Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 64, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 March 1916 — Kin Hubbard Essays [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Kin Hubbard Essays

SHORT FURROWS

By KIN HUBBARD.

“Th’ girl o’A-day that can’t play five hundred er bridge might jist as well take th* veil,” said Mrs. Tilford Moots, -yisterday afternoon, while addressin’ a stragglin’ remnant o’ th’ Home Cui* ture Club. “Th* lust fer gamblin’ 'mongst our mothers an* girls will undermine th’ nation if somethin' haint done t’ curb It Women used t* beg fer pin money. Now it’s prize money. What time has th’ modern mother got t’ study cow stable sanitation er fight th’ enslavement o’ children tn crowded sweat shops? What time has th’ modern woman got t’ cook an* sweep an* train mornin* glories an’ make th* home attractive? How long will a home endure where th’ mother slaps a pot full o’ hash in th* fireless cooker at eight o’clock in th* mornin* an’ lets it simmer till dark* while she rushes off t* th’ card table? Women ’ll vote some day. It’s cornin’ jist as sure as Uncle Tom’s

Cabin er East Lynne, but it’ll be eventually, an’ not until they’ve proven ther willin’ness t’ buy ther stockin’s instead o’ gamblin’ fer ’em. ‘Tm reliably informed that th’ conditions that exist among our thirty er forty card clubs would make th’ ole time steamboat gambler hide his head in shame. Ther’s no pretense at honesty—it’s jist a survival o’ th’ slickest. All sorts o’ tricks are played t’ divert a pair o* silk stockln’s from th’ rightful channels. Th’ castin* o’ signals is carried on openly an’ brazin’ly. Innocent doll faced women an’ girls have secret codes which make it impossible fer th' uninitiated t’ win any hose. Fer Instance, th’ liftin’ o’ th’ right index finger t’ th’ nostril means t' play clubs, innocently fumblin’ a mole on th* chin means t’ play diamonds, while a burst o' careless laughter is a signal t’ lead hearts. If th’ afternoon Is wanin’ an’ th* hostess sees that th’ fine mahogany

candlesticks are liable t' be won by somebuddy she bates she playfully switches th’ prizes an’ substitutes at pair o’ tan lisle center aisle hose. C don’t mean t* say all women play unfair, neither do they win. "Thousands o’ women an’ girls are enslaved t’day gamblin’ fer silk stockin’s. In clubs where th’ members are stocked up they play ter money, an' th* gamblin’ goes on under th’ ole title o* recreation. Only yisterday 1 seen a mere slip o’ a girl (chickens they call ’em) run up t’ her mother an’ throw Kerarmsabduiher ptte* ously, ‘Oh, mamma, th’ cards wuz agin* me an’ I’m nearly out o’ stockin’a* Th' parent soothed her kindly an’ with a sWeet motherly expression on her face replied, "There, there, darling, don’S cry, 1 know how you feel, but you may! have better luck t’morrow.’ “An* all th’ while our cow pens an' market houses are becomln’ more un>

sanitary an’ our mothers' clubs continue in a state o’ pathetic inactivity. Our mantle shelves groan beneath th* weight o’ useless cut glass an’ German silver an’ majolica prizes, an* our chiffonieres are fairly burstin' with silk hose while our ice boxes are filled with , canned soups. "I finessed all afternoon an' lost ever* time an* I jist haven't th’ heart to’ go ahead with supper, dear,' a woman’ll say, handin’ her husband a can opener an’ throwin’ herself wearily int’ a chair. 'Talk about your luck. I bridged an* had a Chicane in hearts an’ cut fer th’ crocheted towels an' won,-dear,’ a young wife’ll say, as she warms th* breakfast coffee an' throws a cold tongue on th’ table. "Th’ world t’day is sighin fer th’ old fashioned mother that didn’t know a deuce from a five-spot an’ who played croquet fer th’ love o’ th’ sport.”

“I Finessed Ail Afternoon an’ Lost Ever* Time an’ I Jest Haven’t th’ Heart t* Go Ahead With Supper, Dear,” a Woman ’ll Say, Handin’ Her Husband • Can Opener an’ Throwin’ Herself Wearily Int’ a Chair.