Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 284, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 December 1915 — Page 2

CAP and BELLS

JOKE ON CURIOUS NEIGHBORS Young Wlfo Woo Scolding CuriyHoirod Block Pup ond Not Hor Huobond, os Woo Supposed. His name was Charlie and they had been married only a week. She was particularly affectionate and their thin-walled apartment concealed little of import from curious neighbors. One night the neighbors gasped in amazement and then suspended all other things to listen, says Columbus Dispatch. "She" was speaking in strident, angry tones. “Charlie,*' she waa_ saying imperiously, “if you ever ’come into this house again and muddy my carpets with your feet, right back home you go!" “Gosh! ▲ divorce,” breathed the next-door ynen to his wife. They spent most of the night wondering whether the newlyweds could live together another week. “Well, he had no right to spoil her carpets,” commented the wife with a finality that ended the discussion. Next morning a curly-haired black pup was cavorting over the lawn of the newlyweds. “Charlie," the young wife was saying to the new pet ‘Tm sorry I scolded you last night, but your feet were terribly muddy."

And She Believed Him.

“Hubby.” “Yes, my love." “You used to seem glad when 1 telephoned you at the office, but when I called you up today you were as cross as an old bear.” “That was only a pose of mine. Angela." "Oh?” “Our confounded office boy was grinning so I had to conceal how delighted I really was.”

Overestimated Them.

“A man should stop every now and then and take stock of himself,” remarked the philosopher. “I don’t agree with you,” said the pessimistic person. “Why not?” “It Is impossible for a man to remain always twenty-one. And that is about the only time in life when taking stock of himself is apt to give him any considerable amount of satisfaction.”

Rapid Progression.

“Well, sir?" said the judge, sternly. "Me an’ my wife had some words, your honor,” began the prisoner, "an’ one thing led to another.” "Wlxat do you mean by that?” “You see, sir, she started by throw-; ing the salt shaker at me. Then she shied a few cups an’ saucers, then a few plates an’ wound up by hittin’ me over the head with the coffee pot.”

TIGHTWADDO.

She — I understand that young De Pinch ha« been operated on for appendicitis. He —Tea, it’s the first time anyone was known to get anything out of him. But you see they had to give him chloroform to get that.

Playing to the Galleries.

"Senator Bluffum seems always anxious to fight the battles of the people." “In a strictly oratorical' sense,, of “Oh, yea. He represents a constituency who believe that the more noise lie makes the harder he is working to protect them from his unscrupulous associates."

The Way of It.

| “Does your suburban neighbor mse his own vegetables?" “No; be comes In the night and lifts

NOTHING COMING TO JOHNNY

Small Boy Would Get No Change From Groeeryman If He Gave Him Dollar—Old Bill In Way.

The topic having turned to mathematical problems. Congressman Jacob A. Canter of New York told of an incident that happened in a public school.

The teacher was Instructing a Junior class in arithmetic, when she started to give the youngsters some mental exercises, says Philadelphia Telegraph. “Johnny.” said she. turning to a youngster of ten, “if you went to the grocery store and bought 10 cents’ worth of sugar, 5 cents’ worth of soap. 20 cents’ worth of coffee and 10 cents’ worth of crackers and gave the proprietor a dollar bill in payment for these articles, how much change would you get?" “I wouldn’t get any change. Miss Mary," was the rather surprising response of the boy. “You wouldn’t get any change!” exclaimed the teacher. "How do you figure that out?” “Storekeeper wouldn’t give up," answered Johnny. “He would freeze on to it for the old bill.”

Then the Clerk Collapsed.

"1 don’t suppose this business could run very long without me," said the important young man. "Perhaps not," answered the visitor. “Ia the boss in?’’ “Oh, yes. But I can tell you anything you want to know.” "No, you can't, either. I’m the silent partner and financial backer of this firm, and I want to know how long a nincompoop like you is going to be kept on the pay roll."

CONSOLING.

Everbroke —If I can’t raise enough, to pay that alimony I’m afraid I’ll be arrested. Offenbroke —That’s nothing. I’m often pinched for money.

Sheer Loss.

“You can’t afford to miss this offer,” said the agent, persuasively. "All you have to pay is a dollar down and a dollar a month, and you can be reading the books while you are paying for them.” "That’s just the trouble,” replied Jobson. “I’d finish reading them long before I finished paying for them and then it would be just like throwing money away.”

