blame me for it, and---"
"There you go! Blame you! What would I blame you about? If I get lime in
my eyes it's my own fault. Mrs. Bowser, you are getting to be a good
deal of a crank lately."
"Well, if you are determined on it, don't say that I asked you or
encouraged you."
"That's a funny way to talk to me, Mrs. Bowser! Are you getting ready
for the insane asylum? I think I run my own house yet. If I'm willing to
peel off and do these odd jobs, I ought to be encouraged instead of
insulted."
I was quite sure how it would end, but I said nothing more, and in the
course of half an hour he got into his old clothes and went down cellar.
I followed him down to give him a few last words of advice, but he
didn't need them.
"You go right upstairs and sit down and enjoy yourself," he said.
"Here's the brush and here's a pail of lime, and if I don't white-wash
more cellar in ten minutes than Moses could in all day, I'll never try
it again. Besides, Mrs. Bowser, whitewashing is not the slouch work you
imagine it to be. It has got to be done by a person of taste and
intelligence or it won't stand. I want a little blueing to give it a
tinge."
"You understand," I said, as I got what he wanted, "that I did not ask
you to do this work."
"Ask me! What on earth ails you, Mrs. Bowser? You are making fuss enough
over ten minutes' work to warrant a year's job."
"It must be well done."
"Certainly."
"Two coats all around."
"Just so."
"Even if it takes you all day?"
"Even if it takes me over half an hour, which it won't. I'll show you a
job here that will make a black man turn green with envy. Just run
upstairs and make yourself comfortable."
I retreated up the stairs to the kitchen door and waited for results,
which I knew were sure to come. Mr. Bowser dipped and dished and sozzled
and stirred until he had the liquid to his liking, and as he began on
the stone wall I heard him chuckling:
"I said fifteen minutes, but I'll go slow and take twenty. The idea of a
colored man sloshing around here all day to do this work. Let's see. I
believe I'll take the overhead first."
I held my breath in suspense for a long minute. Then a yell arose from
that cellar which jumped the cook out of her old slippers and made her
cry out:
"For heaven's sake, Mrs. Bowser, have we been struck by another
cyclone?"
There was a second and a third yell, and as I hurried downstairs Mr.
Bowser stood in the middle of the cellar, hands out-stretched and
jumping up and down as if he had fire under his feet.
"For heaven's sake, what is it, Mr. Bowser?" I asked.
"Whitewash--lime--fire!"
"Where?"
"In my eyes! I'm blind! I've burned them out!"
I got hold of him and led him out to the laundry tubs and set the water
to running. He had indeed got a dose in his eyes, but it was more
painful than dangerous. He could hardly see daylight after we had washed
out all the lime, and as I led him upstairs he said:
"I shall never see again!"
I washed his eyes with milk and got him to lie down on the lounge, and
in a couple of hours he was pretty near all right. His eyes were sore,
but no great damage had been done. He was very gentle until he
discovered this. Then he suddenly turned on me with:
"Mrs. Bowser, what possible excuse can you urge in extenuation of your
conduct?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean? That's a cool question to ask me! In view of what has
transpired what have you to say?"
"I say that you were foolish to undertake the job. I warned you how it
would turn out."
"Mrs. Bowser!" he shouted, squirting tears of lime water out of his
eyes, "do you pretend to deny that you didn't encourage me to undertake
a task which you knew would put my whole future happiness, if not my
life, in peril?"
"I do, sir. I did all I possibly could to dissuade you."
"And you are not to blame?"
"Not in the least."
"Mrs. Bowser, this is too much--too much! I could forgive one who had
wronged me, if penitent, but when they attempt to brazen it out it is
time for action. We will settle on the amount of alimony right here and
now."
But we didn't. After blinking around for half a day he went down town,
and when he came home to supper he was as good-natured as pie. I got a
colored man to come and do the work, and two or three days later, when
Mr. Bowser happened down cellar, I heard him saying to himself:
"Yes, it's a mighty slick job I did on this, and I'll tackle that
stovepipe to-morrow morning."
--_Detroit Free Press._
[Illustration]
MR. DE TEEZE (returning late from the smoking room, and seeing for the
first time the hose stretched)--Wha-wha-whash _thish_ mean? Awful bad,
thish time! Oh, I shee. I unishtan. 'Sh all ri. No worsh'n ush'l.
Shnakes on shore, shea sherp'ns on ships. Or ri'. Qui' proper too.
--_Ocean._
New York can't decide upon a site for the world's fair. An excellent
place to hold the fair, after the old folks have retired, is on your
lap. P. S.--So we've been told.
