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Western Kansas world. [volume] (WaKeeney, Kan.) 1885-current, June 16, 1888, Image 8

Image and text provided by Kansas State Historical Society; Topeka, KS

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn82015485/1888-06-16/ed-1/seq-8/

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7 V
If we never Baw the contrast that there is 'tween
son &ad ruin ;
It we never knew the difference that there is
'tween joy and oaia ;
How could weprUe the beauty of a sunlit sum
mer dav.
Or knoT half the glowiag pleasures of an hour
that's free and gay.'
If the sun were alwavs shininc. what would
como of flower and leaf I
What would come of life's perfectness if we
nerer knew a gtief ?
Ah! there's need of more than sanshlne. more
than that which only cheers ;
Ere our lives will fully blossom we must water
them with tears.
If wo never saw the sunlight, never felt its
cheering ray,
How ould we go on hoping as we do from aa7
j day V
Every dark cloud hath a lining like to silver,
pure and light; .
Every wearv way a turning that is leading us
to light.
Life is like a day in summer that is bright
when first begun ;
Clouds rise up before 'tis noonday, and ob
scure the brightening sun;
Then there's showers, then thore's sunlight,
chasiue each away the while,
But at last the clouds all vanish, and there
beams tb.3 Father's smile.
Giant Dave's Partner.
HE sun -was fast dis
appearing behind the
nine-tirmed brows of a
Western hill as a dark-
clothed, smooth-faced
little man, mounted
upon a rather scrawny
J burro, rode into the
Ismail mining -camp
known as Big Pine.
The stranger was a
mild, inoffensive ap
pearing person, and
Solemn Saul, who was
among the loafers in
front of the Black
Hand Hotel, and who was the first to
espy the newcomer, declared that he
looked like a Vermont parson.
At a word from the stranger, the
tired-looking burro came to a halt in
front of the hotel, and after bowing to
the motley feathering the dark-clothed
man cleared his throat, and asked :
"Brothers, could any of you inform
me whereva weary pilgrim could find
charitable shelter? For many weary
days I have traveled toward the east,
and many long, dreary nights have I
spent with nothing but the star-gemmed
canopy of heaven to cover my head,
and with no companion near, except
this faithful beast and my Heavenly
Father. The dust-stains of travel lie
heavily upon me, and I am weary and
faint from fatigue and hunger."
A coarse laugh of amusement broke
from the lips of some of the listeners,
but Giant Dave, one of the roughest
men of the camp, arose to his feet, and
"Stranger, I don't reckon that ye hev
cum to a none too pious camp, but I
reckon thet we are human ernuff not
ter let er feller-critter, suffer frum
hunger. Thar's grub ernuff in my
shanty fer one good square meal.
Cum on."
Straight down the street strode the
big man, and silently the stranger
guided the burro in his footsteps. And
thus they passed from the view of the
"muu ,,r M
l, bummers upon tne hotel steps.
At the cabin of the big miner the
stranger found shelter and food. And
as he eagerly devoured the humble
food placed before him and drank the
cool water which Giant Dave brought
in a tin dipper, he quoted:
" 'Whomsoever shall give to drink
unto one of these little ones a cup of
cold water, verily I say unto you, he
shall in no wise lose his reward.' '
For a time the newcomer remained
in Big Pine, and, strangely enough,
while he was there, he and the rough
miner, Giant Dave, were oards. They
were a singular pair Dave was as
coarse and rongh as a piece of quartz
newly broken from the hillside, while
"the" Parson." as the stranger was
called, was as smooth as polished mar
ble and as gentle as a kitten.
He did not give hi3 name, but he
said that he had been a minister of the
gospel away back in the East. He
had been caught by the gold fever,
and, leaving his little flock in the care
of another, had turned his face west
ward, resolved to seek fortune among
the mines.
His quest had been fruitless. Ever
fickle, the fair goddess had refused to
come at his call, and now, penniless,
almost hopeless, he was once more
ready to work for the Master.