In Politics.

“Is it true that all successful politicians keep one ear to the ground so that they may learn what their constituents are thinking?” "Oh, no. The men who subscribe the largest amounts to campaign funds keep the politicians informed of what they are thinking and it doesn't matter particularly what other people think.”

Forceful Character.

"You seem to have had a great many places lately," said the housewife to the prospective cook. “Yet I notice that all your employers give you good references." “Yis, mum,” replied the candidate, as she rolled up her sleeves and showed a brawny arm, “I nearly always leaves wid a good riference.”

A Modern Version.

"Here’s a pretty romance. A millionaire fell in love with a country maid while making an automobile tour, and now they are to be married.” “I suppose she gave the thirsty motorist a drink of water, standing by his car in rustic grace?” “No. She sold him a little gasoline for his auto.”

Faint Praise.

“What did the critics seem to think of Scribson’a latest novel?” "They didn’t seem to think much of it” “No?” "One said it might be a good book to read on a train, if there were plenty of charming scenery to look at along the route.”

Melancholia.

“If I were to offer you a job, what would you think?” asked the practical philanthropist. “Indeed, sir,” replied the mournfullooking tramp, “dere ain’t nothin’ you could say to me dat would add .to de mental depression I’ve been laborin' under fur many years.”

On the Rialto.

• ‘1 know you were married twenty years ago, yet you have the nerve to tel| me that this is your seventh wed* ding anniversary." "I said my seventh wedding, Yorick not anniversary."

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, INP.

HIS OTHER SISTER

By CLARISSA MACKIE.

(Copyright. 1915. by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Jack Tenby came into the dining room waving a telegram at his assembled family. “Guess who is coming tonight," he challenged. “Isabella Drew,’’ hazarded Betty, with sisterly devotion. "Oh, pshaw!" blushed Jack. “I didn't mean Isabella." 4 “Well, she is coming.” went on Betty, smoothly. "Father and mother are going to town on the 8:42 to stay over night and I've telephoned Isabella to spend the night with me there. Tm such a dear, you ought to tell me about your message. Jack!” “It’s from Lance Freeman,’- he replied. "Lance Freeman from Panama?" "Yes. He’s up here on business. He has promised to stay with me,” he added proudly. “I tell you, folks, Lance is a pretty big gun down there on the isthmus, and Betty"—addressing his sister in an offensively patronizing tone—“it’s a good thing you’re not, the paint-and-powder sort of girl —Lance detests the whole tribe.” # "In —d-e-e-d?" drawled Betty, over her toast and tea. "Yes. indeed! He’s terribly fussy about women, you know.” “He must be a detestable paragon himself,” murmured Betty. “Don’t quarrel, children,” chided Mrs. Fenby. “You must do the honors Betty, and, Jack, try to persuade Lance to make our home his headquarters while he is North. I was very fond of his mother.” Mr. Fenby and his wife departed for their train and Jack accompanied them, to spend the day at his office in town. Left to herself, Betty held conference with the cook and then went up to her own room, where she sat down before her dressing table and stared thoughtfully at her charming reflection in the oval mirror. What she saw there must have pleased her capricious fancy, for she smiled and nodded and sparkled at herself. At last,-she changed to a street gown, and walked down to the drug store.