--_Norristown Herald._
The Latest About Kissing.
Men have often remarked on the fertility of woman's mind. Physiologists
declare she never reasons, but as an instinctive creature she often
reaches a correct conclusion much quicker than a man. If they lack the
intricate process of ratiocination they have the happy faculty of
walking straight through mental difficulties like a somnambulist in
sleep.
The fellows who discuss "Is Marriage a Failure?" or "Why I am a
Bachelor," have wondered lately how women reach their cute noses with a
handkerchief since the advent of the new fangled veil. It covers the
greater part of the face, and is as ornamental possibly as protective.
Two women veiled alike met yesterday. It was evident that they hadn't
seen each other for some time, and they rushed together in a long
embrace. The inevitable kiss came next. Both essayed the attempt, but
the veils rendered this impossible. Quick as a flash one of the ladies
turned the side of her face to her companion and the latter smacked a
spot on her cheek somewhere below the ear. This was satisfactory and
then followed the usual storm of quick womanly ejaculations.
"Is kissing on the lips no longer fashionable?" queried a reporter of a
lady he met after this event.
"No, not since the introduction of the new veil," she answered sweetly.
"You see the lips are completely covered, and it has become the fashion
to press the lips against the cheek. This thing of kissing is a nuisance
anyhow, and I wish the ladies would all stop it."
--_Pittsburgh Dispatch._
Conclusive.
Careful Papa--But which loves Clara most--Brown, Jones or Smith?
Observant Mamma--Why, Mr. Smith, to be sure.
Papa--How can you make that out? Last night Brown asked and plead with
her to sing; when she finished, Jones was enthusiastic in praise; but
Smith didn't say a word!
Mamma--No, but to-night he asked her to sing again----
Papa--Poor Smith, he must, indeed, love her!
--_Light._
THE HONEYMOON.
[Illustration: START.]
HE--O, my darling, you are so much better than I am, and I am so
unworthy of you!
SHE--Love, I don't see what you can find about me to love!
[Illustration: FINISH.]
SHE--I don't see why I ever married such a brute. I am going straight
home to mother.
HE--Brute, eh? I want you to understand, young woman, that I only
married you out of pity.
--_Lawrence American._
The Sly Way in Which Prohibition Works.
A week or two ago a well-known dealer in live stock of this city went
over to Washington County to make a deal with a big stock raiser, who is
also prominent as a strict Prohibitionist. The cattle having been
inspected and the price agreed upon, the Washington County man retired
to the house to make out a receipt and so on, leaving the Pittsburgher
in his son's hands. As soon as the old man had disappeared indoors his
son, a bright lad, nearing his majority, said to the Pittsburgher:
"This is rather dry work talking all day, ain't it?"
The Pittsburgher vehemently assented.
"Well," continued the young man, "I've a bottle out in the haymow, and
we might as well get a taste of the stuff while dad's not by."
The Pittsburgher said "yes" again, and the two repaired to the haymow
and looked upon the contents of the black bottle. Then the young
Washingtonian hid the bottle in the haymow, saying as he did so: "Don't
tell the old man anything about this--he's awful down on drinking."
Of course the Pittsburgher vowed silence as he smacked his lips and left
the barn. Two minutes later he was in the house paying over the money to
the old stock raiser. After the business in hand had been dispatched and
the bargain had been closed the Pittsburgher was about to take his
leave, when the old man said, rather awkwardly: "Say, are you feelin'
dry? I've a jug down in the cellar, and the liquor's fine."
It is hardly necessary to say they were soon in the cellar. As the old
Prohibitionist drained his glass he said to his guest: "Don't say
nothing 'bout this to them boys o' mine--they don't know about the jug!"
--_Pittsburgh Dispatch._
His Last Resort.
Mrs. Smalltalk (two minutes later)--Well, doctor, why in the world don't
you look at my tongue, if you want to, instead of writing away like a
newspaper editor? How long do you expect I am going to sit here with my
mouth wide open?
Physician--Just one moment more, please, madame; I only wanted you to
keep still long enough so that I could write this prescription.
--_Somerville Journal._
How She Told the Latest Joke.
Mrs. Jason came home the other evening with her face "wreathed in
smiles," as the novelists have it.
"Well, what are you grinning at?" was the cordial greeting of her lord
and master.
"I heard something funny down town," she answered.
"Well, what was it?"
"Oh, nothing much. I happened to meet little Johnny Figg, who used to
keep the apple stand across the way, you know, and he's got a better one
down town now. I asked him how he was getting along and he says to me,
'Oh, I'm still keeping a stand, you see.' I thought it was the cutest
thing I had heard for a good while."
