DUMMIE “ADS”--WARNTED, A WIFE, BY THE RELIGUS EDDITUR.--
THE CLIMAX.--BABYS, BABYS EVERYWERE.--A HORRID RECH.--
EXPLERNASHUNS AND PACIFERCASHUNS, WITH A TWENTY-FIVE CENTER
AS DESERT.
Since the big reduckshun in price of the mornin papers, them wot
didnt cum down much hav ben usin all sorts of skeems to keep up their
circulashuns, so yesterday Mr. Gilley desided to run a cuppel of collums
of free wanted advertisin. To start the ball a rollin, he maid me rite
off a lot of dummie wants. I put in most everything I culd think of,
from the soft and luvin pursernel to the big & clumsy steem engine.
Wen I got down to the oflfis this mornin there was a orful crowd of
wimmin on Park Row, all ranged along the edge of the pavement, with bout
a hundred extra purlice keepin them in singel file. I couldn't for
the life of me imagine wot was up, till I went up steers and seen the
per-sesshun filin in and out the religus edittur's offis dores. Then I
remembered the advertisement I rote, wot red like this:
“Warnted, a rotund, bucksom, good-lookin and good-natured madin,
suiterbel for a wife. One wot knowes enuf to put on stile & run a
fashernable stablishment. Apply urley at this offis, to the religus
edittur.”
Now, our religus edittur is purty sweet on wimmin enyway, so he tuk it
all in good part, and kissed and hugged every one of em, tellin em he'd
let em kno by letter, wen he'd made his choice. They kep swarmin in all
the mornin, til you'd thot all the wimmin in New York was warntin a
man. Bout 11 o'clock we all notissed sumthing shut out the lite of the
doreway, purty soon it turn'd round and cum in sideways and sung out,
“Oh, were! Oh, were! is the bloomin boy wot warnts a rotund, buxom madin
for his wife?” Then we all tumbeled that she was the Bowry Museum fat
woman, so I pointed to the Religus Edittur. Then she grabbed him up in
her arms, and squeezed him, till you could heer his ribs snappin. Wen
he got black in the face she thot she'd made a mistake, in the man,
and seized hold of Mr. Gilley, so I remembered it was gettin on towards
dinner time. At the dore of the offis I met the quire singer in the
little Church Round the Corner, wot the Religus Edittur's ngaged to, and
she tole me to tell him he was a horrid rech, and she was goin to sue
him for breech of promis, so she was.
On my way hum to dinner, the manergin edittur overtuk me, and laffed and
sed that was a purty good joke I'd fixed up on the religus edittur. I
told him I didnt meen nothin by it enyway, cos I didnt xpect eny gurl'd
think he was good lookin enuf to marry him.
Now our mannergin edittur jest got marreed last week, and hee's
bordin at the Metrypollytan hotel. Just fore we got there he giv me a
ten-center, and sed, thats for the laff him and his wife'd hav wen he
tole her bout the joke.
I guess he got all the laffin he wanted, cos he'd no sooner got inter
the hotel dore, before every man, woman, and child run up to him, and
tride to giv him a baby, wot they sed was his. Baby's was lyin round
permiskusly, all over the desks, floors, and barroom. The rooms, up
stairs, was chock full of baby's. Xtra cots was lade out in the halls,
and every cot, had half a dozen baby's on to it, and every baby had
a card pinned on its does, wot red:--Tom Wilson, Susie Wilson, Paddy
Wilson, Biddy Wilson, and every Wilson you could think of. Eight pages
of the reges-ter was filled with there names, and every page was hedded
with the Editturs own name, John Wilson, Father.
Wen he got to his own room, he found his wife cryin, lik her heart
was brok. Soon as she cot site of him she let out a shreek wot brot
everybodie in the hotel to there room, and sung out: “John Wilson
youre a monsteer, youre a vaggerbone, youre a rech, youre a inferrnus
skoundrel. Take me back to my mama, rite away, and if youve got a spark
of manhood about you, you'll go and make wot little restertushin you
can, to the mothers of these wurse than orfans.”
Quicker'an litenin, Mr. Wilson tumbelled, and laffin a fiendish grin, he
sung out in axcents wild: “Get me a Gatlin Gun, and lode it down to the
mussle with thirty-leven charges of dannymite, and let me get a shot, at
that incorragerbel imp of Haydes, the _Buster's_ Devil.”
Then carmin down a littel, he took this mornins paper outen his pocket
and red out loud to the crowd: “Wanted; a fine, helthy infant for
adopshun. No questshuns ast. Leeve it at the Metrypolytan hotel for John
Wilson, mannergin edittur _Daily Buster_.”
This put everybodie in good humer agen, and, after settin up the drinks
for the crowd, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson went out to the country to hire
a farm and sum wimmin to take care of the baby's till homes culd be
secured for 'em.
I guess him and his wife's sickened on baby's enyway, cos I hurd him
tellin the hotel clurk that they'd had all the baby's round them that
they'd ever have, by gumbo.
And now, Mr. Diry, I must close for to-nite, cos I've got to smoke the
25-center wot the religus edittur giv me for the laff he'd had outer my
joke on Mr. Wilson.