At six o’clock that evening Jack Fenby brought Lance Freeman home. Eliza, the trim parlor maid, wore a stunned look on her round face. "Miss Betty is in the drawing room,” she announced with a toss of her head. Jack ushered his big, bronzed friend from the tropics into the soft lighted room where Betty and Isabella Drew were sitting before the fire. Betty rose and came forward with outstretched hand. She saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man with keen gray eyes that seemed to probe the depths of her heart and soul and come away disappointed, finding evident relief in Isabella Drew’s girlish simplicity. The newcomer’s evident dismay and disapproval of her own charms —a dismay that his straightforward nature could not then conceal —struck a pang to Betty’s heart. Lance Freeman, eagerly anticipating this meeting with the adored sister of his classmate, saw a slender, golden haired girl in a tight-fitting frock, her feet incased in absurdly high-heeled slippers, her golden hair twisted into the latest mode atop her small head, her blue eyes wide and shallow looking in their baby stare, her face carefully powdered and rouged, eyebrows penciled, lips skillfully tinted, pearls in her ears and encircling her white throat. A very much painted and powdered, bepearled, showy and altogether shoddy looking young woman—such was Lance Freeman’s hasty estimate of his friend’s sister. Isabella Drew made a perfect foil for Betty. Jack wondered dazedly if the simplicity of Isabella’s attire was studied and if she was in collusion with his mischievous sister to shock Lance Freeman. "Betty!” he gasped indignantly. "Jack!” she warned, giving Lance a limp hand. “I am so glad to see you at last, Mr. Freeman. Jack has talked a lot about you. “Mother left word that you are to make the Oaks your headquarters while you are North.” "You are all most kind,” murmured Lance, staring at the powdered littl£ beauty, who smiled insipidly. As the two young men dressed for dinner they talked of Lance s life in the Canal zone, of his brilliant prospects for the future, of Jack s first law case, which had been a triumph for the Junior member of his father's firm, and when Lance observed that there was a strong family likeness between Jack and his sister, Jack hastily changed the.subject. • Lance was ready first and he came into Jack’s room and examined the photographs on the mantelpiece. One framed portrait he regarded with narrowed eyes. It was Betty’s latest photograph,, the picture of a charming, merry-eyed girl in a soft, white gown, her simply dressed hair waving away from her broad, low forehead. It was a sweet, thoughtful face, very unlike the painted, shallow countenance of the Betty he had met half an hour ago. “Is this your other sister?" he asked curiously. -You’ve met my only sister," muttered Jack glumly. “Hum!" said Lance perplexedly. Jack glowed resentfully. “And she takes a diabolical delight in turning the tables on a fellow." A queer gleam came into Lance’s eyes, but he made no response.

During the dinner that followed. Jack devoted himself to Isabella and left Lance to Betty’s tender mercies. The man from Panama had to admit that Jack’s sister was clever, even brilliant, in spite of her shallow appearance. and while they conversed, chiefly about life at the Isthmus, to which he was soon to return, Lance was studying Betty closely, trying to trace some likeness to the unaffected girl of the portrait upstairs in Jack’s room. And Betty? Beneath her masquerade of paint and powder and her mother’s pearl necklace, she was raging at herself. Never had she been so attracted to any man as to Lance Freeman, and she read only amused contempt in his steady glance. She had always been used to the unqualified admiration of her brother’s friends, and Lance was his most particular chum. She was ready to cry with vexation when the meal was over. Why, she asked bferself, had Bhe taken it into her silly head to flout a plain man who hated powder and paint on his woman folks? Why blame him because he wanted them to be as fresh and clean skinned as himself—as frank and unassuming as he was? And naturally Betty was all these things herself. Therein lay the tragedy. In the drawing room Isabella played and sang for them, and presently Lance asked Betty to show him Mr. Fenby’s famous collection of orchids. Among the orchids In the conservatory, he told her about the beautiful black orchid which he had seen in one of the jungle swamps of the isthmus and how he could go to the very tree to which the parasitic blossom clung. > “Perhaps your father would like one —I will try to get some and send them up by a trusty messenger,” he offered. Betty agreed that her father would be delighted, and then followed a delightful half hour during which she animatedly told him how her father had acquired many of his specimens, and she displayed such a knowledge of the subject and so entirely forgot the part she was playing that Lance found his heart slipping from his keeping. They were standing near the fountain and Betty was dipping her fingers in the water, where goldfish darted to and fro. Lance regarded her thoughtfully. “I’m wondering why you took the trouble to disguise yourself under the paint and powder of a circus woman,” he remarked curiously. “Sir!” thrilled Betty, trying to wither him with a glance, but crumpling miserably beneath his scorn. She tried to hate him for his brutal frankness, his 4ack of polish. “Please take me back to my brother.” “In a moment,” he agreed gruffly. "I —I was hoping you’d wash your face first!” he blurted out. “Wash my face?" stammered Betty. He nodded and gave her a snowy handkerchief. “Please, do,” he urged, but it sounded like a command, and Betty, having met her master, meekly obeyed. She held a corner of the handkerchief under . the fountain spray and scrubbed the paint and powder from face and lips and brows. When she had emerged, her perfect skin, pink and blooming from the friction, she looked demurely at him. “Well?” she smiled. “And please fluff out your hair the way it is in that lovely picture in Jack’s room. There! You don’t look so confoundedly sophisticated. Thank you, Miss Betty, you are a brick!” he ended enthusiastically, as she removed the earrings. “A brick,” dimpled Betty, as he tucked the damp and smeared handkerchief in his pocket. When they returned to the drawing room Isabella was telling Jack a story that brought reluctant mirth in its train. “Here comes the little imp now," he murmured, as she entered with Lance. “Well, Betty, I’m glad you’ve emerged from your war paint,” he ended in a burst of brotherly frankness. “Where did you raise that black satin horror?” “Cousin Daisy left it here last year; isn’t it awful?” she confided. Hours ljter, in her own room, Betty dropped her newly-purchased rouge pelts into the waste-paper basket. Then she relapsed into dreamy inactivity. "Oh, most adorable of men,” she sighed at last. “I’m so glad you don’t like paint and powder combined with pearls—l detest ’em myself — if I did like them I would —but, no—l shall not tell even you”—nodding at her adorably blushing reflection in the glass — “vjhat I am thinking about now!"

