Jasper County Democrat, Volume 20, Number 101, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 March 1918 — Page 8

PAGE EIGHT

NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS ITEMS

POSSUM RUN (Too late for Saturday issue). We had quite a wind storm Saturday. Violet Cover visited over Sunday with her parents. Miss Ada Hahn spent Sunday afternoon with Violet Cover. T. J. Parker called on Mr. and Mrs. James Davis Thursday. Miss Myrtle Parker is on the sick list this week with German (measles. Mike Jungles bought some corn of T. J. Parker and sons Tuesday. William Hurley and T. J. Parker were Gifford goers Sunday afternoon. Charley Parker and Lyde Ward were Renselaer goers Saturday afternoon. Mrs. Jasper Cover and daughter Violet were Rensselaer goers Saturday. Mr. and Mrs. James Davis have moved onto the T. J. Parker farm at Laura. Mr. and Mrs. E. A. Merrill spent Tuesday evening with Mr. and Mrs. T. J. Parktr. Jim Akers is moving into the house on the Marlatt farm where G. H. Comer formerly lived. Orpha and Myrtle Parker and Nile Britt spent Sunday with Mr. and Mrs. Clarence Martin of near Moody.

AN UNHYPHENATED EXIT

(To Patrick O’Brien of Momence, Illinois, aviator in the Canadian air service, whom the German empire was unable to retain after half a dozen Hun airmen had been lost in capturing him.) Shame on ye, Pat O'Brien! ’Twas a mean trick ye did— Ye xyint and left the kaiser flat And divil a wurrud we s’id! ’Twill break O’Leary’s trustin' heart To think a man named Pat Would give a dear old friend of his The Irish, slip like that! We know about vour monkeyshines. Faith, and it’s common chat The rows ye raised among the clouds— • ’Twas mean—’twa s all o’ that! Ye had a hod filled up wid bombs And let. the contints fall. And niver had the sinse to yell, “Look out below!’’ at all. And whin the Germans put ye in That private railroad car Ye didn’t say a wurrud o' thanks— Ungrateful man ye are! For whin the. willin’ porter Took wan minute on his job Ye wint and smashed the windy glass, And out ye wint, be gob! mt i Ye didn’t even stop to tell Von Hindenburg good-by, Or talk on how ye liked the place, An’ this an’ -that, or why The Irish don't appreciate The man lie's workin’ for Ye stuck your dudeen in your phiz And sashayed out the door! i Ye fooled the German soldiers Wid the goose-step, -we suppose, And waved them all a bold salute Wid a hand forninst yer nose, A sausage underneath your arm An’ on your hip a brick— Oh, bucko! ’Twas an Irish And unhyphenated trick! .—Roland Rathbone in the Clinton (Iowa) Herald.

NOTICE TO THE PUBLIC Aa I am In business for myself ■will repair all makes of cars, take care of all batteries and repair all electric systems, solder radiators, etc. If you are in trouble come In and I will straighten you out. Also handle the best storage battery in the country and other auto supplies. Garage opposite D. M. Worland’s furniture store. Telephonei —garage 294, residence 141-White —M. J. KUBOSKE, Prop.

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Through Fire

By John Elkins

•.'.v.;.v.v.v.v.v.v.v./;.X.XvXv!‘!vXv.'vXv.v.v.'.*.v.v.v] (Copyright. 1»17. by W. G. Chapman.) “I ought to have known better than to marry an Englishman! His ways are not my ways. I'm a thoroughbred Yankee of the New England stock, and we don’t pull together.” Helen Birch had grown confidential with her old friend. Grace Mead. She seldom spoke of these things to anyone, but she knew her friend had noticed that the domestic machinery was not running very smoothly, and that relations between husband and wife were not entirely harmonious. It really was a relief to unburden to a real friend the pent up misery of many months. “Well of course," temporized Grace. “I can see that your early training and views of life are different from his. and vice versa. But it seems to me that might be overcome." “Life’s too short for me to begin on the job,” said Helen with an air of finality. “Oh,” put in Grace. “I wouldn't say that!’’ “You would if you were his wife,” retorted Helen. “But you love John, don’t you?” “Yes I did —but it seems to be all killed out now. I can't stand the way he treats me. To begin with he thinks a woman of secondary consideration to the great god man. She's all right to

