Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 189, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 August 1918 — Getting Out of It [ARTICLE]

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!” «