Sometimes in the dusk of a quiet
evening some of the miners would hear
him praying. His voice would be up
raised in an earnest entreaty for sin
ners, and sometimes he would seem to
"pour out his very soul" in prayer.
Often he would sing some familiar
hymn, and many a rough man's eyes
were dimmed with tears as he thought
of the mother he had often heard sing
the same familiar air.
Gradually the Parson became popu
lar in Big Pine, and it was a great oc
casion when, for the first time, one
Sabbath, he was permitted to address
the greater portion of the camp, the
miners haring assembled in Hop Ben
son's saloon to hear the oration. The
saloon-keener was usually a level-head
ed man, and he thought that a genuine
wouiauea arawing card" at
"ht&'ft wa a tcmgh crowd that assembled
in the saiooi, .The miners expecUd
rt Mg wwr muj prep
Standing upon a deal table, the
Parson began his address, or perhaps
we should say sermon. He spoKe
smoothly and with distinctness, and
after the first few moments held the
closest attention of his audience. Nev
er before had the men of Big Pine
heard anything like it ?hey soon be
came oblivious to their surroundings;
uamo uuuhuud bu uucii. BiuiuuuumbD,
before their eyes arose pictures of Jesus
among hi3 disciples. 'hey saw him as
he called the fishermen from their nets;
they saw him as he walked upon the
sea; they saw him heal the sick
and raise the dead, and, breathing soft
ly, they listened, enraptured, en
tranced. With what eloquence did the Parson
paint the scene of the last night be
fore the crucifixion, and the betrayal
of the Savior by Judas ! Then, with
tears slowly rolling down his cheeks,
he pictured the scene on Calvary the
Sirfb7taterZd 4s he !
.nnl. m. . -m,-!. mar, hmlti. doim
and wept like a child.
In conclusion, he invited sinners who
wished for pardon to come forward
and be prayed for. He entreated them
to come.
Giant Dave was the first to arise.
With his legs shaking beneath him,
he came forward, and three others fol
lowed. They all knelt down together, the
Parson in the midst, and the prayer
that he made thrilled many a rough
man to the heart.
Prom that day the revival at Big
Pine progresse I rapidly. Although
Hop Benson refused to allow the Par
son to speak again in his saloon, no
difficulty was found in securing a place
for him.
Many an evening, mounted upon a
barrel, he addressed a large gathering
upon a corner. Thus fame came to
him, and as for the men of Big Pine,
they fairly forced gold upon him.
Finally a baptism was appointed.
Nearly a score of converts had been
made, and it was decided that they
must be immersad. Big Pine 'fairly
went wild over this new excitement.
When the eventful day arrived the
camp was crowded with people, many
of whom had come scores of miles to
witness the "fun. "
Giant Dave was the first to enter the
water. The Parson had removed his
coat and was piepared to do his level
best. Everyone prophesied that Dave
would be too much for the little man,
and so it proved. The Parson suc
ceeded in getting the big fellow under
water, but he couldn't lift him, try as
he might. Finally, however, Dave got
upon his feet and waded to the shore.
I rom this time onward there was no
break. The Parson did his duty nobly.
After the baptism a large collection
was taken up, and despite his modest
protests, the money was forced upon
the Parson.
Already were the people beginning
to talk of building a church, when one
night the Parson disappeared. There
was great excitement in the camp
when it was discovered that Giant
Dave's little cache of gold had also
disappeared. But no one thought of
suspecting the Parson until an officer
from Gold i.un appeared in camp in
search for a horse-thief and desperado
known as Slippery Sam.
The officer's description of the party
wanted agreed exactly with the de
scription of the Parson.
Then Big Pine suddenly awoke to
realize that they had been beautifully
"taken in and done for."
A month later Slippery Sam was
lynched for highway robbery in a little
camp three hundred miles to the south.
Joggling with Words.
