Search America's historic newspaper pages from 1789-1922 or use the U.S. Newspaper Directory to find information about American newspapers published between 1690-present. Chronicling America is sponsored jointly by the
National Endowment for the Humanities and the Library of Congress. external link Learn more
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
Newspaper Page Text
i - ,- - yTTf f
J MISHAPS OF MR. HAP
jj By Augustus Goodrich Sherwin.
I By the banks of a sylvan stream,
8 gazing vacantly into the far distance,
stood HapgoodDorsey. His friends
s called him Hap ior- short, and he
needed those friends sorely just now,
gfor all that Hapgood Dorsey wore on
the present occasion was an um
brella. j "I'm done for," he stated lugubri-
-ill "a,' p &.1 tsi
"I'm a Thankful Man."
ously, using the umbrella as a-shield.
"What in the world am I to do?"
It was a serious question. Hap
good Dorsey, a young bachelor onliis
annual vacation outing, two miles
from his country hotel, night coming
on, no habitation in sight, had come
out of the water after a vigorous
swim to find his clothes missing.
"It was that tramp I saw lurking
around in the distance," Hap now
told himself. "I don't care for the
clothes it was an old sultyand noth
ing of value in the pockets, but how
am going to get to shelter?" .
Hapgood Dorsey did not rage or
swear. He was a sensible, reputable
young man, rather shy and reserved,
especially with the ladies, but man
ager of a large manufacturing estab
lishment and on the way to further
business promotion. (
"It's a mean trick," was the hard
est thing he could find to say. "I
can't go back into the water and stay
all night, I can't walk into town in
this plight. I'm up a tree, or, rather,
I wish I was!"
It was some time before Hapgood
Dorsey could make up his mind what
to do. He had a dim idea that in his
stroll from town to the present spot
he had passed a farmhouse. He final1
ly started in the direction of the hotel,
dodging past the open spots between
trees and bushes and the umbrella
in constant play.
. Never was a man more thankful
than he that it was growing dusk.
Somewhere, he vaguely remembered,
he had read a poem on "The Dying
Day." He wished this one would stay
dead, with no afterglow: Alas, there
was a line or two about "the sable
garments of the night." Hap wished
they might become tangible.
"What luck!" What luck!" he
chirped, as he struck a barb wire
fence and made out a barn and a
house beyond it. The place has a
tenant Hap was assured of this as
he noticed a great washing out on the
line in the yard.
It required skill, bravery and the
stoicism and endurance of a North
American Indian to get over, that
barbed wire fence, but at length Hap
negotiated the adventure successful
ly. He started a leap with an "Ouch!"
and he ended it with a "Geewhil
likens!" but he was" now on its' field
side and made tracks for the shelter
of the barn.
Slipping through the open door
way, barricading" himself behind a
ieap of hay, HaD nroceeded to can i