Jasper County Democrat, Volume 20, Number 101, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 March 1918 — MR. SIMPKINS PAYS HIS INCOME TAX [ARTICLE]

MR. SIMPKINS PAYS HIS INCOME TAX

By ROBERT McBLAIR.

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.”