Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 41, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 January 1909 — Being Original [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Being Original

ELL,” said Mrs. Steelby, sighing with a somewhat weary complacency, “to-day I really did a good day’s work, John.” “How’s that?" queried Steelby, briefly, attacking his chop with fervor. "You know how rushed I always am at Christmas, John,” explained his wife, “so that I get packages all mixed up and send people the

wrong articles by mistake.” “For instance, that little break of mailing pink baby booties to our esteemed bachelor uncle,” John assisted. “Yes,” agreed his wife, hastily. That particular blunder was still a sore point. The uncle was a rather Important personage, potentially, if not actually. “But more than that, John, it’s the foolish selections you make when you are hurried. You don’t have a chance to show any originality. Mrs. Briggs, who talked beautifully at the club Wednesday, showed us that it was a positive Insult to our friends to give them things picked up in a hurry at the last minute.” “What’s all this got to do with your day?” prompted her husband, selecting a third hot biscuit from the plate at his elbow. • “Why, everything,” said Mrs. Steelby, lucidly. “Please explain,” insisted Steelby. "Well,” said his wife, “after listening to Mrs. Briggs I made up my mind to be as original as I possibly could be in every single case. So I caught the 9:15 train this morning and simply put in the day downtown, looking for things.” Steelby groaned. “Were you part of that throng of women which tramped up and down the streets all after* noon?” he snapped. "Why, John! Of course I spent part of my time there, but nearly all day I Just looked at things in the shops. I think it’s the only way to get ideas —■ Just look and look until you happen to think of what you want.” “Oh, so that’s the idea, is it?” inquired Steelby, with a noticeable lack of sympathy. “I’m glad to get a line at last on the processes of the female mind.”

“Of course ft is,” Mrs. Steelby assured him. “I don’t know how many counters I’ve stood at to-day. Everything is terribly crowded. But I always managed to get attention, one way or another.” “How’s that? What do you mean?” demanded her spouse, suspiciously, but Mrs. Steelhy hurried on without noticing the interruption. “It was an awfully hard day, John. You men have no notion what a drain this Christmas shopping Is. Especially when you insist upon being original. By one o’clock I was completely fagged out. I happened to run across Mrs. Peters Just then and we went up to the lunchroom and had a cup of tea. I wasn’t going to eat anything and she thought at first she would Just have a glass of milk, but everything looked so good that we ended by ordering a chAftng-dish lobster and some salad and coffee and Ices. After that we both felt rested.” “H’m” remarked Steelby to his coffee cup. “It takes these delicate little women to put it all over a coalheaver when It comes to appetite!" 1 “But it is such a satisfaction to k’tow that you have accomplished a lot,” pursued his wife; dreamily. “I don’t mind being all tired out and missing five calls and tearing my lace waist In a basement bargain department I feel very grateful to Mrs. Briggs for putting it Into my head to be really original this Christmas.’* "What did you get?” inquired Steelby, with his first real appearance ot interest. He placed his napkin on the table and sat back in his chair, much soothed In spirit by an excellent dinner, and prepared to listen to a long catalogue of novel and striking pun chases. "I got—” began Mrs. Steelby, impressively, and paused. "I got,” she went on after a moment, checking off the Items on the fingers of her left hand, “six monogram handkerchiefs for Ned, a game for Willie and calendar for Sue, a box of notepaper for each of Cousin Harry’s children, a book for your sister, a necktie for each of your brothers, and for you—a big, lovely box of cigars!" For moment Steelby remained staring at his wife. Then he burst Into a roar of laughter. “Original!” he gasped, between paroxysms. Fnnally he quieted down and wiped his eyes. "Let’s sample that box now, Mrs. Steelby," he suggested.—Chicago Dally News.