The Loup City northwestern. [volume], December 12, 1912, Image 8

About The Loup City northwestern. [volume] (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917

Image provided by: University of Nebraska-Lincoln Libraries, Lincoln, NE

                
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Professional Cards
ROBT. P. STARR
Attorney-at-Law,
LOUP CITY. EEBRESKE.
NIGHTENGALE & SON
ittoraaj a&l Gousaicr*&t>Law
LOUP CITY. NEB
i
It. H. MATHEW,
Anorney-at-Law,
And Bonded Abstractor,
Loup City, Nebraska
AARON WALL
Lawyer
Practices in all Courts
Loup City, Neb.
ROBERT H. MATHEW
Bonded Abstracter
Loop Citt, • Nebraska.
Only set of Abstract books in county
O. E. LONGACRE
PHYSICIAN aid SURGEON
Office, Over New Bank.
TELEPHONE CALL, NO. 39
A. J. KEARNS
PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON
Phone, 30. Office at Residence
Two Doors East of Telephone Central
Lnnp Eilfl. - Nebraska
A. S. MAIN
PHYSICIAN am SURGEON
Loup Gity, Nebr.
Office at Residence,
Telephone Connection
• J. E. Bowman M. D. Carrie L. Bowman M. D.
BOWMAN & BOWMAN
Physicians and Surgeons
Phone 114 Loup City. Sabraska
S. A. ALLEN,
EEJVTIST,
LOUP CITY, - - NEB.
Offioe up stairs in the new State
dank building.
W, L. MARCY,
DHNfl8T«
LOUP OITY, NEE.
OFFICE: East Side Public Sauare.
Phone. 10 on 36
Y. I. McDonall
Prompt Dray Work
Call lumber yards or Taylor’s
elevator. Satisfaction guaran
teed. Phone 6 on 57
C. E. Stroud
Formerly of Kansas City.
Painting, Papering
and Decorating
Special attention paid to Autos
and Carriages. All tops re
newed and repaired. All work
guaranteed. Phone 0
Contractor and Plasterer
Phone 6 on 70
Give me a call and get my
prices. I will treat you right.
Satisfaction Guaranted
C. R. SWEETLAND
PLUMBER
U®B» AND 4B4
ELECTRICIAN
For good clean and neat work
Satisfaction Guaranteed
Come and get my prices
For a Square Deal
IN
Real Estate
And Insurance
See
J. W Dougal
Offce First Floor, 4
doors south of
State Bank Building 1
ILkTOTM'HONS BY ftAY WA4CfsrtS
CCFYRXMT nos EY TH^ BCoSS -J-JTKRIU. CO.
ornurso.
CHAPTER I—Countess EUse, daughter
of the Governor of the Mount, has chance
encounter with a peasant boy.
CHAPTER II—The “Mount.” a small
rock-bound island, stood in a vast bay on
the northwestern coast of France, and
during the time of Louis XVI was a gov
ernment stronghold. Develops that the
peasant boy was the son of Seigneur
Desaurac, nobleman.
CHAPTER III—Young Desaurac deter
mines to secure an education and be
come a gentleman; secs the governor’s
daughter depart for Paris.
CHAPTER TV—Lady Eilse returns aft
, er seven years’ schooling, and entertains
many nobles. x
CHAPTER V—Her Ladyship dances
with a strange fisherman, and a call to
arms Is made in an effort to capture a
mysterious Le Seigneur Nois.
CHAPTER VI—The Black Seigneur es
capes.
CHAPTER VII—Lady Elise is caught
In the “Grand” tide.
CHAPTER VIII—Black Seigneur res
cues, and takes Lady Elise to his re
treat.
CHAPTER IX—Elise discovers that her
savior was the boy with the fish.
CHAPTER X-Sanchez. the Seigneur’s
servant, is arrested and brought before
the governor.
CHAPTER XI—Lady Elise has Sanchez
set free.