Once upon a time a certain gentle
man, who lived splendidly and did not
pay his debts, owed his bootmaker a
large bill, who haying been told to call
again many times, and having written
notes without end asking for a settle
ment, resolved to disgrace his customer
by exposing him to his friends the very
liext time he gave one of those large
dinner parties which so excited the
creditor's ire.
Accordingly one evening, Mr. Boot
maker, attiring himself in his Sunday
suit, and with his little bill elegantly
written out, waited till the carriages
had 6et down their burdens and de
parted, stalked up the doorsteps like a
vengeful ghost, and ringing the bell
furiously, found it opened with start
ling celerity, and stood face to face with
a tall servant, white-gloved and stately.
"Where's Mr. Skinner?" whispered
the bootmaker.
"Gentlemen's dressing-room, second
floor back," responded the servant.
Some one else had arrived, and was
treading closely on his heels. A vision
of splendor, in the meat wonderful soft
white wraps, floated past him.
"Ladies, front room, second floor;
gentlemen, back," repeated the serv
ant. Mr. Bootmaker was hustled forward,
hat in hand, and saw his delinquent
debtor in all the elegance of "dress coat,
button-hole ilower, and white cravat,
bowing to, shaking hands with, and
smiling upon aristocratic personages
The sight fanned anew the flame of
the tradesman s juss wram.
He marched lorward, planted him
self directly before the elegant Mr.
Skinner, and stared him in the face.
But Skinner did jaot shrink. He
knew his truest well enough, and un
derstood his ouTDOse: but what he did
say was, "Beg pardon; for the moment
rve forgotten your name."
"Have you? Tkea perhaps you'll
reniember me when I tell you that I
mad yowboo4," responded the boot-
Now J J0?1 wmWe Jourself to
repeat those last four words rapidly,
you will find that you do not say, as
,you believe you do, I made your
ooois, uui, j. uijur uuuuj.
The lucky Skinner detected this fact
on the instant.
3b ,!. a'SSi5lJ?!ffiS.?-.,itfi:
stTAtivelT. shaking hands. "Dear. daar!
'- - -
how could I forget you for a moment?
jjeueniea wsee vuu-uBuguieo. juts.
f' iefmeJ?US8 7U my,hall; maybe he enlivens the situation
old friend, Major Boots. in the kitchen with a rouffh-and-tum-
-ao giaa xo imowyou, responded
the old lady thus introduced. 'Tm
sure Pve heard Cousin Skinner speak .
of you a thousand times. Sit down, I
do, and tell me who all those people
are. Im quite a stranger, I've iso
lated myself in Europe so long. Sit
down, Major Boots; here is a chair."
The newly christened bootmaker
hesitated a moment, bnt it was not
P-Bible .to 1dm Jo or, out, "I-;
m not
A"Jr JOi, il u, "
i - . . , .:n rr- ,
uiuuej., "" "v "" "o iuuuu those Dest olothes in one of those mys
he had not the courage. He crammed terioU3 hiding piaces whicll WOmankind
his hat under the velvet chair to which 80 fertjie in devising. "Our Boy" is
he was motioned, and subsided into WOnderously proud of his best trousers
angry silence, while the old lady I proad cfthem until he gets them
wenJLon.:.. -r , . , , , on. When he once gets them on he
-Uh, major, x always leei so giaa
to a military man! I adore courage.
And were you ever wounded? Do tell
me all about it. "
The bootmaker, finding it necessary
to reply, said "that he never had been
And the old lady went on: "Never!
How charming! Bore a charmed life,
and all that sort of thing. Do tell
me all about it."
The bootmaker replied that "there
was nothing to tell."
On which that most gushing of old
lUlco Y"" f ;V, U1iUi " V -
lieve that. Its like the modesty of
you celebrated military men. I know j
you stormed redoubts and led forlorn
hopes, and were the only one leit oi
your regiment, and all that. Pm sure
I read all about it at the time. Oh,
here is Col. Freize, a celebrated officer;
did something awfully brave in India.
