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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, March 29, 1912, Image 20

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1912-03-29/ed-1/seq-20/

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house, thought he heard the voice
of Angels singing "Old Folks at
Home." By gum," he muttered,
"never heard anything to Kit the
spot like that."
He lingered until Deacon Cpbb
and Wilkins, the banker, came
up, when the song changed to
"Old Kentucky Home."
"My favorite rair," commented
the deacon, "and comin' right out
of the heart, too. Wonder who's
sin gin'."
Within 20 ' minutes half the
Union congregation stood with
out the abode of Toombs, the
pobr tinner. Some were in tears,
some were lost in tender revery
all were struck to the heart by the
wonderfully sympathetic notes of
the angel-voiced singer. Then
the door opened, and a dainty,
sweet-faced slip of a woman
emerged. v
"The play-actress !" murmured
Deacon Cobb. "Well, I'm for her
all right."
"Me, too," seconded Wilkins,
the banker. "She can't be all bad
to sing good-heart songs like
that."
- And all the Union congrega
tion sounded sonorous. "Amen !"
But ' from an upper window
there came the hoarse tones of
Tommbs, the tinner. ;
"Hey, you stiff necks! There
goes an angel what is an angel.
Fall down and worship d'ye
hear?"
It would do Chicago lots more
good if the politicians would quit
making speeches and take shovels
and brooms and dean the streets.
BRV'IH
, rZ, f
ABOUT PEOPLE ' '"
, J '- -
The verv trvine- nositfon of
minister' of foreign affairs -for the
Austrian - Hungar
ian empire is now
ueing iiiiea Dy
Count V e o p o 1 d
Berchtold. It will
fall upon his shoul
ders to preserve
peace among the
hotheads, of south
eastern u r o p e ,
where little nations are constant
ly suspicious of each other, and
of Austrian interference.
r GENIUS .
t '
There was a worthy citizen '
Wvho spat upon the street '
They threw him in the jail-house-
With! only nails to eat.
A felloyv quite respectable
Save that he left his bride.
Was hustled tq the workhouse,
His awful shame to hide.
But at the self-same moment
My neighbor killed his wife,
For she had stopped his highbrow,
thinks
With common talks of life.
The copper never pinched him
Nor fed him voltage, tied,
They said he was a genius,
And so was justified. , ,
I wish I were a genius, .
Then I could sing at night,' .
And people would not'egg.mc , '
Or claim that it was spite, ,
Alas I am no genufs, ' , '
So I must toe the line, k ',
Arid if I snore at midnight.'
I draw a heavy, fine.

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