"Oh, you did, did you, Maria? If I ever see where the laugh comes in
I'll try and smile, even if I have to get up in the middle of the night
to do so," was his crushing reply, to which she deigned no answer.
About two o'clock in the morning Mr. Jason was awakened from a dream of
being stabbed by a masked assassin, to find his wife energetically
nudging him below the fifth rib.
"Oh, Jehiel, I had that wrong," she twittered, in a tone of one who has
made a great discovery. "Johnny said his business was at a stand still.
You see the point now, don't you?"
"Yes, I reckon so," said the old man in no gracious tones, "and if I
feel the point of your infernal elbow jabbing me in the ribs any more
to-night I'll go to sleep in the barn. Do you hear?"
"And he didn't laugh either as he promised to," was her reflection as
she settled down to sleep again with the sweet consciousness of duty
performed.
--_Terre Haute Express._
On General Principles.
Weather Bureau Chief (to assistant)--Well, what's the forecast for
Pennsylvania?
First Assistant (looking perplexed)--Very confusing. There's a falling
barometer in Lehigh, a rising one in Lancaster, easterly winds in Berks
and----
Chief (pettishly)--Oh, well! make it "showery," then.
--_Philadelphia Inquirer._
His First Shave.
This is a momentous event in a boy's life, as it is to him the line of
demarcation between boyhood and manhood.
The microscopic indications under his chin are becoming annoying to him,
and he considers it a duty to society to have them removed without
delay.
He has already made several surreptitious attempts with his father's
razor, to the great detriment of both the razor and his face, and
although he succeeded, in a measure, in removing the obnoxious down, yet
it was with the unpleasant accompaniment of some of his chin. Therefore
he determines to do the thing in a manly way, and resolves to submit to
the barber's delicate manipulations without delay.
It takes him some time to muster up the requisite courage to enter the
barber's shop, as he has certain misgivings that the barber might
indulge in facetious and satirical remarks concerning his beard.
He passes the shop many times and looks in; but his heart sinks within
him. There is always some drawback--either too many people inside or too
few; in either case of which he thinks he will be noticed. Once he does
enter; and one of the barbers venturing the inquiry, "Hair cut, sir?"
involves him in delightful confusion, and to avoid further
embarrassment, he submits to having his hair cut, and still remains
unshaved.
At last, in sheer desperation, he makes a very firm resolve either to
get shaved that day or never. With this heroic resolve, and twopence in
his hand, he sallies forth to the barber's, and at a favorable moment
walks in and tremblingly awaits his turn.
The sharp, short "Next!" sends the blood thrilling up his backbone, and
he feebly climbs into the chair, and hurriedly says, "Shave me, please,"
and shuts his eyes.
The barber, with an eye to the twopence, says nothing, and proceeds to
shave him, figuratively speaking. There is only one drawback to the
boy's cup of happiness, and that is the entire absence of that
peculiarly pleasant rasping sound which comes only from a long
experience.
--_Liverpool Post._
The season has come again when a fine string of fish in the hand is
worth two dollars out of pocket to the man who didn't catch the fish.
--_Albany Express._
Considering how little the bell knows it is wonderful how much it has
tolled.
--_Merchant Traveler._
[Illustration: HE DID NOT GET THE ORDER THOUGH.]
MR. RETIRED POLITICIAN (to Society Artist)--Now you are sure you can
make a good likeness of me?
SOCIETY ARTIST--Oh, yes; you see yours is a very simple face--er, er, I
mean to draw, you know.
A great deal of fault can be found with a defaulter.
--_Pittsburgh Chronicle._
Two Kinds of Accompaniment.
Policeman (to street musician)--Have you a permit to play on the
streets?
Itinerant Musician--No.
Policeman (making him a prisoner)--Then accompany me.
Itinerant Musician--With the greatest pleasure. What do you wish to
sing?
--_Fliegende Blätter._
A Sure Sign.
Husband--I guess Sarah and that young man that calls on her are engaged
by this time.
Wife--Why do you think so?
Husband--The gas bills aren't as large as they used to be.
--_Yankee Blade._
A Fair Estimate.
"Have you ever tried, Lawrence, to estimate the height of my father's
regard for you?"
"No, but it occurred to me last night that it was about a foot."
--_Glens Falls Republican._
Didn't Intend to Hit Him.
"Did you intend to hit this man when you shot at him?" asked the Judge.
"Did I ten' to hit 'im?"
"Yes."
