Rensselaer Journal, Volume 12, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 September 1902 — Our Man About Town [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Our Man About Town

Discourses on Many Subjects and Relates Sundry and Other Incidents.

One of our prominent citizens dropped into the Sentinel office the other day to get a copy of the last issue containg the “Mongrel” article. “Yes, business was never better,” said Mac in response to a query as to the state of his business. “The receipts of the office for the past week amounted to two cards of thanks, two announcements of church suppers, an obituary poem, a three line notice of a wedding, a renewal of our railroad pass, and $2.50 advanced by an attorney in full payment of a sls nonresident notice. Business was never better and I shall continue to publish the only democratic paper in Jasper county.” What is going on this evening, over there in the hall that is all lit up ?” inquired the drummer of a local wag. “Why, the hall is used as a meeting place for various purposes. Tonight it was to have been occupied by the regular session of the Old Bachelor’s and Middle-Aged Widower’s Linen Pants and Solid Comfort Club, but they kindly postponed their meet to let a parcel of young bloods have a conclave. You see just before the carnival'they had a who-is-the-most-popular-girl-in-town contest at ten cents a vote, and tonight the young fellows are bolding a who-went-the-flat - bustedist - on - the -most-popular-girl-in town contest and w’at’t’ell-good-did-it-do-him-anyhow experence meeting.” * *

John Eger tells this story on Granville Moody, which ought to be sufficient evidence of its untruthfullness: “When Granville was living out in Barkley township a new church was built. The day before opening it Granville had been out on a cattle buying trip and didn’t get home until late at night. The next day when attending services he dropped off to sleep and was in this condition when the preacher began asking for subscriptions to pay off the church debt. ‘And what will Bro. Moody give,’ called out the minister, when all the balance had contributed. At the calling of his name Granville aroused from his sleep sufficiently to mutter: ‘lf you’ll throw in that red heifer I’ll give 850.’ ‘Brother Moody, |so,’ called out the preacher, and the meeting proceeded. But if you want to hear a real funny one on Granville, come around some day and I’ll tell you the story of bow his hog wandered away one day in Rensselaer, and what resulted therefrom.” I M *

In response to the requests of a number of lady readers of the Journal we have looked up the authorities upon the questions asked and herewith answer a whole batch of them. Ladies pick out the bunches of information that apply to your individual needs. No; moths will not eat cast iron, nor will codfish make satisfactory English pigeon pie, but you might try garlic with cigarette stumps boiled down. Taank you for your words of praise—; we’ll try to deserve them. Yes, charming one, always oil rusty scholarship with a fresh solution of knowledge. But, remember, rouge is not good for corns. Tell mamma. The custom of eating soup with the fingers is no longer in vogue. It’s been absolute for quite a spell in fact. Save your steps by dropping them

into a small wooden bank made for the purpose. No, dear; do not attempt to use boiling water when making ice cream, you might soil your apron and burn your fingers. Never use the sugar-tongs for putting coal into the furnace—a dustpan is better and a great saving of speed. You might utilize a coal shovel if handy. No, precious; don’t read the Ladies Home-Gazette, edited by Mr. Edson Box. You are likely to be led away by his sensationol yarns, until you imagine you can live comfortably provided you can marry a man whose income is $5,000 a year. N. B. His information is sometimes secured by writers who have studied their subjects at arms length. Better come to us. To prevent children losing their mittens or gloves, whip them with a stout stick. Do not leaye the wash tub in your parlor unless your husband comes home very late from lodge. No, Madam; we should say that in our opinion a sleeping-apartment cannot be ventilated by the windows in a neighbor’s house—but private affairs can. We would not advise you to try to make a grand piano at home from the wire and slats left over from your chicken house, but if you have a hatchet and nails you might try it on an automobile. No, dear: do not be disappointed. Apples do not grow in January and Robin will not return till August or September. Trusting the above will be received in the spirit it is offered we call it “quits.”

“Of all the ungrateful critters in this broad state of Indiana, I vow and contend that a certain relative of mine is the meanest, even if he is dead and gone now!” aggrieved!? exclaimed a certain lady who is scattered around somewhere between the points of the compass, not a thousand stones-throw from Rensselaer. “Most all of his life be guzzled liquor and patronized Satan’s work here below. He used bad language and I told him so. He fiddled at dances and I told him if he didn’t quit he’d wake up where they don’t wear seal-skin coats the year rounds He made a mock at missionary societies, and I just used to tell him that he was leading young men to ruin—always did keep away from church as

if it was pizonous snakes. He played cards and flirted with widows—and goodness knows I was ashamed of that kind of work; told him to read what Proverbs has to say about the ways of strange women and some that are wuss’n strange. He made fibaid jokes at church festivals, went to every show that came along, gouged everybody swappin’ horses; and by all such and kindred means, with me a-warnin’ him, he was able to leave his kin about |2BOO altogether. Now just think—an’ me always at him fer his soul’s good—he never willed me a cent ont of it. Not—one—solitary—penny. After all the Bethlehem tracts I gave him warnin’ him against his red nosed practices an* where they’d finally land him if he persisted in ’em! But, then, all men are alike! The more you labor after their souls the furder they run after the pleasures of the world; and when they’re gone they don’t even remember you with thanks. I spose all them other women get that. Well, I dont’t care—l wouldn’t let on.”