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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, February 19, 1912, Image 6',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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"I ain't goin' to do it, not even
if I have to go to jail for it,'' he
announced firmly. "A woman it
is bad enough to feed, but four of
somebody else's children is an
other thine already. I ain't going
to do it."
"All right," said Mrs. Kasmier
cz, fixing him with a baleful eye.
"A1J right. A breach of promise
case it is, and big damages then.
D'you remember them mushy
letters you wrote me? Well, I
kept them, and in court they'll be
read, and then a fine sucker vou'll
Slaw groaned He remembered
"Oh, what a blood sucker you
are," he said. How much will
you take for those letters?"
"How much you got?" Said
Mrs. Kazmiercz, promptly.
"I got it a little money in the
bank," said Slaw, cautiously.
"How much?" repeated Mrs.
Kazmiercz, "and remember, you
got to show it to me by the book."
Slaw groaned again. '
"When I said a bloodsucker, I
was paying it a compliment to
you," he said bitterly. "I got it
$380 by the bank."
"Get it, and I'll give vou the
"Give me the letters now, and
I'll go right down and get it,"
said Slaw, hope lighting his eyes.
"A blood sucker I may be,
Slaw," said the widow, but a
fool no. The money first, and
then the letters."
"How do I know as you'll give
me the letters, after taking the
money," asked Slaw.
"What good would the letters
be when I have all your money al
ready?" asked the widow simply.
Slaw saw the point "I'll think
it over," he said.
"Don't think it, too long,"
warned Minika. "At 12 o'clock I
go by the courthouse to file the
papers." ; v
Slaw groaned again, and walk
ed away. He wandered up and
down in the street in front of the
bank for som etime. At last he
entered, and drew out alt his
money. Then he returned to the
widow Kazmiercz' house.
"Women the same as serpents
is," he muttered. "Suckle 'em at
your bosom, an' they'll bite you
already, and give you a black
An Hour Late.
A New Yorker tells of a pleas
ant evening spent by him and a
friend at a cafe in Paris, where
the fare and the music were so
good that they lingered on and
on. When at last they rose to go,
the New Yorker's hat was not to
"What sort of a hat was it,
monsieur?" inquired the polite
individual in charge of the hats
"It was a new silk hat," said
"Alas ! monsieur," exclaimed
the attendant, "alLthe new hats
have been gone for half ah hour.
New York Press.
No baby ever saw a new table
cloth without wishinp- mnttier
had cranberry sauce for dinner.