People's Pilot, Volume 5, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 September 1895 — SUBURBAN TRIALS. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

SUBURBAN TRIALS.

J T ISN’T BECAUSE •JgL; I ain tired of our jal flat that I want to WEr live in the suburbs, •Jg but the doctor says > we both need change,” concluded Mrs. Perry Thorne, who was making her first plea for country life. “I agree with the

doctor that we need change of one sort, at least.” answered her husband. "Don't be flippant, dear. I am in dead earnest; and oh, Perry, I know of such a dear cottage, one of a row.” "I dislike rows,” said Perry. “However, if you are determined to be a suburbanite, and with the suburbanite stand, I may as well agree to go. I will at once take lessons on the Hying trapeze, so that I may sometimes be able to catch a train. Have you caught your house yet. Maud?” "Oh, yes. Mrs. Sinead has one in the same row, and she told me about ours. It is the southwest corner house, while hers is the southeast. Isn’t it strange, Perry, that I have never been introduced to Mr. Smead? I wouldn’t believe there was any such person If I had not seen him.” “Nothing strange about it,” growled Perry, in what his wife called his “bulldog” voice. “I suppose you want to know him because he haA the reputation of being a lady-killer.” “Perry!” “I am told by fellows we both know that he prides himself on his beauty.” “I hate beauty-men,” said Maud soothingly, “they are all vain, conceited creatures. I would never marry a handsome man.” Perry mumbled something and went away, first giving his wife permission to do as she pleased about taking the suburban house.

****** A week later both families were settled in the row which fronted a street and a railroad track, and was equidistant from two depots. Mr. Smead did not take as kindly to the change as Pery Thorne did, but he told his wife, thoughtlessly, that one good feature of suburban life was having the Thornes for neighbors. “Where v have you ever met Mrs. Thorne?” asked his wife suspiciously. “Don't know her from Adam, my dear; but isn’t she your friend, and haven’t I heard her praises sung ever since we were married?” “H’m! We have calling acquaintance, and now that we are to be neighbors I suppose you will meet. But you are so susceptible and she is so giddy I just know you will set people talking.” “Great Caesar, Laura, you give your best friend a great send-off! I susceptible and she giddy! We must be made for each other!” Mrs. Smead looked volumes at her handsome husband. A great throng of peole were hurrying homeward, and all bore the happy burdens of Saturday night—new shoes for the feet of the little burden-bearers, a new bonnet for mother, the Sunday dinner—and among them Perry Thorne

and Amos Smead, who had struck up a neighborly acquaintance and were now hastening to the same train, going out to their suburban homes for their first Sabbath. They were both laden to the ears with brown paper packages and just time to make the train after purchasing their commutation tickets. They went lopping through the gates in approved suburban style and caught on just as the train moved out, and then Perry shouted in a voice that sounded above the roar of the escaping steam: “We’ve left our Sunday dinners on the window stand of the ticket office. You go on, Smead and I’ll take the next train out.” He swung himself clear off the train, turned a somersault and waved “all right” to Smead, who mopped the cinders and perspiration from his face and remarked to the man standing next to him, in a friendly way: “Nice way to spend the summer living in the suburbs.” “Yes, if you don’t care what you say,” growled the man. Then Smead took a bit of pasteboard from his pocket and began to study it. “Southeast corner Terrace row, Oak- • ••

Cmead asked his gruff neighbor if he got off at the station. "No, I don’t,” said the man. “You couldn’t hire me to live in that swamp. I go out ten miles further where you don’t have to sift the atmosphere to keep the mosquitoes from choking you.” That sounded discouraging, but Smead was not anxious to ride ten miles further on an accommodation train, that slowed up for every cow on the track, and he wrapped himself in a speculative reverie until the brake* man called “O-a-k-l-a-n-d!” as if only the deaf lived at that station. Mrs. Smead was waiting for her husband, whom she expected on the 6:30 train, but the train had come and gone, and instead of the handsome, well-groomed Mr. Smead a frantic lonian, her neighbor, Mrs. Thorne, rushed into her cottage. “I've caught him!” she gasped. “He’s locked up in the library! Oh! oh! oh!” “Caught whom?” asked the mystified woman. Then, seeina that her distracted visitor was very near fainting, she cqjleeted restoratives and brought back Mrs. Thorne's scattered wits. Maud explained as soon as she could speak that a desperate-looking man, a burglar, she was certain, and a convict as well, by the cut of his hair —had felonoiusly entered her house a moment before she came, and, walking boldly into her library, had been locked safely therein by herself. “The windows are nailed down; 1 have been waiting for Perry to open them, so he cannot escape that way,” she concluded. “I expected Amos on the last train; 1 don’t see what is keeping him,” said Mrs. Smead, “but he has not come yet.” "Neither has Perry, but perhaps they will come together. Isn’t it dreadful? I daren't go back with that man in the house. I know by his looks he's a murderer. Our girl hasn't come and I’m all alone. Oh, if Mr. Smead were only here!” “I guess I’ll do just as well,” said Mrs. Smead boldly. "1 will take our revolver and you can bring the stove lifter, and we will Interview him through the door.”

“But what good will that do? He may s-h-o-o-t first!” "Come on,” said Mrs. Smead, contemptuously. She was only a young matron herself, but she was not going to be ignominiously routed by a oneman army, and she led the way to her nelgbor’s cottage. No other people lived in the row, so they had all the fun to themselves. But at that identical moment the 7:40 train, sometimes called the “husband’s train,” so many of them went out to spend the week’s Interval with their families, stopped at the nearest depot and Perry Thorne, with his double load of packages, hove In sight. Both women were overjoyed to see him. "What's the row?” he asked, dropping his bundles on the veranda. “A man!” said both women at once. "Where is Smead?” “That is what I would like to know,” said Mrs. Smead. “I expect him on this train.” “I haven’t seen him. Who is the man?” “A burglar, and he’s locked up in the library. Don't you think I was brave?” asked Maud, who, now that her husband had come, felt that she might pose as a heroine.

“Burglars already? Ha! this is a diversion. Give me the key, Maud. I’ll take your revolver, Mrs. Smead. Now, I ladies, stand aside,” and Perry made a i valiant rush for the library door, which he unlocked and threw open, at the same time presenting arms, according to the best manual practice. “Don’t shoot!” cried a familiar voice that trembled, not with fear, but merriment, as NJr. Smead stepped smilingly forward and bowed low to Maud. “I am Mrs. Thorne’s captive,” he said. “What does this mean?” cried Perry, his face flaming. “Yes, what does It mean?” demanded Mrs. Smead In the measured syllables of the divorce court. “It means,” explained Mr. Smead, “that my wife has not yet learned to box the compass. She gave me ‘southwest’ and your wife locked me up in a room that has no ventilation and Is under a criminal ban. But I forgive her,” he added, with gallant protest, whereat Maud’s cheeks grew red with embarrassment, and Mrs. Smead said: “Come home! After this I wll meet you at the train and see that you don’t get into the wrong house.” “Do forgive me, Mr. Smead,” said Maud penitently, while Perry glared darkly like a jealous stage lover, “but you did look so —so —” “She said you looked like a convict,” remarked his wife. “At least it has made us acquainted,” observed Mr. Smead, true to his colors, and with this parting shot he followed his wife to the “southeast” cottage. A German has Invented a small house, capable of holding four or five persons, to be used in diving and working in sunken ships, and valuable wreckage of other character. Our motto is: “Honest Values at the Lowest Possible Cash Price.’* Remember every item in stock a leader at prices asked Fendig's Fair.

“I’VE CAUGHT HIM!” SHE GASPED.