CHAPTER XII—Seigneur end a priest
at the "Cockles.”
CHAPTER XITT—Sanchez tells Desaur
ac that Lady Elise betrayed hint, but is
not believed. The Seigneur p’tns to re
lease the prisoners at the Mount.
CHAPTER XIV—Lady Elise pleads'
with her father to spare the live3 of con
demned prisoners.
fng~ surface" ulu? auracTcu ana et
held many of the people. Thither
they still continued to come—in
bands; processions; little streams
that, trickling in, mingled with and
augmented the rabble. An encamp
ment for the hour—until the "petite”
tide should break it up, and drive it
piecemeal to the shore or up the
sides of the Mount—it spread out and
almost around the foundations of the
great rock. Only the shadows it
avoided—the chilling outlines of pin
nacles and towers; the cold impress
of the saint, holding close to the sun
lit strand and basking in its warmth.
Some, following the example of their
sea-faring fellows, dug half-heartedly
in the sands in the hope of eking out
the meager evening meal with a
course, salt-flavored; others, abandon
ing themselves to lighter employment,
made merry in heavy or riotous fash
ion, but the effect of these holiday
efforts was only depressing and in
congruous.
“Won't you join?” Seme one's arm
abruptly seized my lady.
“No, no!” ,
Unceremoniously he still would have
drawn her into the ring, but with a
sudden swift movement, she escaped
from his grasp.
“My child!” The voice was that of
a wolfish false friar who, seeing her
pass quickly near by, broke off in
threat, solicitation and appeal for sous,
to intercept her. “Aren't you in a hur
ry, my child?”
“It may be,” she answered steadily,
with no effort to conceal her aversion
at sight of the gleaming eyes and
teeth. “Too much so, to speak with
you, who are no friar!”
"What mean you?” His expression,
ingratiating before, had darkened, and
from his mean eyes shot a malignant
look; she met it with fearless dis
dain.
“That you make pretext cf this
holy day to rob the people—as if
they are not poor enough!”
“Ban you with bell, book and can
dle! Your tongue is too sharp, my
girl!" he snarled, but did not linger
long, finding the flashing glance, the
contemptuous mien, or the truth of
her words, little to his liking. That
he profited net by the last, however,
was soon evident, as with amulets and
talismans for a bargain, again he
moved among the crowd, conjuring by
a full calendar of saints, real and
imaginary, and professing to excom
municate, in an execrable confusion
of monkigh gibberish, where the peo
ple could not, cr would not comply
' with his demands.
So they are—poor encugn: Lean- -
ing on a stick, an aged fishwife who
had drawn near and overheard part of
the dialogue between the thrifty rogue
and the girl, now shook her withered
head. “Yet still to be cozened! Never
too poor to be cozened!” she repeated
in shrill falsetto tones.
“And why,” sharply my lady turned
to the crone, “why are they so poor?
The lands are rich—the soil fertile.”
"Why?” more shrilly. “You must
come from some far-off place not to
know. Why? Don’t you, also, have
to pay metayage to some great lord? ,
And banalite here, and banalite there,
until—”
“But surely, if you applied to your
great lord, your Governor; if you told
him—”
“If we told him!” Brokenly the
woman laughed. “Yes; yes; of course;
if—”
“I don’t understand,” said the Gov
ernor’s daughter coldly.
Muttering and chuckling, the -wom
an did not seem to hear; had started
to hobble on, when abruptly the girl
stopped her.
“Where do you live?”
“There!” A claw-like finger point
ed. “On the old Seigneur’s lands—a
little distance from the woods—”
“The old Seigneur? You knew
him?”
“Knew him! Who better?” The
whitened head wagged. “And the Black
Seigneur? Wasn’t he left, as a child,
with me, when the old Seigneur went
to America? And,” pursing her thin
lips, “didn’t I care for him, and bring
him up as one of my own?”
