Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 189, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 August 1918 — Page 2

Getting Out of It

By DON LA GRANGE

tCopyright, 1918, toy the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) . _ Deacon Strothers and his wife ■were eating supper when she said to him across the table: “Moses, if I should die, would you marry again?” “Bless roe, but what a question," he replied as he choked. “But I should like to know.” “It ain’t likely that I would.” “You believe I’ll go to heaven when I die, don’t you?” “Straight as a crow flies.” “And how’d I feel lookin’ down from heaven and seein* you around with another “But the angels in heaven can’t look down on earth.” “It is said they can’t, but how does anybody know they ean’t?” “These are nice mashed taters,” said the deacon as he helped himself to some more. His wife was a Christian woman, and a church member, but nevertheless there were times when she wanted to know, you know, and he .ound it safer to choke her off than argue with her. He was hoping he had in this case when she said: “Yes, I’ve got a knack of mashin’ tcters, and you’ll miss me when I’m gone. How about my question, Moses?” “You’ll probably outlive me ten years.” “I probably won’t, and I want to know If j'ou will marry again?” “No, sir, I shouldn’t!” The deacon was vexed with her persistency, and he brought out his answer with an emphasis. “All right,” began the wife and began talking of something else. Next day she and another woman were drowned by the upsetting of a boat on the river. The deacon, who was over fifty, was overwhelmed for a time, but gradually his grief wore away and he was like himself again. It Is not contended that he was an absent-minded man, but It is stated, and it Is quite reasonable, that after the first month the deacon did not think of that promise again for four years. Then it came like a knockout blow. Bit by bit he had come to be friends with the Widow Stevens. He had sat on her doorstep; he had sat by her fire; he had hoed In her garden; he had split wood for her cookstove. Aye, he had called her Sarah, and she had called him Moses. One evening he had had a; talk with , himself beginning with: “By the great horn spoons, but that wldder can make a custard fit for a king!” And then: “Deacon, you have been a widower for four years-—for four Jong years. You have been sad and lonely. It has come mighty hard.” And again: “There’s folks winkin’ and blinkin’ around and sayin’ that me an J the wldder will make a match of it, but let ’em wihk and blink. It hain’t none of their pesky business, and I have told ’em so.” Then with a chuckle: “It wouldn’t be a bad match for either one of us. Home is wher? the husband and wife is, and we’ve neither one of us got a home ’cordin’ to that, wonder If I had better hint around?” Three minutes elapsed and then the deacon brought his fist down and exclaimed : “Hint? Hint? No, I won’t hint a hint! Til just ask her outright!” And he was going over in his mind what he would say when a thought struck him and he fairly leaped from his chair and gasped out : “My promise to my wife that I wouldn’t marry again!” For five minutes Deacon Strothers was as weak in the knees as if he had seen a ghost. He had promised, and that promise was like a wall across his future path. “What dll Martha ever pester me into making that promise for?” he asked himself. “It wasn’t right—no, It wasn’t. Did I ask her not to marry again In case I died first? No, of course I didn’t. I jest left it to her feelings in the matter." I Was there any way out of it? Couldn’t that promise be dodged? -

It was an hour after the deacon’s usual bedtime, but he was still as lively as a fox. He went over the matter for ten minutes, and then said: r-“ Why <}id I promise? Because Martha In tlie best of health, and appeared good for fifteen years yet. Did she give me the slightest hint that she was goln’ to be silly enough to get into a boat the next day? No, she didn’t. Did she say she might get drowned? Not a word. Wouldn’t a court hold that It was deception, and that I wasn’t bound by my promise? When Jabez Reed sold me a cow for thirty dollars and never said a word about her jumpin’ fences, didn’t the court make him take her back? It said he suppressed a fact. Didn’t Martha do the same?” The deacon went to bed feeling better, but when he awoke next morning his conscience began to trouble him “By heck, but sunthin’ has got to be did!” he exclaimed over his breakfast; and soon as the meal was finished he clapped on his hat and went out to look up Robert Roebuck. Mr. Roebuck was known as a very pious. God-fearing man, and be would •M* both kldes of the case and render a fair decision. He was given the