Colonel, let me make you acquainted
with Maj. Boots, one of our bravest
military men. He's been telling me all
about the wonderful things he did in
the army. I mean he wouldn't tell me J fishing. Well, maybe his piscatorial
about them -just like all you great j penchant is inherited; there is certain
men won't trouble himself to fight ly no pleasanter nor more harmless en
his battles over for an old woman." ioyment than that of angling. But the
"Aw-awfully charmed, J'm sure," re- j
sponded the gallant Colonel. "Aw
fully, aw! Must introduce you to my
brother, Capt. Freize, in the same
wegiment with myself."
The bootmaker had risen, and was :
looking down on his business suit.
"I didn't intend to that is, I didn't
expect to be at such a swell affair as
this," he stammered, "or I I
have worn my dress suit."
"Oh, my dear fellow, we always ex
pect you officers to be wough. and
weady. We'd be disappointed if you
were not The ladies, you know, adore
wough and weady men."
Away he led the bootmaker, who
really began to feel that he must have
been, at some period of his life, a mili
tary man. And after being introduced
to Capt. Freize as Maj. de Boots, who
was "delighted," found himself tete-a-tete
with a very lovely young French
lady, who addressed him as "General
de Buta," and whom, at the request of
his hostess, whom he had never seen
before, and who had no idea who he
was, he took down to supper.
This stranger had been set down as
a most eccentric and distinguished mil
itary man by everybody. He was re
garded with attention, listened to with
reverence when he condescended to say
a few words. The French lady intro
duced him voluminously as General de
Buta; and thus was he addressed there
after. The servants offered him cham
paign frequently, and the bootmaker
gradually grew exlHlarated. Never
had he been present at such elegant
festivities : never had he partaken of
such viands been so overwhelmed with
festivities. Never had so lovely a
creature leaned upon his arm. Never
had he tasted such wine. At first it
exhilarated him; then it appeared to
him that his host was a glorious fellow,
and that he was under infinite obliga
tions to him.
Doubling his fist, he brought it down
npon the table with a crash that made
the glasses ring again.
"Better man than Skinner don't live!"
cried he.
"I agree with you," said his neighbor,
"Ah! I adore such enthusiastic
friendship, such lofe, like Damon and
Pythias," ejaculated the French lady.
"How original 1 How delightful ec
centric! A perfect military manl"
whispered others.
Meanwhile the bootmaker, stagger
ing to his feet, made his way as best he
could toward his host.
"Skinner," he cried, "look here! I
came" here he reeled and caught at
a table "I came to give you this be
fore every (hie) everybody."
And he held out his foldel bill,
which Mr. Skinner instantly took.
"Nowl I wouldn't (hie) do it for
for "
Mr. Skinner beckoned two servants.
"My dear old friend," he said, "you're
not well. Let these men put you in a
carriage, and go home. Til call on
you to-morrow. So glad to have seen
you ! As for this, pooh ! pooh !"
The servants led the bootmaker
from the room, after their host had
whispered a direction to be given the
And Mr. Skinner thus addressed
his friends:
"Xou must not think ill of my old
friend fox this little lapse of his. After
the trials of military life it is only to
be expected that his habits should not
be those of quiet civilians, and 'tis his
only weakness."
"One forgives everything in a sol
dier," remarked a lady.
"A very ordinary failing for a mili
tary man," responded a gentleman.
And to think the honest creature
should have remembered so slight an
indebtedness as this, and been so anx
ious about it," sighed Mr. Skinner, as
he put the shoemaker's receipted bill
into his pocket. American Comnier-
cial Traveller.
The eighth month of the year, An
mL bo called after, the JSmoeror
Anfiiakus-Cjesar, who entered bis seel
osooiggkhip in that month after toe
lathis mild, malarious weather of
ipnng uuixoy arises eariy or
ur i i
muruuiK - iius rested wen;
??0,?"!"Y Ul ,m'U8,w' . UZ
another day of con tuest. He begins
ms aiurnai career or awaKemng una
whole household. Perchance he drives
lrt;ttjtt a a u i,ov
ble tatHe with the argul-eyed hired
hl wll0se bIes3ed prergatiJe it is to
fend the family sugar bowl against
all depredatory; comers. One thing
can be depended upon: "Our Boy
will let everybody within hear.'ng dis
tance know that he then and there ie,
on earth and has come to stay. An
other thing can be depended upon:
"Our Boy" will put on his best clothes
instead of his every-day clothes unless
V,;n oQctt'-irmn mnHio Kon aarmoafamrl
iu. -?-.--- -.. BL.-
8eemstobe equally proud of ruining
them as fast as he can.