"No, sah; if I had 'tended to hit 'im I would 'er tuck a club."
--_Merchant Traveler._
Eager for Absorption.
Citizen (to tramp)--Poor fellow! You look as if you had been in the
soup.
Tramp (half famished)--For heaven's sake, tell me on which side to open
my mouth.
--_Burlington Free Press._
There is nothing novel in the announcement that Mrs. Chamer has
abandoned literature. Amelie's literature has always been more or less
abandoned.
--_Omaha Bee._
[Illustration: A FOOLISH QUESTION.]
LE SAWFT--Why, captain, what in the world is that flat boat for?
CAPTAIN--That is for use in landing dudes.
--_Ocean._
Claus Spreckels wants to build houses of sugar. If an apartment building
of this material is erected we are willing to take a sweet of rooms.
--_Lawrence American._
MR. BOWSER IN THE COUNTRY.
He Enjoys Fresh Air and Mosquitoes to His Heart's Content--His Original
Method of Milking Not Indorsed by the Cow.
"Well, what do you think!" exclaimed Mr. Bowser as he came hurrying home
from the office the other afternoon.
"Have you gone and got some more hens or bought another horse?"
"Mrs. Bowser, the event of our life is about to happen."
"What is it?"
"You know Gregg? Well, Gregg owns a little farm out here about twelve
miles. There's a good house on it, and he says we can occupy it for the
summer. We will have a cow and a horse, pigs, poultry and other stock,
and we'll go out there and tan up and get fat and have the best time in
the world."
"I don't think much of the idea, Mr. Bowser."
"You don't. You don't want cool breezes--fresh eggs--fresh berries--rich
milk--songs of birds--lowing of the kine and rest from care!"
"You will be disappointed if you expect any such thing."
"I will, eh? Perhaps I don't know what the country is. You are always
ready to throw cold water on any of my plans. I shall go, anyhow."
That was the beginning, and at the end of three days I yielded,
womanlike.
One Monday morning we took the train and started, having engaged a
farmer's daughter to take charge of the kitchen, and at the nearest
railroad station we were met by a farmer and his lumber wagon. The sun
poured down its hottest, the dust had covered grass and bushes, and as
we jogged and jolted along the farmer queried of Mr. Bowser:
"Come out for your health, I suppose?"
"We did. Ah! this country air has already refreshed me."
"Has, eh? Well, there's heaps of it, and I'm thinking you'll get all you
want in about a week. I think a city chap is a blamed fool to come out
here."
"Do you? Why, the doctors recommended it. That boy ought to gain a
pound a day, and I am sure my wife will brace right up with these
pastoral scenes before her eyes."
"The doctors and pastoral scenes be darned!" growled the farmer, as he
turned to his horses, and those were the last words he uttered until he
landed us at the gate.
It was a comfortable frame house, and I did not observe the surroundings
until after dinner. The barn had partly fallen in, giving it a weird and
lonely look; most of the fencing was down, a gust of wind had laid the
smoke-house on its back, and nearly every tree and bush about the house
was dead or dying.
"Is this one of the pastoral scenes you referred to?" I asked Mr.
Bowser.
"There you go!" he snapped. "You can't expect things to look as nice out
here as in Central Park. We come for the balmy breezes and the rest."
"You spoke of hunting hens' eggs in the meadow grass."
"So we will--come on."
He made a dash for a big patch of burdocks near the back door, got
tangled up in the ruins of a barrel, and when he got up he had a cut on
his chin and his nose was bleeding. He tried to make light of the
affair, but it was hard work.
When I asked after the horse and vehicle in which we were to take our
morning jaunts he walked down to the barnyard and pointed out a
raw-boned old yellow horse, so weak that he could not brush the flies
away, and a one-horse wagon, quaint enough to have taken its place in a
museum.
"You'll have our photographs taken after we all get seated in that rig,
won't you?" I asked.
"That's it; just as I expected. Mrs. Bowser, what did you come out here
for?"
"Because you obliged me to."
"I did, eh! Not by a long shot! You came to restore your health and to
give our child a chance for his life. It will be the making of him. No
more doctor's bills for us."
In the afternoon Mr. Bowser swung his hammock in the orchard. This was
something he had doted on for a week. He had scarcely dropped into it
when three or four caterpillars dropped on to him, and he put in the
rest of the afternoon on the hard boards of the veranda. The cow came
sauntering up about 5 o'clock, covered with flies and mosquitoes, and
the girl hinted to Mr. Bowser that he was expected to milk.