No Self-Starter.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Gadders. Mr. Gadders broke his arm while cranking up our automobile this morning.” “Don’t worry,” said her friend in a soothing tone. “A broken arm is not serious, and Mr. Gadders will soon get well.” “It isn’t that,” wailed Mrs. Gadders. “The news will get into the papers and then everybody will know that our car is not a late model.”

Philosophically Considered.

*1 wouldn't marry yon If yon word the last «"»n on earth!” said the jirL “Well,” replied the young man wno takes everything seriously, “if I. were the last on earth I’d be mourn* ing so many friends and relatives that I don’t suppose I’d feel much Him tavtrig part in a wedding anyhow."

Kin Hubbard Essays

The' Ole-time Father, With His Wife. Would Pick Out His Most Likely Son-in-law an’ Move in on Him an' Loaf Ever Afterward.

FATHER AN’ TH’ GIRLS

By KIN HUBBARD.

In th' gotfd ole days when th’ only avenue open t’ women led t’ th’ altar er th’ eircuA ring a father wuz supposed t‘ feed an’ rig out his daughter till some gay Lothario dropped along an’ took ,th' load off his Bhoulders. Then he’d buy some clothes fer himself an* go on a Niagary Falls excursion once In a while. If he wuz unfortunate enougtk t’ have three, er th regulation full set o’ daughters, his nose wuz kept in close proximity t’ th' grindstone until each had been gathered In an’ made mistress o’ her own establishment. Then in his weakened condition th’ ole-time father, with his ‘ wife, would pick out his most likely son-in-law an’ move in on him an’ loaf ever afterward, passin’ th’ evenin’ o’ hie life pitchin’ hoss shoes between th’ pust office an’ th’ Grand Central huttel, er playin’ dominoes In th’ back end o’ Th’ Pop’lar Shoe Store, where th’ earnin’s o’ his long an’ honorable life had been spent. It wuz no easy task t’ work off a Job lot o’ daughters in th’ days when you couldn’ tell whether a girl weighed eighty pounds er a hundred an’ seventy—’specially if they didn’t have nothin’ back o’ ’em but a perpendicular farm er poor but willin’ parents. Then, too, ther wuz th’ possibility o’ one daughter out o' a possible three cornin’ back on you. Then she, in her damaged condition, had t’ be practically rebuilt an’ thrown back on th’ market. Th’ whole process meant a considerable financial outlay, t’ say nothin’ o’ th’ mental strain.

What I Want t’ Know is, When Do You Expect t' Git on a Payin' Basis?

STARVING AMONG FRIENDS

By KIN HUBBARD.