“But I thought—I. JigUdJiaUjeUiS
Black Seigneur, when a boy, lived in
the woods.”
“That,” answered the old creature,
“was after. After the years he lived
with us and shared our all! Not that
_we begrudged—no, no! Nor he! For
nocct, tiX we were starving, ne ror
gave—I- mean, remembered me—all I
had dene and,” in a wheedling voice,
''rent money—money—”
He did?” Swiftly the girl reached
for her own purse, only to discover
she had forgotten to bring one. “But
of course,” in a tone of disappoint
ment at her oversight, “he couldn’t
very well forget or desert one who
had so generously befriended him.”
“There are those now among his
friends he must needs desert,” the
crone cackled, wagging her head.
A shadow crossed the girl’s brow.
“Must needs?” she repeated.
“Aye, forsooth! His comrades—ta
ken prisoners near the island of
Casque? His Excellency will hang
them till they’re dead—dead, like
some I’ve seen dangling from the
branches in the wood. He, the Black
Seigneur, may wish to save them; but
what can he do?”
“What, indeed?” The girl regarded
the Mount almost bitterly. “It is im
pregnable.”
“Way there!” At that moment, a
deep, strong voice from a little group
cf people, moving toward them, inter
rupted.
_
CHAPTER XVI.
The Mountebank and the People.
In the center walked a man, dressed
as a mountebank, who bent forward,
laden with various properties—a bag
that coniaftied a miscellany of spuri
ous medicines and drugs, to be sold
from a stand, and various dolls for a
small puppet theater he carried on his
back. It was not for the Governor’s
daughter, or the old woman, however,
his call had been intended. “Way
there!” he repeated to those in front
of him.
But they, yet seeking to detain,
called out: “Give the piece here!”
Like a person not lightly turned
from his purpose, he, strolling-player
as well as charlatan, pointed to the
Mount, and, unceremoniously thrust
ing one person to this side and anoth
er to that, stubbornly pushed on. Aa
long as they were in sight the girl
watched, but when with shouts and
laughter they had vanished, swal
lowed by the shifting host, once more
she turned to the crone. That per
son, however, had walked on toward
the shore, and indecisively the Gov
ernor’s daughter gazed after. The
woman's name she had not inquired,
hut could find out later; that would
not be difficult, she felt sure.
Soon, with no definite thought of
where she was going, she began to re
trace her steps, no longer experienc
ing that earlier over-sensitive percep
tion for details, but seeing the picture
as a whole—a vague impression of
faces; in the background, the Mount—
its golden saint ever threatening to
strike!—until she drew closer; when
abruptly the uplifted blade, a domi
nant note, above color and movement,
vanished, and she looked about to
find herself in the shadow of one of
the rock’s bulwarks. Near by, a scat
tering approach of pilgrims from the
sands narrowed into a compact stream
directed toward a lower gate, and, re
membering her experience above, she
would have avoided the general cur
rent; but no choice remained. At the
portals she was jostled sharply; no
respecters of persons, these men made
her cnce more feel what it was to be
one of the great commonalty; an atom
in the rank and file! At length reach
ing the tower’s little square, many of
them stopped, and she was suffered to
escape—to the stone steps swinging
i sharply upward. She had not gone
far, however, when looking down, she
j was held by a spectacle not without
! ncvelt/ to her.
In the shadow of the Tower of the
i King stood the mountebank she had
seen but a short time before on the
| sands. Now facing the people before
his little show-house, which he had
sst up in a convenient corner, he was
| calling attention to the entertainment
! he proposed giving, by a loud beating
| on a drum.
Rub-a-dub-dub! “Don’t crowd too
I close!” Rub-a-dub-dub! “Keep order
j and you will see—”
“Some trumpery miracle mystery!"
called out a jeering voice.
“Or the martyrdom of some saint!”
cried another.
“I don't know anything about any
saint,” answered the man, “unless,”—
rub-a-dub-dub!—“you mean my lord’s
i lady!”