The game of marbles is an invention
of the devil in the interest of tailors
and to the distraction of mothers. The
morning and the evening of the first
: :
day constitute the pathetic history of
many a knickerbocker at this season of
the year. A. plague on tne miDs,-
the "alleys," the "chinas," the "agates,
the "brandies," the "flints," the "cats
eyes," and the "caruelians," we say!
Why is it that the boys of to-day are
not as proper, as neat, and as orderly
as their fathers used to be when they
were boys? Another delifrht which
engages "Our Boy" just now is that of
line should be drawn at the practice
which "Our Boy" makes of wading
around in two feet of water, netting
minnows two inches long. This prac
tice would seem to prove to our com-
plete satisfaction that our boys are de-
But what adds insult to injury is the
habit which -"Our Boy" has fallen into
of bringing his wretched little fish
home in oyster cans and dumping them
for permanent abode in the family bath
tub. It is a mighty cheerful thing for
a father to march into a bath-room for
purposes of ablution, only to find the
tub half full of wriggling minnows.
To add to his vexation, these miserable
fish lie close to the top of the water
and thrust their heads half out and
mouth at one as if mocking him.
Wretohed creatures, we would the
pickerel had you all !
But before all marbles that roll and
all fish that swim, "Our Boy" loves
the dog; the measlier the dog the
more lovable he is in the eyes of "Our
Boy." Why is it, we wonder can any
body explain it that "Our Boy's" dog
is always a tramp and always of the
feminine gender? Another thing that
excites our wonder is the universal fact
that "Our Boy" is hardly able to carry
his spelling book to and from school,
and yet thinUs nothing of lugging a dog
fourmiles and a half. "Our Boy" may
not weigh forty-five pounds, but every
blessed day of his life he comes into the
hoase carrying a 125-pound dog under
his arm with ease and with enthusiasm.
And the beauty of it is that the mis
erable, mangy cur seems to enjoy "Our
Boy" quite as much as "Our Boy" en
joys the cnr. Well, that's where the
cur's head is level, for the cur not only
gets the best edibles in the house but
is decorated with the choicest ribbons
"Our Boy" can find in his mother's
bureau, and? is honored with a name
wholly unfitted to one of the cur's sex.
So it is that "Our Boy" lives and
moves and has his being. And between
his marbles and his fish and his
wretched dogs and his thousand other
grotesque delights, he worries his poor
old father and his patient mother near
ly into their untimely graves. Yet
when the day is done and "Our Boy"
goes to that dreamless sleep of hi,
who, seeing the innocent beauty of his
slumbering face, does not forget the
care he has brought and think only of
the music and the sunshine of his little
Ah, there be lies so peaceful like
God bless his golden head 1
f quite forgive tho little tyke
For the ill he's done or said!
Dreams and Forebodings.
A little child related one morning at
breakfast a curious dream.
"Mamma, I thought some men came
to the house and they had such a funny
little box, and they said they were go
ing to put me in it."
"Did you dream what shape the box
was, my ove?" asked the child's
mother, anxiously.
"Oh, yes, mamma, and I never saw
anything like it It was like this."
The child took some bread crumbs
from his plate and began to trace out
with great distinctness the shape which
lie saw in his dreams.
He had never yet looked on death or
seen any of its paraphernalia, jet as
his mother watched him with sinking
heart there grew under his little fin-.
gen the exact outlines of a eofin.