Once ther wuz a feller named Elmer Peters that tried t’ practice medicine in his ole home town where he had hung wallpaper an’ wuz well liked. He had a framed diplomy, a case o’ shinin’ tools, a blue runabout an’ thin side whiskers. He did not expect t’ do anythin’ th’ first month but git his whiskers in shape an’ pay fer his shingle. He would either write, “Will be back In an hour,’’ on his slate an’ open his muffler an’ exceed th’ speed limit, er retire t* his back room an’ climb in th’ operatin’ chair an’ read up on th’ nasal treatment o’ acute an’ subacute suppuration o’ th’ sinuses. He belonged t’ all th’ lodges an’ civic organizations that wuz goin’ an’ taught a Sunday school class in th’ leadin’ church, an’ he could conceive o’ no contingency that might arise in th’ future bein’ big enough t’ block a career that started out amid sich auspicious surroundin’s. So after a few weeks rolled around anth’ sign painter grew so insultin’ that he had t’ sell his guitar, he come t* th* conclusion that th’ plain people could no longer be depended upon. Then he set about t’ marry th* richest girl to town an’ work up a practice in th’ best homes. Th’ weddin’ wuz a brilliant one. an after th’ flowers had been distributed amongst th’ hospitals an’ th’ presents carefully acknowledged, he went back t’ his office an’ waited. Month after month passed away, an* typhoid fever epidemics came an’ went, prominent ole citizens slipped on th’ ice. er fell down stairs, diphtheria robbed many homes o’ their sunshine an’ happiness an’ indigestion raged uncurbed in th’ fashionable homes o’ th rich, but not a dollar showed up to th’ office o’ Dr. Elmer Peters, th’ ole town boy with lb* framed an’ modern tools.,

But things have changed. Women don’t marry fer homes any more, unless ther In a trance. They git out from under th’ gentle influences o’ th’ home in ther teens an’ go t’ work. A girl that has a job an’ a few wrinkled up paper dollars snugged away under a box o’ combin’s in th’ back lefthand corner o’ th’ top drawer o’ her golden oak dresser can’t see a offer o’ marriage under a microscope t’day, unless ther’s a auto an’ a maid danglin’ from th’ proposition. No close confines o’ th’ kitchen fer Ellyn. No sink full o’ dishes fer Ethyl. She might stand fer th’ care o’ a fern er a goldfish, but she shies an’ runs away at th’ very thought o' beatin’ rugs er whittlin’ p’taters. She’ll hold ont’ her downtown job an' go home when th’ whistle blows an’ eat like a planner mover. She’s got a civil service position at father’s table an’ she buys her own clothes. If she sees a hat she likes she pays on it till it’s hers. Lots o’ times it’s not hers till it’s worn out, but it’s hers eventually an’ father never feels it. An’ anything a modern father don’t feel is all right with him. Jist as soon as a daughter reaches th’ ostrich wreath age an’ feels a longin’ fer a corduroy dress cornin' on, she hunts up th’ help wanted column an’ patient, ploddin’ father never raises a hand, ’cept t’ mark her off th* operatin’ expenses. Women are progressin’. But ther progress, like ever’ other advancement er innovation o’ our day, don’t make things any easier fer mother. Most any mother wants her daughter t’ dress like other girls, but she’s afraid o’ th’ world —she wants t’ keep her at home.

One cold, bleak winter’s day, white Elmer wuz reclinin’ in his operatin’ chair, studyin’ about th’ lymphatic o th’ nose and th’ naso pharynx, he heard footsteps in th’ front office Scarcely believin’ his own ears, he arose hurriedly an’ roachin* an’ runnin’ his fingers thro’ his side burns, he opened th’ door an’ the* stood his father-inland who said graspin’ his cane tightly: “This morn in’ your wife called at our home an we gave her food an’ shelter. She wore a pinched expression, _ a faded wrapper an’ many new an* strange lines in her face. What I want t‘ know is when do you expect t’ git on a parin’ basis?” Elmer said he could not fix any definite date, so his wife’s father told him he would gladly take his daughter back an’ give him some alienation money if he’d promise t’ git killed by th’ cars er go ’way an’ never come back. Elmer, after a slight hesitation, promised, an’ th’ next mornin’ th’ operatin’ chair wuz crated an’ shipped east, an’ th’ office blinds wuz pulled down Once to th’ metropolis. Elmer rentef th* twentieth story o’ a skyscraper atf bought a frock coat an’ a silk hat. an’ had “Ear, Eye, Nose an’ Throat” painted on all o’ th’ hundred an’ forty windows. In a couple o’ years er so, when he could slip out o’ th’ buildin’ fer an hour er two, be married a poor girl an’ lived happily ever afterwards. A feller that’s to need ’mongst friends is to need indeed. (Protected by ' the Adams Newspaper Service.)

Their Fear.

Montague So the Jlmaon girl eloped with young Perkins? Are bei parents much worried? Melissa —Awfully. Every day tber are expecting a letter asking tori