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The Candidates for mayor at the election are Mr P. N. Gordon and
John T Milo. The contest is very great between these candidates.
Holcombs chickens get in MR. Joseph Atwater's yard a god deal
lately. He says chickens are out of place in a city of this size.
Minnie the cook of Mr. F. L. Smith's residisence goes downtown
every Thrusday afts about three her regular day for it.
A new ditch is being dug accross the MR. Henry D. Vance backyrad.
;Tis about dug but nobody is working there now. Patty Fairchild
received the highest mark in declamation of the 7A at Sumner School
last Friday.
Balf's grorcey wagon ran over a cat of the Mr. Rayfort family. Geo.
the driver of the wagom stated he had not but was willing to take
it away and burg it somewheres Geo. stated regret and claimed
nothing but an accident which could not be helped and not his team
that did the damage.
MissColfield teacher of the 7A atSumner School was reproted on the
sink list. We hope she will soon be well.
There were several deaths in the city this week.
Mr. Fairchild father of Patty Fairchild was on the sick list
several days and did not go to his office but is out now.
Been Kriso the cHauffeur of the Mr. R. G. Atwater family washes
their car on Monday. In using the hose he turned water over the
fence accidently and hit Lonnie the washWOman in back of MRS.
Bruffs who called him some low names. Ben told her if he had have
been a man he wrould strike her but soon the distrubance was at an
end. There is a good deal more of other news which will be printed
in our next NO.
Advertisements & Poems
20 Cents Each Up.
JOSEPH K. ATWATER & CO.
127 South Iowa St,
Steam Pumps.
THE Organstep
BY Florence Atwater
The Organstep was seated at his organ in a
In some beautifil words of vagle and brir
But he was a gReat organstep and always
When the soil is weary
And the mind is drearq
I would play music like a vast amen
The way it sounds in a church of new
Subscribe NOW 25 cents Adv & Poetry
20 cents up. Atwater & Rooter News
Paper Building 25 cents per YEAR
Such was the first issue, complete, of _The North End Daily Oriole_.
What had happened to the poem was due partly to Atwater & Rooter's
natural lack of experience in a new and exacting trade; partly to their
enviable unconsciousness of any necessity for proof-reading; and
somewhat to their haste in getting through the final and least
interesting stage of their undertaking; for of course so far as the
printers were concerned, the poem was mere hack work anti-climax.
And as they later declared, under fire, anybody that could make out more
than three words in five of Florence's ole handwriting was welcome to do
it. Besides, what did it matter if a little bit was left out at the end
of one or two of the lines? They couldn't be expected to run the lines
out over their margin, could they? And they never knew anything crazier
than makin' all this fuss, because: Well, what if some of it wasn't
printed just exactly right, who in the world was goin' to notice it, and
what was the difference of just a few words different in that ole poem,
anyhow?
For by the time these explanations (so to call them) took place,
Florence was indeed makin' a fuss. Her emotion, at first, had been
happily stimulated at sight of "BY Florence Atwater." A singular
tenderness had risen in her--a tremulous sense as of something almost
sacred coming at last into its own; and she hurried to distribute,
gratis, among relatives and friends, several copies of the _Oriole_,
paying for them, too (though not without injurious argument), at the
rate of two cents a copy. But upon returning to her own home, she became
calm enough (for a moment or so) to look over the poem with attention to
details. She returned hastily to the Newspaper Building, but would have
been wiser to remain away, since all subscribers had received their
copies by the time she got there; and under the circumstances little
reparation was practicable.
She ended her oration--or professed to end it--by declaring that she
would never have another poem in their ole vile newspaper as long as she
lived.
"You're right about that!" Henry Rooter agreed heartily. "We wouldn't
_let_ another one in it. Not for fifty dollars! Just look at all the
trouble we took, moiling and toiling, to get your ole poem printed as
nice as we could, so it wouldn't ruin our newspaper, and then you come
over here and go on like this, and all this and that, why, I wouldn't go
through it again for a _hunderd_ dollars! We're makin' good money
anyhow, with our newspaper, Florence Atwater. You needn't think we
depend on _you_ for our living!"
"That's so," his partner declared. "We knew you wouldn't be satisfied,
anyway, Florence. Didn't we, Henry?"
"I should say we did!"
"Yes, sir!" said Herbert. "Right when we were havin' the worst time
tryin' to print it and make out some o' the words, I said right then we
were just throwing away our time. I said, 'What's the use? That ole
girl's bound to raise Cain anyhow, so what's the use wastin' a whole lot
of our good time and brains like this, just to suit _her_? Whatever we
do, she's certain to come over and insult us.' Isn't that what I said,
Henry?"
"Yes, it is; and I said then you were right, and you _are_ right!"
"Cert'nly I am," said Herbert. "Didn't I tell you she'd be just the way
some the family say she is? A good many of 'em say she'd find fault with
the undertaker at her own funeral. That's just exactly what I said!"
"Oh, you did?" Florence burlesqued a polite interest. "How _vir_ry
considerate of you! Then, perhaps you'll try to be a gentleman enough
for one simple moment to allow me to tell you my last remarks on this
subject. I've said enough----"
"Oh, _have_ you?" Herbert interrupted with violent sarcasm. "Oh, no! Say
not so! Florence, say not so!"
At this, Henry Rooter loudly shouted with applausive hilarity; whereupon
Herbert, rather surprised at his own effectiveness, naturally repeated
his waggery.
"Say not so, Florence! Say not so! Say not so!"
"I'll tell you one thing!" his lady cousin cried, thoroughly infuriated.
"I wish to make just one last simple remark that I would care to soil
myself with in _your_ respects, Mister Herbert Illingsworth Atwater and
Mister Henry Rooter!"
"Oh, say not so, Florence!" they both entreated. "Say not so! Say not
so!"
"I'll just simply state the simple truth," Florence announced. "In the
first place, you're goin' to live to see the day when you'll come and
beg me on your bented knees to have me put poems or anything I want to
in your ole newspaper, but I'll just _laugh_ at you! '_Indeed_?' I'll
say! 'So you come beggin' around _me_, do you? Ha, ha!' I'll say! 'I
guess it's a little too late for that! Why, I wouldn't----'"
"Oh, say not so, Florence! Say not so!"
"'_Me_ to allow you to have one of my poems?' I'll say, 'Much less than
_that_!' I'll say, 'because even if I was wearing the oldest shoes I got
in the world I wouldn't take the trouble to----'"
Her conclusion was drowned out. "Oh, _Florence_, say not so! Say not so,
Florence! Say not so!"