i facts, and, after chewing on them for ■ five minutes he said: v “Deacon, you was a fool for n&kln’ such a promise.” "I know I was.” “My old woman has asked me more’n fort£ times to promise the same thing, but I never have done It and never will.” “But I wish I hadn’t.” “But you did, SRIJ now we must ! see how you can ge‘t out Of it. WaS your wife ever in e boat till that ilay?” “Never.” “Was there any call for her to go on the river?” “Not ri call.” - “Which of the women suggested that they take the boat?” “My wife?’ “Deacon Strothers, If that don’t come under the head of conspiracy, then my old white cow Is a red one! If anyone conspires to force a promise out of another then that promise won’t hold.” ' “I believe you are right. Mr. Roebuck," replied the deacon with relief In his voice. “Of course I am. An agreement that benefits only one side ddes not hold. Did your wife speak up and say that she would not marry again if you died first?” “She did not!” "Well, there you are, as free as a bird, though you’d better go to the parson and see what he thinks about it. He may hold sentimental views.” The deacon walked over to the parsonage, and not wishing to be too brusque, he began: • “Parson, do you hold that an angel in heaven cab*see what Is going on here below?” “If they could they wouldn’t be angels very long,” was the grim reply. “Did you ever preach that they could?” “Not that I remember of. Heaven Is a long way off, deacon.” “My wife kinder believed that after she got to heaven she could see what was takin’ place down here.” The parson was silent. “She wanted me to promise not to marry again in case she died, because if she looked down and saw me with a second wife it would make her feel bad; . “If anything could make the angels feel bad In heaven, It would not be heaven, would It?’ “By George, parson, It wouldn’t! Martha was mistaken about It. If I was to marry half a dozen times over she couldn’t know anything about it.” “But did she ask you to promise?” queried the parson. “Yes, she kinder asked me.” “And you promised?” “Yes, I kinder promised, but it was because I did not want her to feel bad as an angel. Now that you say she couldn’t feel bad if she tried her hardest, I guess that promise needn’t bother me much.” “But look out next time, deacon.” "Yes—ahem—yes!” “It’s the Widow Stephens, I suppose?” “Yes, kinder.” . “Throw out any hints yet?” • “A dozen. I guess.” “You may find that she made a promise to her dying husband.” “Jewhtttaker! I’ll see about that the first thing!” It was a new scare for the deacon, and he made the two blocks to the widow’s house on the trot. He found her in the garden coaxing the pea vines to climb their best, and he didn’t wait a minute before asking: “Wldder Stevens, did your husband expect to go to heaven when he died?” “I don’t see how he could. He was a man that cussed and gambled and drank.” “Did he ask you to promise not to marry again?” “No. he didn’t, and If he had I should have told him that that was my own business. Why are you asking these questions?” “Wldder. hain’t I been a good man at the woodpile?” “Fine.”’ “And a good one in the garden?” “Sure.” “And hain’t I lonely and you lonely?” “We are.” “Then —then let’s get married!” “La me! Bring on the parson and have it over with and off our hands, for them string beans have got to be poled afore sundown!” «

Water Damage to Flour.

It is a well-known fact among sailors that flour will not only float after immersion in sea water, but suffers very little damage. To ascertain the actual damage, says the Northwestern Miller, a baker in New Souty Wales submerged a bag of flour in the ocean and left it in the water 67 hours. A 98-ponnd weight was necessary to sink a 150-pound bag, which would have supported 75 pounds on top of the water, it is estimated, or half its own weight. When lifted and weighed the bag scaled 155 pounds. It was dried for four days and yielded 120 pounds of perfectly dry flour, the bag and waste weighing 28 pounds. Baked into bread, it gave perfect results.

Badly Cut Up.

“I saw our old friend Meekby today. Poor fellow, he semed considerably cut up about something.” “No wonder; he has been married 20 years to a woman with a sharp tongue.”

Otters Catch Fish.

The Chinese fisherman relieves himself of a lot of hard work by training otters to catch fish.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENS.SELAER. IND.

