Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 January 1875 — He Knew What He Wanted. [ARTICLE]

He Knew What He Wanted.

He came into the office of a West End undertaker yesterday with a look of great care on his honest face. His eyes were heavy and slightly bloodshot, telling of nightly vigils and loss of sleep. His hair was unkempt and shaggy. The soft-hearted man of coffins looked upon his visitor with a gaze full of pity and thankfulness—pity for ihe customer’s loss and thankfulness for his patronage. He was so young to be burdened with the loss of a dear one by death. The manufacturer of burial cases nodded a. silent assent and condoling recognition; the young man said: “ llow d’ye?” Then ensued a painful silence, broken at length by the man of grave business. “Can I do anything for vou to-day, sir?” “ Wall. I reckin’so, stranger.” . Another silence. Once more the undertaker began by suggesting: “Your sister?” Young man stared a moment, then, as light gradually broke in upon his perplexed mind, he smiled a smile more suggestive of sorrow than happiness, and replied: “ No—rmy wife.” “ When did it happen?” “ About four o’clock this morning.” “ About what uo you want the cost of it to be?” “ Don’t cure a durnation for expenses ; git it up kinder nice. I’ll treat her handsum, ’causeshe is the first one.” “Very well, my friend; you’ll have it lined with white satin, I suppose?” “Jest aS you say, stranger." “ Silver-headed screws, too, I suppose?” “ Y-a-a-s, I s’pose so. An’, stranger, jest put a bully top to't.” “ Oh, of course; and yo’ll want a glass ■in it, also, I suppose?” “Y-a-a-s—oh, certainly—you bet. Git her up sniptious, you know, old fellow. None of your dratted one-hoss fixins for me. No, sir’ee.” “Just so. Silver handles, of course?” “Eh? What’s that yer say, stranger—-sil-ver handles? Oh, blame it, now, won’t thet be pilin’ it on too hefty like? I kin stand silver screws; and sich, but there’s no use makin’ the hull tarnation trap of silver. The thing has to be moved, and must have handles; hot I ain’t quite •o stuck up as tfiet now—not quite, strabger.” ' L "

“ Very well.” acquiesced the man of obsequies, “ i’ll put ordinary handles to it, t! « i?” “ them’s ’em, mister; now I ver talkin’. Or’nary handles ’ll do. But, I say,stringer”(reflectively), "make the ! rockers glisten like thunder.” “ Rock—rot k—rockers?" ; “ Yas, rockers. What’s tker matter w ith ver. anyhow?” “ But who.ever heard of rockers to a coffin?” “ Coffin!" shrieked the dejected-looking young man. “Coffin! Now. who the dickens saiJ anytliing about coffins?” “ Why, don’t you want a coffin ?” “ Ne-o! blame your coffin! I want a cradle—a trap to rock mv new baby in.” " And isn’t your wife dead?” “ Not by a jugful. Don’t ver make cradles for sale?” “ No, my friend, 1 am an undertaker.” “ Undertaker of what?” “ I make coffins.” “Oh, the dickens! Let me ketch the feller that sent me here!” And the grief-stricken youth crammed his hat over his eyes, ran his hands deep down in the pockets of his trouserloons, and pounced out on the st rcets searching for vengeance.— Cincinnati Enquirer.