The Poor Fellow Was Lying Very Quietly.

amuse him when he has nothing of importance to do, or to put ice on his forehead when he has a headache. He never enters into a serious discussion of any matter with her because she hasn’t brains enough to make It worth while.” “If I were you,” said Grace, “I'd wake him up to the fact that it was: ‘worth while.’ ” “Do you know how that works? Get the better of him in an argument, and he smiles in a superior, toplofty way, and says: T never argue with a woman.’ He considers the discussion closed, and that you are reduced to a proper realization of your inferiority. You see he doesn’t play fair when It’s a woman.” “That isn’t exclusively an English trait,” smiled Grace. “No, but you can’t deny that it’s bred In the bone with them. Besides they’ll see a woman in the absence of

a servant slave herself to death In the. kitchen before they’d demean them- j selves by picking up a broom, or taking a hand with the dishes.” “Oh.” protested Grace, “my father was English, and he wasn’t like that!” “Well John is. I’ve been without a maid here sometimes, and just ready to drop, and lie’s never offered to do a thing. Once when he’d brought a man up to dine, and I’d had to get the dinner, and do it all, I went out in the kitchen after the company was gone, and started to clear away the debris, and wash that pile of dishes. I was so tired, I took a sudden resolve, and went to the door, and called him. and told him I wanted him to help. He stood in the doorway and looked helpless. ‘My dear,’ he said. ‘I never washed a dish in my life. I’d be a first class bull in a china shop. There wouldn't be a plate left. them. and get someone in tomorrow to wash up.” “You know I can't do that.” I said. He walked away, and left me to do it alone. • • “Afterwards I said.to him: ‘lf ever I have a son, he’ll be taught just like a girl to help his mother out in a case of emergency. He’ll know how to wash dishes without breaking them, and sweep the kitchen if he has to. He’s not going to sit and kick his heels while he watches his mother or sister do all the work.’ John looked at me with that frozen dignity that always rouses my wrath, and said : ‘My mother never allowed me or my brother in the kitchen. She said that was not a man’s place. I remember once when the servants had left, and she was working very hard, I asked if I might help. I also remember the reprimand I received for suggesting such a thing.

She said she wanted her boys to grow up manly. She didn’t want any mollycoddles around her. Besides I would only bother her with trying to help, and she was quite capable of managing the domestic department.’ ” “There you see It was the mother’s fault!” exclaimed Grace. “Yes —but they’re all alike, those English mothers. They were born with the Idea that the boys must have the ! best of everything, and the girls can take what’s left. Oh It’s a man’s world over there In that little island, all right 1” “Did you impart these views to John?” enquired Grace. “You better believe I did. But when I touched on the mother’s fault, he fired up like at gatling gun, rallied to the defense of his mother, and shot off such a broadside at the American parent that I lined up in battle, and well that came near being the worst quarrel we ever had.

Grace looked sadly sympathetic. She could see the fine, sterling qualities In both Helen and John. She believed they really loved each other, and here were these little differences of nationality and training driving them apart, and making a wreck of their happiness. They were both strong characters as far as forming standards and standing by them went. They were not easily swerved from that which they believed right or Just. It seemed useless to try to counsel Helen to ignore or let pass the biased or unpalatable ideas of'John for the sake of the larger, finer qualities he possessed. And as for John, she felt he would resent all Interference of hep's. So the pair were left* to drift on to the final break. It came some six months afterward. Helen took the Initiative, and John Birch went to England ostensibly on business, but really to make the separation cause no gossip, until they coqld at least settle on the question of la divorce. . ■■ L After he sailed Helen heard no further news of him. A certain allowance was paid her every month by the attorney, and she asked no questions. Then came the awful news that August day when the air was rent by shot and shell, and a peaceful land met the horrors of an invading host. Helen, lonely, restless, and unhappy seized anything that offered the opportunity of change, and the prospect of doing something of account. She went into training for a nurse, and when fitted for the position sailed for the service. An extract from a letter of her’s to her friend Grace gave some inkling of the change going on in her mind. “How this war has changed everything,” she wrote. Little barriers of prejudice are