Best Gowns Are Still in Favor

New York. —It is impossible to avoid bitter discussion on the question of entertaining our soldiers and sailors. As this struggle progresses, writes a fashion correspondent, it may be that the entire social fabric will cease to rend itself apart with personal and national arguments for and against people, in and out of power, institutions for the good of the cause, and the various phases of money expenditure that have arisen in the last year. « Anyone who goes about in various sectors of soclety-=-«nd by that is meant the grouping of people for all purposes, not alone gayety—begins to feel that the hate which Is engendered on the battlefield has Its reflection in the minds of those w’ho are not in the struggle, except on the side-lines. A Civil war veteran says that this pitching of women into the public arena, with its alleged bad effect on their tempers and temperaments, has nothing to do with the situation; that the Civil war engendered the same kind of personal animosities. Yet the Civil war—with all its tragedy, hate, death and sacrifice, which necessarily affected the personal lives of everyone In America more than this war has done —did not throw women together in groups of thousands. Is.it odd, therefore, in this rather malevolent turn which emotions have taken- during a year of war, that the question of entertaining our soldiers should be thrown Into the arena of argument? Reason for Brilliant Costumery. Now we come to the question of fashions. It is not possible to separate clothes from this peculiar and emphatic situation which has arlsefi through the conviction that the fighters must be entertained, going and coming. Whatever the government has asked women to do in the way of clothes they have done gladly, but that does not keep them from dressing well every day and night as they pass to and from one entertainment to another. These gowns are far from expensive in the mass. Of course, the Individual who has money continues to spend it in going to her own dressmaker and paying well for excellent cloth, good fitting and perfect finish; but the average woman, even though she have money, has begun to fintkout all kinds of places where smart-looking clothes may be bought for small prices. They are also turning out a good deal of work In their own sewing rooms, after the fashion of 25 years ago. By the way, one of the striking phases of this war is that women boast of the cheapness of their clothes, and regale each other with the method of making old ■clothes into new, and the small shop -where you can get something that looks like France for sl9. Many of them have also quickly adopted the government’s “inside-out”

Frock by Paquin, showing a tunic with a military sash. It Is a part of a navy blue serge frock, and It fastens on the right shoulder. Buttons and buttonholes are of old-blue silk. The sash Is of apple-green silk, and the tassels are arranged as bags.

suggestion. It is not unusual to see a woman holding up the tunic or panel of her skirt in the middle of Main street, as she greets friend, saying, “Here’s my ‘inside-out* gown; how goes it?” Women confidentially whisper to each other at committee meetings about the secret little Paris dressmaker who is used to the economical tricks of the French dressmakers in turning and twisting to save money—-

and these addresses are' only exchanged as a great privilege. - All of which is exceedingly good for the nation as a mass. As for the highpriced dressmakers, they have their own clientele who will probably never leave them, so they do not worry. As they say, there are always enough women in the world who must have

A mustard gown Is better than mustard gas, and the suit by Paquin in this color Is a departure from the conventional coat and skirt. There is a Medici collar, a black satin cravat and a narrow belt of the material which ties In back.

individual fittings, which require expert workers. So everyone is satisfied, economically and commercially. New Clothes That Paris Sends. Now, of one thing be very certain: that while the French do not entertain the French poilu, they are mostexcited about the Anglo-Saxon idea. The result is an inrush of gowns to this country during the last few weeks, and these are sent over in order to allure those who are dancing and dining the fighters. The gowns are expensive, but they will be speedily copied by the Inexpensive shops, and so ’Arriet, who goes out to an entertainment with ’Arry, will have the chance to buy for eight dollars and a half a copy of the French gown that cost S3OO. That is the happiness found in treading the sartorial path in America. It is good to get these advance things from Paris. They foreshadow what is to be shown to American buyers. If they are honest forerunners of our early autumn costumery, then Paris has not created a revolution in the silhouette, as was persistently rumored during the month of June. The| salient points of these new clothes are slenderness, shortness of skirts, an attempt to revive the minaret of Paul Poiret fame, an insistence upon sashes arranged in army fashion, a repetition of beige, mustard and tan colorings,and the introduction of broadcloth. Floating panels, which have for six months dotted the entire surface of clothes in America, have been abolished, if we judge by these forerunners. There afe capes on evening gowns which are made in the most brilliant! fairy-tale manner, reminiscent of the extravaganzas in the old days at the Drury Lane theater in London. There are no high collars. The I taiian decolletage is retained. The severe neck line, without a line of white, remains a the fashions. Medieval Still in Fashion. There has been no disposition on the part of the French designers to lift the tunic out of its popular position in apparel. They do not insist upon it in its genuine Slavic style, but they use it as a model for much that is done in the way of over-drapery. There are tunics that are cut to a deep point at each side and are noth* Ing but side pieces over a long embroidered cuirass that reaches nearly to the knees of a dark skirt. _ (Copyright, 1918, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)

Military Capes Worn.

Capes on military lines developed in dark blue lined with brilliant red and trimmed with gold buttons are being worn Very advantageously by. young women. 7

LAND OF QUAINT BELIEFS

Superstitions Rife In England's Black Country Are Among the Strangest Put on Record. Taking into consideration the fact that it is a typical Industrial area, it Is strange that the Black country should be such a hotbed of superstition. A dog. howling in front of a house In the night Is a sure sign of the approaching death of one of the household. The dog, however, must howl In the front and not at, the back of the house. A marble rolling down the stairs means that one of the children Is bound to die. When' baking was invariably done at home there was the superstition that if the top of th,e loaf came off in the oven death would soon overtake some member of the family. A Black country miner is full of superstitions. If he dreams of fire or meets on going to work a cross-eyed woman or a wooden-legged man he will not descend the mine. Something Is sure to happen If he does —at least, he thinks so. The strangest of all superstitions, however, is associated with common or garden parsley. There Is nothing wrong about sowing the seed and raising the herb, but it must not be transplanted. Most terrible things are bound to happen If this Is done! —London Mail.

