short-jackets brought on this bloody conflict," he said. “The war came as the world is sinful and immoral. God hates the short-jackets; they are indecent. The French, English and Serbians are no better than the ‘niemtsi.’ They also wear the hellish jackets and offend the Lord by their frivolity.” Most of the listeners nodded approvingly, and only one, a rather intelli-gent-looking young ffellow, dared to contradict the “argument” of the old man.

“I believe that a man can be moral even in a short jacket,” the young soldier said, but he stopped quickly when he saw that nobody shared his tolerant views. For the defeats of the Russian armies the prisoners blame the “black art” of the German generals. . They are firmly convinced that Hindenburg and Mackensen have sold their souls to the devil. Hindenburg they all know, and they consider him the representative of Satan on earth.

Military maps, in their eyes, are the work of hell, and they distrust their own officers if they see one of them with a general staff chart. A general who does not hide the fact that he uses maps and plans loses all confidence and popularity, and is hated as an imitator of the Germans and an infidel. Seventy per cent of the soldiers of the czar see in the maps nothing but "German swindle’’ and “black art.’’ Still more superstitious than their comrades are the Cossacks. To them everything that they cannot understand is “magic.” Next to the Germans the Cossack hates nothing more than the real Russians. These he calls murderers, crooks, oppressors, etc., and he will not even talk to them. Most of the prisoners are good-na-tured apd behave well. They willingly obey "till orders of the guards and work without a murmur from morning till night, if they are commanded to do so. Their appetite is enormous. They are always hungry and devour incredible quantities of food. As to quality, they do not care, and they are perfectly contented with a kettle of soup, a piece of bacon or fat mutton and a couple of dozen potatoes. One of the weaknesses of the prisoners, and of the Russian soldiers in general, is their disrespect for the property of others. To express it more plainly, they steal whatever they can lay their hands on, like all primitive races. Even high officers are not free from this trait.

He Sings "Tipperary."

Barnesville, Ga.—G. C. Hayes of this place has on his premises a mockingbird that would doubtless be highly prized in the British trenches. In whiling the hours away Mr. Hayes has frequently rendered .“Tipperary", on his graphophone, and now as the mockingbird woos its lady love Us song is "interspersed with occasional notes of •’Tipperary" clear enough to be understood. •