broken down. Every one is more tolerant of the other fellow’s views. Every one Is kinder to the stranger. Perhaps because the common cause in which they are working makes brothers of them all. The woman too is coming into her own. The men have had to realize her tremendous importance in this struggle. These English women are splendid. And I must add the English men too. Such a quiet, cheerful facing of the inevitable is a thing too big for words. lam going to France tomorrow.” I What followed Is perhaps more quickly told gleaned from the facts afterwards confided to Grace Mead. Some badly wounded men had been brought in during the night, Helen found when she went to her post at the hospital in the morning. She paused to settle more comfortably the head of a man whose face was almost entirely hidden with bandages. They feared he might lose his eyesight, and she was warned to be especially careful to keep the dressing in place about the eyes. The poor fellow was lying very quietly just then under the influence of nn opiate. But after a time he began to murmur brokenly that he wanted to write a letter. Helen told him she was there to do It for him. “You see,” he said, “she doesn’t know where I am. But I want her to know. I — l wish I could tell her —tell her — I know better now. Maybe we could get on together now. I’ve been thinking—thinking we might. Maybe m never see her again. Maybe she’ll never know —I wish she could.” I The voice trailed ofT into an Indistinct murmur. Helen wanted to ask him who this was to go to, but he lay !as one dead. Suppose he should die before she could find out, and this j woman would never know! She ran for a stimulant to rouse him. As she i bent over him with the glass he moved. I His hand came out from under the bed- , clothes. j Then the woman knew. She caught I at the hand, and covered it with kisses. But she feared to reveal herself to him In his weak state, lest the excitement would be too mnch for the shattered nerves. Some of the nurses wondered a bit at her devotion to this particular patient, but she only left him to snatch a few minutes’ sleep day after day. In ■ hours of delirium he babbled the old days when he “didn’t know,” and called on “Helen,” telling her he wanted her. I Her heart gave a great throb when ' one day the surgeon told her he was ! on the mend. They believed too he would not lose his sight, and were going that day to take off the bandages for a trial. Just before this was to be done, she said to him: “John, dear! don’t you know my voice?” I “Helen! Oh thank God! When I thought it was you, I believed I was dreaming!” j “No. dear, it was I all the time! Put your hand on my hair—then you will 1 know.” | She loosened the nurse’s cap, and j put her head down on his breast. She jfeit his trembling hand gently strok- ; ing her hair. She felt too how he drew I a strand to his lips, and kissed it many (times. “I hope they will let me see you first lof all,” be -aid.

THE TWICE-A-WEEK DEMOCRAT

MR. SIMPKINS PAYS HIS INCOME TAX

Mr. Simpkins gazed at the portrait on the wall till his eyes filled with tears. It was a portrait of his father, Colonel Simpkins, who had four times been promoted for valor during the Civil War and had died bravely on the field of action. Mr. Simpkins’ throat ached now for two reasons: First, he reverenced and adored the memory of his father; secondly, his age and his eyes and his game leg wouldn’t let him go to war himself. And as he observed the martial bearing and uncompromising gaze of Colonel Simpkins he saw. In Imagination, the khaki-clad lnds of the new generation marching forth and crossing three thousand miles of sea to fight, maybe die, for liberty. Mr. Simpkins peered around to make sure that neither Bess nor John (who were at the teasing ages of sixteen and seventeen) were where they could see him, then he straightened and threw his right arm up for a salute. But his gouty shoulder twinged, and he groaned. He couldn’t even salute. “Damn!’’ said Mr. Simpkins, and with his other hand fiercely twirled his white mustachlos. He turned and limped Into the library and sat crenkily before the mahogany desk on which were lying the blanks for his income tax statement, blanks which he had rather grumpily got from the Internal Revenue officer only that day after lunch-