FINDING PLEASURE IN WORK

Quite Possible for Anyone to Get All Needed Amusement From EveryDay Occupation. Of course we are entitled to ft And we should take great pains to secure the fullest measure of it. So much may be taken for granted; the Important question is, when and where shall we find pleasure? Sir Walter Bagehot gave his opinion that “Business is so much more amusing than pleasure.” I suppose he meant that a man who is In love with his work will get more real “fun” out of It than was ever gathered In so-called “places of amusement.” Many of our pleasures do little more for us than kill time. They do not kill care, for It comes back again the next morning. He is a wise man who more and more learns to get his amusement out of the serious work he is doing. Then if he takes an occasional hour or day for sport or the “passing show,” he will come back to his real task In life to find his real entertainment. The other day I heard a scrub-woman singing at her work. I prefer to think that she sang because she was having a good time. At any rate, what finer art than that of having a good time in the thing which one has to do? Immensely wiser and more profoundly philosophical than the practice of planning for the good time afterward.—George Clarke Peck.

Would Take the Job.

Into the office of the Wall Street Journal there ventured a small boy, awed by the great adventure of getting his first job. Timidly he approached an editor and explained what he wanted. “Hm,” quoth the veteran to the would-be recruit, “It’s too bad, but there are no vacancies now, unless you would like to be managing editor. How about that?” The youngster began to back away. “Oh,” he gasped, “I wouldn’t like that at all.” Yesterday he came back, with desperation In his eye, and marched up to the veteran. “I’ve changed my mind,” he announced. “When do I start in ?’

Nature Not to Be Thwarted.

About 200 years ago the Dutch destroyed every nutmeg tree In the Moluccas, and planted the trees In their own possessions, so that they might have a monopoly of the trade. Despite this action, however, the Islands were constantly being restocked. For a long time the thing was a mystery, but finally it was solved. The doves of that region are of large size and readily swallow , the seeds of the nutmeg tree. They traverse wide stretches of sea and land in a few hours, and they deposit the seeds, not only uninjured, but better suited for germination by the heat and moisture of the bird’s system.

Mutual Introductions.

The man who had made his pile was at last happy. He had managed to squeeze himself Into a very exclusive golf club. On his first visit he looked around for a possible • partner at a game, and approached a stout gentleman, whose deportment suggested social standing. “Certainly, sir,” replied the latter, in answer to the newcomer’s invitation. Then, as they approached the first tee, he went on: “By the way, I’m a four man. What are you?” The novice was startled, but after a minute’s consideration, he said: “Foreman, are ye? Well, I’m a straw ’at manufacturer.”

Oxide of Iron.

Oxide of iron, explained in simplest terms, is a combination of Iron.and the gas, oxygen. The rust that gathers on a piece of iron exposed for a length of time to the air is a form of oxide of iron. Iron is seldom found in a pure state. The iron ores taken from mines are ferrous compounds, that is, iron combined with other elements —with oxygen, sulphur, phosphorus, etc. In the manufacture of iron from the ore. these substances have to be got rid of. If iron ore contains a high percentage of iron, it is valuable.

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The Poor White.

A congressman praising America’s marvelous war production, said the other day: - “Our war work is going to be so splendid that it will make other countries seem like poor whites beside us. “You know the poor white story? It’s a story about a man In a Mississippi village who squatted down on his porch—at seven o’clock in the morning and sat hour after hour motionless except for the steady movement of his jaws chewing niggerhead. “Finally his wife came to the door and said in a despairing kind of voice: “‘Ain’t ye goin’ to work today?’ “‘Nope,’ said the man. “‘Why not?’ she whined. “‘Ain’t got time.’”

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The Time.

“And do you raise your voice in* prayer every day?” asked the pious old lady of the applicant for the job of cook. “No’m; every night, but we can probably arrange our hours so they won’t interfere.”

The Reason Why.

“Cblmmie, yer got one stockin’ on inside out.” *. “I know it Dere was a hole on de outside."

The Diagnosis.

“Hasn’t the patient a decidedly developed case of egoism?" “No; just plain, ordinary fits.”

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