And truly the piece, as they were to
discover, was quite barren of that
antique religious flavor to which they
objected and which still pervaded
many of tho puppet plays of the day.
; The Petit Masque of the Wicked Peas
ant and the Good Noble, it was called;
and odd designation that at once inter
ested tiie Lady Elise, bending over the
stone balustrade the better to see. It
interested, also, those official guardi
ans of the peace, a number of soldiers
and a few officers from the garrison
c-tar.ding near, who unmindful of the
girl, divided their attention between
the pasteboard center of interest and
the people gathered around it.
Circumspectly the little play
opened; a scene in which my lord, in
a waistcoat somewhat frayed for one
of his station, commands the lazy peas
ant to beat the marsh with a stick
that the croaking of the frogs may not
disturb at night the rest of his noble
spouse, seemed designed principally
to show that obedience, submission
and unquestioning fealty were the
great lord’s due. On the one hand,
was the patrician born to rule; on tho
ether, the peasant, to serve; and no
task, however onerous, but should be
gladly welcomed in behalf of the mas
ter, or his equally illustrious lady. Tho
dialogue, showing the disinclination of
the bad peasant for this simple em
ployment and the good lord's noble so
licitude for the nerves of his high
born spouse, was both nimble and wit
ty' especially those bits punctuated
5yra“canerand thesentlment;^ibus
all bad peasants deserve to fare!” and
culminating in an excellent climax to
the lesson—a tattoo on the peasant’s
head that sent him simultaneously,
and felicitously, down with the cur
tain.
"What think you of it?" At my
lady’s elbow one of the officers turned
to a companion.
“Amusing, but—" And his glance
turned dubiously toward the people.
Certainly they did not now show prop
er appreciation either for the literary
merits of the little piece or the pre
cepts it promulgated in fairly sound
ing verse.
“The mountebank!" From the crowd
a number of discontented voices rose.
"Come out, Monsieur Mountebank!"
“Yes, Monsieur Mountebank, come
out; come out!"
With fast-beating heart the Lady
Glise gazed; as in a dream had she
listened—not to the lines of the pup
pet play; but to a voice—strangely fa
miliar, yet different—ironical; scoff
ing; laughing! She drew her breath
quickly; once more studied the head,
in its white, close-fitting clown’s cov
ering; the heavy, painted face, with
red, gaping mouth. Then, the next
moment, as he bowed himself back—
"Down With the Devi I!"
apparently unmindful of a missile
some one threw and which struck his
little theater—the half-closed, dull
eyes met hers; passed, without sign
or expression!—and she gave a nerv
ous little laugh. What a fancy!
“Act second!” the tinkling of a bell
prefaced the announcement, and once
more was the curtain drawn, this
time revealing a marsh and the bad
peasant at work, reluctantly beating
the water to the Song of the Stick.
"Beat! beat!
At his lordship's eommand;
For If there’s a croak,
For you’ll bo the stroke.
From no gentle hand."
A merry little tune, it threaded the
act; it was soon interrupted, however,
during a scene where a comical-look
ing devil on a broomstick, useful both
for transportation and persuasion,
came for something which he called
the peasant’s soul. Again the bad
peasant protested; would cheat even
the devil of his due, but his satanie
Majesty would not he set aside.
"You may rob your master,” be said,
in effect; "defraud him of banalite,
bardage and those other few taxes
necessary to his dignity and position;
but you can’t defraud Me!” Where
upon he proceeded to wrest what ho
wanted from the bad peasant by force
—and the aid of the broomstick!—ac
companying the rat-a-tat with a well
rhymed homily on what would certain
ly happen to every peasant who
sought to deprive his lord of feudal
rights. At this point a growing rest
lveness on the part of the audience
found resentful expression.
“That for your devil's stick!"
"To the devil with the devil!"
“Down with the devil!”
The cry, once started, was not easy
to Btop; men In liquor and ripe for
mischief repeated it; in vain the
mountebank pleaded: “My poor dolls!