eon on his way home from the club. Mr. Simpkins’ Income for 1917 had amounted to Just about $15,000, and he had been rather snappy on the subject of taxes ever since he had discovered that the more income a man has the greater the percentage of it he pays in taxes. He could think of several men who, like himself, were married and had two children, and yet, although their Incomes were nearly half of his, they would pay only a small fraction of the amount he paid. He gloomily drew the blank nearer and began filling in the Information that it asked for. As Mr. Simpkins’ Income was $15,000 he had to figure out the amounts payqjde on each of the successive smaller classes of Incomes in order to arrive at the total due from himself. He passed over the first class who must pay taxes, that Is, single men making over 1,000. His calculation for married men then showed up as follows: First, they pay 2 per cent, (under the 1916 law) on all Income over $4,000, deducting S2OO for each of their children under eighteen years. In Mr. Simpkins’ case tills was $212, which he put down in the “payable” column. He saw next that, under the 1917 law, married men pay an additional 2 per ceLt. on all over $2,000 —with the same allowance for children. This added $252 to his “payable” column. He then observed that for every $2,500 jump in his income over $5,000 he had to pay a Surtax, the percentage growing larger with each jump. This was $250 more added to his burden. And on top of all this came an “Excess Profits” tax of 8 per cent, on all “occupation” income over $6,000, making $720 more. The total, then, he must pay was fourteen hundred and thirty-four dollars. “Whew!” exclaimed Mr. Simpkins angrily. “There’s young Henry Wilkins, who married Jake Johnson’s girl, he makes $2,000 and he doesn’t pay a cent of taxes. I guess this is his war as well as mine!” | Thinking of young Henry Wilkins,

he remembered that Mrs. Wilkins went every afternoon to make bandages for the Red Cross and that Henry, who was a lawyer, was aiding the Local Draft Board with its questionnaires. "Well,” he admitted to himself, “that makes a difference.” He thought next of Judge Willoughby, whose income was about $3,000. “He only pays $20,” commented Mr. Simpkins, not quite so angrily this time; and then a thought struck him and he sat up rigidly in his chair. Judge Willoughby’s son had been drowned on the Tuscania when it was submarined with the loss of two hundred Soldiers. “Judge Willoughby gave his son to America,” muttered Mr. Simpkins. He leaned forward suddenly and put his face in his hands. For a long time Mr. Simpkins sat very still In that position. There was no sound in the library except the ticking of the tall clock and an occasional trill of laughter from the children skylarking upstairs. The square of light on the carpet gradually withdrew itself through the window, and first twilight and then darkness settled in about the quiet, white haired, sometimes irascible old man. Mr. Simpkins was thinking things which he would never afterward speak of, he was thinking things that were too sacred ever to be put into words. But some inkling of his thoughts may be found in V his rejoinder to Mrs. Simpkins when that placid lady came in and turned on the lights, and asked him whether he was ready for dinner. “Judge Willoughby’s only son was worth as much as fourteen hundred and thirty-four dollars, wasn’t he?” Mr. Simpkins demanded of her. As his wife, who was not unused to his superficial irritations, vatclied him in mild astonishment, Mr. Simpkins limped out to the hall and took his old felt hat and silver-headed cane from the hat rack. Letting himself out into the foggy evening, he tapped his way down to the corner, and mailed his income tax statement and check with his own hands. “Now, God be thanked,” said Mr. Simpkins as the lid clanked shut over his,.missive, “I can do this much tor my country, anyhow.”

By ROBERT McBLAIR.

save 1c/ye more corn 2- . „ use moreftsh d beans 3use Just enough 4~ su£ar U use syrups and serve the cause of freedom U. S. FOOD. ADM INI STRATI ON

UNITED STATES BATTLESHIP WISCONSIN

Oyster's Grip of Death. Some interesting and curious stories are told of the way in which the oyster is capable of gripping and holding anything it gets between its shells. One writer says that on one occasion a dish of oysters was placed in the cel-' lar of an inn at Ashburton, England. One of the oysters soon opened its shell, and it was pounced upon by three mice who were at once crushed to death by the shell closing upon them. At another time a fox thrust his mouth Into a very large mussel which closed upon him and held him fast until he was drowned by the rising tide. Do you use the want ad. columni of The Democrat? If not, try an ad.

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WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20, 1918

WHERE THE ROADS? Hordes of autos now remind us We should build our roads to stay. When departing leave behind us Kind that rains don’t wash away. When our children pay the mortgage Fathers made to haul their loads. They’ll not have to ask the question. “Here’s the bonds, but where the roads.’’ —Buffalo Times. The Democrat will print yon up a bunch of such stationery In any quantity desired and for about the same price you pay for blank paper elsewhere. *f