"Oh, certainly," he replied. "I wouldn't give a cent for farm life
unless I could milk a cow or two. I used to sing a ballad while I was
milking."
The girl and I watched him as he took the pail and stool and approached
the cow. The cow also watched him. Folks generally sit down on the
right-hand side of the cow to milk. Mr. Bowser took the other side.
"What are you trying to do?" I called to him from the gate.
"Mrs. Bowser, when I want to learn anything about a cow I'll ask you for
the information. I think I know my business."
So did the cow. She had been fooled with long enough, and she suddenly
planted a hoof against Mr. Bowser with such vigor that he tumbled over
in a confused heap. Between us we got him into the house, and the girl
finished the milking. Mr. Bowser recovered from the shock after a while,
and I felt it my duty to inquire:
"Mr. Bowser, don't you think a week of these pastoral scenes will be
enough for us?"
"No, nor six weeks!" he growled. "Nothing would do but you must go into
the country, and now I'll give you enough of it."
"Why, Mr. Bowser?"
"You needn't why Mr. Bowser me! You gave me no peace until I agreed to
come, and now I'll remain here five straight years."
When the summer sun went down and the stars came out we were not as
happy as we might have been. Mr. Bowser still held his hand on his
stomach, the baby cried because the milk tasted of wild onions, and the
girl lost the old oaken bucket in the thirty-foot well while getting a
pail of fresh water. I asked Mr. Bowser when the kine would begin to low
and the whippoorwills to sing, and he was so mad he wouldn't speak.
However, if the kine didn't low, the pinchbugs and mosquitoes did. There
wasn't a screen at door or window, and soon after sundown we were
besieged.
That night seemed never ending. No one of us three slept a wink. The
room was invaded with every insect known to country life, from a bat to
a gnat.
When we got up in the morning the girl didn't know us. We were blotched
and bitten until one would have suspected us of suffering with smallpox.
Mr. Bowser knew himself, however, and before noon we were back in the
city. He scarcely spoke to me all the way home, but once in the house he
burst out with:
"Now, old lady, prepare for a settlement! You've nosed me round all you
ever will. This has broken the camel's back. Which of us applies for a
divorce?"
--_Detroit Free Press._
[Illustration: A "TOUGH" CASE.]
JAMES--Hello, Gus, where have you been? Never see you at the old place.
GUS (swell about town)--No, de fact is, James, me boy, dey has got
chicken for de free lunch dere.
The Hard Luck of Some People.
"Tell yo' w'at, Mars' Parson," remarked Uncle Cocklesole, as he sat on
the sill of a second-story window and looked down on the mounted
missionary and the receding waters, "tell yo' wat it ar', ef hard luck
don't jus' play leap frawg wid some sinners an' lan' wid fo' feet on
udders, den I'm squinch-eyed in mer judgmen'. Dere's Jim Rasselbait!
What de flood do for him? Swup his leaben chillen off de carf an' tu'ned
de stove ober in de cabin so dat hit b'un up an he git a hun'ered
dollars inshu'ance, an' dar he am, jus' scused ob car and 'sponsibility,
goin' eround town rich as Crusoe an' no one ter lay claim ter one single
per centum ob de money. An' der's merse'f. Blame ef de waters didn't
jus' do nuffin to mer cabin but ransack all de furnicher, an' after
hustlin' mer wife and chillens off in a way ter make a feller 'spicion
dey's gone fo' good, blame ef they didn't leggo ob 'em jus' roun' de
ben', an yer dey is all back ergin an' me wid no inshuance, and no
provenger in de house ter s'ply 'em wid. Talk erbout ekal rights! Hit's
only fellers like Jim Rasselbait, w'at's bo'n wid a coil, dat gits 'em
all."
--_Yonkers Gazette._
A Disastrous Clerical Error.
Government Clerk (to friend)--I'm in a frightful hole. I went to see two
doctors yesterday and got a medical certificate from each. One was a
certificate of health for a life insurance company, and the other was a
certificate of illness to send to the chief with my petition for a
week's leave of absence.
Friend--I've done that myself. What's the matter?
G. C.--Matter? Great Scott! I mixed the certificates in mailing them.
The insurance company has my certificate of ill-health, and the chief
has my certificate of good health.
--_Boston Beacon._
The Johnstown sufferer is the latest variety of tramp in Kansas. He
bears a close resemblance to all the rest in the particular that he
looks as if he had never seen water.
--_Kansas City Star._
A ballet-girl syndicate is the latest development of the Trust business.
But in the nature of things it will not be much of a clothes
corporation.
--_Richmond Dispatch._
His Complexion Was Against Him.