My poor theater!” Unceremoniously
they tumbled it and him over; a few,
who had seen nothing out of the or
dinary in the little play took his part;
words were exchanged for blows, with
many fighting for the sake of fighting,
when Into the center of this, the real
stage, appeared BOldlers.
“What does it mean?" Impressive
in gold adornment and conscious au
thority, the commandant himself came
down the steps. “Who dares make riot
on a day consecrated to the holy
relics? Bpt you shall pay!” as the
soldiers separated the belligerents.
“Take those men into custody and—
who is this fellow?” turning to the
mountebank, a mournful figure above
the wreckage of his theater and poor
puppets scattered, haphazard, like vic
tims of some untoward disaster.
“It was his play that started the
trouble,” said one of the officers.
“Diable!” the commandant frowned.
“What have you to say for yourself?”
“I,” began the mountebank, “I—” he
repeated, when courage and words
alike seemed to fail him.
The commandant made a gesture.
“Up with him! To the top of the
Mount!”
“No, no!” At once the fellow’s
voice came back to him. “Don’t take
me there, into the terrible Mount!
Don’t lock me up!"
"Don’t lock him up!” repeated some
one in the crowd, moved apparently
by the sight of kis distress. “It wasn’t
his fault!"
“No; it wasn’t his fault!" said oth
ers.
“Eh?" Wheeling sharply, the com- j
mandant gazed; at the lowering faoea
that dared question his authority;
then at his own soldiers. On the
beach he might not have felt so Be
rn re, but nere, where twenty, well
lrmed, could defend a pass and a
mob batter their heads in vain against
walls, he could W*U afford a confident
front. “Up with.you!” he cried stern
17 and gave the mountebank a con
temptuous thrust.
For the first time the man’s apathy
seemed to desert him; his arm shot
oack like lightning, but almost at once
fell to bis aide, while an expression,
apologetically abject, as If to atone for
hat momentary fierce Impulse, over
spread his dull visage. “Oh, IH go,”
e said in accents servile. And pro
ceeded hurriedly to gather up the re
mains of his theater and dolls. “I’m
willing to go.”
CHAPTER XVII.
f
The Mountebank and the Hunchback.
Up the Mount with shambling step,
bead down-bent and the same stupid
expression on his face, the mounte
bank went docilely, though not silent
ly. To one of the soldiers at his side
he spoke often, voicing that dull ap
prehension he bad manifested when
first ordered into custody.
“Do you think they’ll put me in a
dungeon?”
“Dungeon, indeed!” the man an
swered not ill-naturedly. "For such as
you! No, no! They’ll keep the
oubliettes, calottes, and all the dark
holes for. people of consequence—trait
To be Continued
McKELVIE’S BARGAIN OFFER
There is only one
Real farm paper in
Nebraska, and tha<
is The Nebraska
Farmer, published
at Lincoln by S. R.
McKelvie.
The Nebraska
Farmer is a weekly
farm paper, over
fifty years eld. Dur
ing a single year it
contains over 1.200
pages, and is edited
by men who have
spent a life-time
in connection with
Nebraska farming. It carries no med
ical, liquor or unreliable advertising.
The annual New Year’s number
alone is worth more than the sub
scription price for one year. That
beautiful number will be sent to all
who accept this December offer.
McKelvie says the only way to run
a farm paper is to keep it clean and
reliable, stop it when the time is out,
give no premiums or other free stuff,
and sell the paper at the lowest pos
sible price. That is his policy with
The Nebraska Farmer, and it is now
received on that basis in mere than
40,000 Nebraska farm homes.
During December only Mr. Mc
Kelvie makes the exceptional offer of
THREE YEARS FOR *U0. This is
Just one-half the regular price
In order to accept this offer, cut out
this notice and mail it today to The
Nebraska Farmer, Lincoln, Nebraska,
or ask for a free sample copy before
subscribing. After reading a copy of
this Rea! farm paper, you will be sure
to subscribe. The local representative
will make you this same rate.
