"See here," I said, seriously, "you are out every night until the 'wee
sma' hours.' Isn't midnight late enough for you?"
"Well," he replied, "I find when I show up at midnight my wife can talk
to me, but when I get home at three, words fail her."
Say, my wife came home from shopping the other day filled with righteous
indignation, and, of course, while men are not supposed to have any
curiosity, you know, my peace of mind was somewhat disturbed.
I began to have vague fears that perhaps some miserable detective in one
of the department stores might have insulted her--perhaps accused her of
having too warm an affection for the lace counter.
At length, however, seeing that I would not ask the question she was
burning to hear, she burst out with:
"I wish the shopkeepers would be more careful how they put mirrors in
conspicuous places."
"What's the matter? Been trying to dodge your own reflection?" I asked,
for do you know it was the first time I had ever heard a woman complain
of too much looking-glass.
[Illustration]
"No; but you know there is one of those triple mirrors in one of the
department stores, and poor dear Fido spent fifteen minutes chasing
around it trying to find the other dog. I thought I'd never get him out
of that store."
Ever been through the Chinese quarter down around Mott Street, where you
can smell the incense of the joss-sticks burning before the ugly little
idols?
[Illustration]
I saw in the paper the other day about a fellow who had come from Korea
with samples of idols that he wanted an American firm to manufacture,
and it begins to look as though presently our enterprising Yankees might
corral this trade along with everything else.
That gave me an inspiration which I set down in verse--if you'd like to
hear the result I don't mind one bit, so prepare to weep, for here it
goes:
The heathen in his blindness
Bows down to wood and stone--
Some idol inexpensive
He puts upon a throne;
But now we'll teach the heathen
The error of his way,
And sell him modern idols
Made in the U. S. A.
We'll lift the foolish heathen
From groping in the dust.
And change and civilize him--
We'll form an Idol Trust.
For ages he has groveled
In superstition dim
But now we'll help his progress
By making gods for him.
No seven-handed figures;
No gods with coiling tails:
No birds, no bugs, no serpents,
No animals, nor whales--
No, sir! He'll have our idols:
A shovelful of coal,
A meter, and an oil can
To terrify his soul.
A bonnet and a ribbon:
A bargain ad.--the strife
They'll cause will make the heathen
Yearn for a better life.
The poor benighted pagan
Will come out of the dark
And bow before our idol--
The mighty dollar mark!
[Illustration]
Mr. Carboline, our druggist at the corner, has troubles of his own,
though I never realized the fact until I saw a perspiring individual
rush in upon him with a thermometer in his hand the other day, and in an
excited tone exclaim:
"Here, take back this darned machine before I freeze to death."
[Illustration]
He looked so heated just then that we began to imagine he must be a
little out of his mind, but Carboline ventured to ask humbly enough what
was the matter with the mercury register.
"It's out of whack somehow, and won't register correctly. Darn it, I've
been shivering in my room for a week, and just couldn't keep warm. I had
the thermometer over my writing desk, and the other morning when the
steam went down a little I looked at the mercury. It showed forty
degrees.
"I knew nothing less than a polar bear could work in that temperature,
and went hustling after the janitor.
"He shook up his furnace, and the steam began to sizzle, but the room
wouldn't get warm enough to raise that mercury above 50.
"We ran short of coal for a day, and she went down to 40 again, and I
went over to stop with a friend till we got more coal.
"Then the steam sizzled once more, but the north wind seemed to come in
through the window cracks and the shivers had me all over.
"I struck for window strips, and had a row with the landlord.
"The mercury showed 50 degrees right along, and though I made it hot for
the janitor I couldn't get any of it into the blamed thermometer.
[Illustration]
"Yesterday I gave notice that I would get out if they didn't keep me
warm. I'm a bachelor tenant paying a good price and generally no kicker,
and they didn't want me to leave.
"About an hour ago the janitor came in to see how I was getting along.
"He found me at my desk with a blanket around me. He asked if I were
sick. I told him I was frozen.
"He said he thought the room was very warm. Before licking him I showed
him the thermometer and told him that was the real test.
"The mercury stood at 50.
"The janitor swore and went out.
"He came back in a minute with another thermometer and hung it alongside
of mine. It was a fine one, guaranteed to keep perfect records.
"It marked 65 degrees when he brought it in, and in a minute or two it
showed 71. Mine stood still at 50.
"The janitor looked at the two machines and began to grin. I began to
unwind the blanket that was around me. The janitor looked scared, but I
told him not to run; that I wasn't going to lick him. The only man that
I felt like licking was the one who sold me a thermometer that wouldn't
go.
"You're the one.
"Now, it's up to you to apologize, give me a machine that is true, or be
licked. I've paid my money and you can take your choice."
Mr. Carboline preferred to make the change.
By the way, before I forget it, let me tell you about young Charlie
Suitz, a friend of mine, who is really as modest a chap as you would
care to meet.
Charlie has a girl upon whom he calls very frequently, and, they tell
me, at the most unexpected times.
That was probably how it happened he dropped in one afternoon and was
informed by her mother that she was upstairs taking a bath, so he told
the old lady he only wanted to speak to her for a minute; and she called
out:
"Mamie, come right down, Mr. Suitz wants to see you down here."