Additional Local
Mrs. Carrie Bogseth. who has been
visiting the folks at home over
Thanksgiving, returned to her school
just south of Loup City Monday
morning. Her many friends were
sorry to lose her again and hope no
tangling alliances may arise to make
any other place but this feel like
home.—Erickson Journal.
Comes to our table the Erickson
Journal, a neat and newsy little 6-col.
quarto, four pages at home, journal
printed and edited by A. C. Bell, who
had been a printer on the Ord Journal
and Greeley Independent In the past.
Bro. Bell has a right to feel proud of
the start be has made.
As numerous inquiries from friends
of the editor’s son, Frank W. Bur
leigh, are made to us from day to day
as to how he is getting along in his
eastern home, we take this occasion
of answering all questions from
friends here and elsewhere. When
he and his wife left here the first of
July, 1911, they went to Nelsonville,
'Ohio, where Frank had accepted the
position of physical director of the Y.
M. C. A, in that city, with a member
ship of 600, mostly miners. Later,
having made good, he received a call
to go to Columbus, the state capital,
and take a like position in the new
railroad Y. M. C. A. building, with
night charge of the entire building
which he accepted. Still later, when
labor troubles and strikes caused fi
nancial down curve in- Y. M. C. A.
circles, he resigned from the work and
returned to his former employment of
railroading, going to firing on the To
ledo & Ohio, most of the time on a
a switch engine in the yards. While at
Nelsonville he had joined the Ohio M.
E. Conference, deciding to later make
the ministry his life work, and while
in Columbus, when not otherwise en
gaged, he was down at the railway
mission doing religious work, fre
quently having charge of preaching
services. Some three months’ since
while the annual session of the Ohio
Methodist conference was being held
In Columbus, he was assigned to a
a pastorate at Jasper, in the southern
part of the state, where he is at pres
ent, and where a recent letter tells us
he is getting along well and happy in
his work. He had just finished a se
ries of successful meetings and was
about to begin meetings at another
point. Can you blame “dad” when
his heart is made glad with good news
from his boy? We are- sure his many
friends will be pleased to hear from
him and join with those who already
have through us wished for success
and happiness for himself and his
noble wife and little daughter in their
work in the Master’s vineyard.
Mourning Customs.
“And Mrs. S. is married again,”
said an acquaintance, speaki ng of a
widow of less than two year’s stand
ing. “Her mourning didn’t last very
long, but she surely did make it deep
wbile she was about it. What a
farce this wearing of ‘mourning’ is,
anyway!”
With which I heartily agreed. Our
fidelity to old, heathenish customs is
astonishing when we stop to think
about it. The moment the spirit takes
its departure some one begins to plan
the ‘mounting’ garb for the bereft
ones, as though outward and visible
signs of their woe were a real neces
ity, and oftentimes the less the in
ward regret the greater the outward
show.
1 heard a women severely criticised
because she appeared at the funeraj
S. A. Pratt
Billiard and Pool Parlors
Finest Brands of Cigars, with such leaders
as Denbys, Havana Sticks, B. B’s., and other
choice smokes. Your patronage appreciated
First Door, West of First National Bank
Loup City, Nebraska,
We Invite TToia
TO
THE NEW THEATRE
Nothing but Good, Clean shows will be per
mitted to be put on here.
Good High Glass
Motion Pictures Each Night
Change of Program every Tuesday, Thursday
and Saturday.
LEE & DADDOW
I J. G. PAGELER [
Auctioneer
I Loup City, - - Nebraska
I will call sales in any part of Sherman County,
y Phone or write, Jack Pageler Loup City, Nebraska.
3
Establish a Ranch on Public land
High Prices of Cattle Insursure thnis
to be a good Business for many yeas
It is net generally known, but it is a fact, that one
person can take up 640 acres of Government latd in
Wyoming as follows;
First file a desert land entry on 160 acres where
you can catch th; drainage from 1000 acres, in a series
of small storage reservoir sufficient to irrigate as much
as 81 acres of the entry and at least f» acres on any 40
of the 160. For this 160 you pay the Government 25
an acre ot the time of filing and 81.00 an acre when
proof is made.
Second, file on 320 as a homestead—no charge for the land but en
tryman must reside upon th homestead seven months each year for
three years and raise a crop on 20 acres the second year and have 40
acres in crop the third year.
Third, buy 160 acres from the Government at $1.25 per acre. This
160 must join the homestead.
There are hundreds of such locations now open to entry. If you
want one of these ranches write me to day for may and particulars.
D.CIem Deaver, ImmigrantA gent
1004 Farnam Street. Omaha Nebraska_
of her father in her usual suit of blue
with a white hat. “She should at
least have shown her respectsaid
the critic, “by wearing a black hat.”
Yet she had shown her love and |
devotion to him by being with him
almost constantly during his illness,
giving him every care and comfort
that love could give, and he had often
expressed his disapproval and dislike
of the symbolsof mourning and would
have approved her disregard of the
conventional garb.
Why do we so closely follow those
old, senseless customs? There is
nothing beautiful or comforting or
even significant in many of them, but
we blindly follow from superstitious
dread of breaking away from old idols.
Another person shocked his neigh
bors by refusing to have anyone
“sit up” with,the body of the de
parted one, which lay in a closed
room where nothing could molestand
needed no care nor vigil. But it was
“customary,” and anyone who dares
depart from custom risks horrified
criticism. Yet his course was more
commendable and sensible than that
which asks of others the unnecessary
but customary rite of “sitting up”
with the cold clay until the time of
burial.
Truly, our customs need reforming.
—Nebraska Farmer.
What Parcels Post Will Mean
Ting-a-iing.
“Hello.”
“Hello, is this central?”
“Yes, number, please.”
“Gimme Killer’s meat market.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Is this Killer’s market?”
“Yes ma’am; what can we do for
you?”
“This is Mrs. Backtothe Soil, on
R. F. D. No. 13. We’ve just moved
out on this farm from Chicago, you
know, and say, Mr. Killer, we want
a four-pound porter-house,two pounds
of bologna, a medium-size white lish,
a pound oi butter, a pound of lard and
three or four pounds of ice sent out
by mail this morning. The postage
will be about 15 cents, and just charge
that in with the bill.”
“All right Mrs. Backto, etc. Is
there anything else?”
“Nothing more this morning, Mr,
Killer.”
Ting-a-ling.
“Number, please.”
“Hello—is this central?”
“Of course this is central. What
did you think it would be—the cir
cumference? Number, please.”
“Well, now don’t get your hair all
mussed up—just gimme old Corntos
sel’s farm.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Is this Mrs. Corntossel?”
“Yes—who is this talking?”
“This is Mrs. I. Starve’em, of the
Bedbug Hotel at Hotwater. Say, M rs.
Corntossel, we want one small spring
pullet, a dozen this year’s eggs, twelve
ears green corn, six cucumbers, a
small cabbage and a quart of butter
milk. Send ’em down by mail this af
ternoon sure. The postage will be 14
or 15 cents. And say, just put on a
special delivery stamp so that the post
master will deliver ’em quick. We re
expectin’ a boarder here to supper an'
got to have ’em right off.”
“All right, Mrs. Starve’em I’ll put
’em in an old dour sack an’ mail ’em
right awav.”
Sounds like a joke, don’t it, or an
idiot’s gibberish? But it is not, says
the Albion News. After the first of
next January, when the new parcels
post law goes into effect, the tele
phone lines may expect to be swamped
with just such conversations, for
under this law the public can send 11
pounds of merchandise for 15 cents
over any rural line or within the city
delivery limits of any city.
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