-. fit was only a dream,"' the m
aid, and forbore telling the happy i
child what ill-omen his dream had I
r , o w ottb tii. naA o-v.i .
and died and the broken-hearted moth;
!erwaafain to confess that there was
some dread and potent necromancy in
A m, within fc Trnnwl..
, -- , r i
of the writer seemed almost to partake
of the spirit of divination. A little girl
of 4 years old, while yet well and with
not the slightest intimation of coming
illness, said to her mother:
"Next Sunday I am going to die, and
Mr. Lever (the Episcopal clergyman)
will bury me, mamma."
The child's mother reproved her
gently for talking so foolishly, but the
child insisted and added this state
ment: "The Sunday after Mr. Lever (the
clergyman) will die, and there won't be j
any one to ourynim.
ihe uncommon remark and the
solemnity of tho child's manner created
a passing impression, which was forgot
ten by her sudden illness. She was
taken ill with congestion of the brain,
and was buried, as she had predicted,
on the following Sunday by the
clergyman, who had also bap
tized her. Now comes the incredible
part of the story. The clergyman,
until then in perfect health, sickened
and died; but it was not on the succes
sive Sunday he was buried, as little
Mary had predicted, but on the second
following, and the funeral services were
conducted by a lay brother, there
being no clergyman near to officiate.
It may be possible that the coming
of death oppressed the child, and she
apprehended her own sudden demise.
But why should she anticipate the
death of her friend, and whence came
that occult knowledge which breathed
forth in the spirit of prophesy from
little Mary's infant lips?
A few years ago a lady living in Chi
cago received a letter from a friend re
siding in Hannibal, Mo. Before the
letter reached its destination a terrible
disaster had occurred and an awful be
reavement had fallen on ihe friend to
whom it was written. Yet three days
before the accident happened, at a dis
tance of many hundreds of miles, this
is what the friend in Missouri wrote:
"Where are you? What has hap
pened to you? Are you in the flesh or
out of it? Wherever I go your anxious,
troubled face comes before me. I can
do nothing until I hear that you are
well and happy and gay as ever."
It was two days later that her friend
was plunged into the deepest sorrow,
and her letter had been mailed forty
eight hours when the telegraph flashed
through the country the tidings that
carried sorrow into half a hundred
happy families.
How do you account for it? The per
ception that is not a dream, nor the
mottled conclusion of a cloudy brain,
northe chimera of a too vivid imagi
nation, but which is thrust upon us when
we least expect or desire it. Detroit
Free Press.
Flower Tenders.
"Don't you want to buy a bouquet
a nice bouquet only five cents?"
I turned to see from whence the
sweet, musical oice came, and found
a little blue-eyed boy standing by my
side holding a bunch of beautiful and
fragrant flowers. There was pleading
in his eyes and voice.
"Don't you want to buy a nice bou
quet? Only five cents, and I'm so
Of course I took the blossoms, and
away scampered the little rascal. In
less than five minutes he was back at
the corner with another bouquet, call
ing out with hi3 tearful voice:
"A nice bouquet; only five cents,
please, and I'm so hungry!"
The flower trade is certainly good.
A large number of people wear button-hole
bouquets, and so it is no won
der that enterprising children are
found selling all kinds of bloom, even
to the gorgeous sunflower. Occasion
ally I run across some little girl selling
"Violets, blue violets, buy my vio
lets, sir?"
The sight of these modest little
blossoms brings back a host of recol
lections. Again I wander, in early
spring time, along the breezy hill
sloping to the southi looking among
the leaves and roots and rocks for the
blue-eyed "johnny-jump-nps" that now
we christen with the more pretentious
name of violets. The most of the
children dealing in flowers get their
bouquets ready-made at the flower
stores. They are beautiful, odorous,
anA o-rfriafir. Tvnf. T TtTflfer the mOTO
clumsily arranged collection, made by j
some little snri out in xue uuuru.
Tliir aaam tn TlftV.i DTI OflOE Of STTB&H
sHHHIBr a Blf, I HeHk
fields and brooky dells about themjna.
L that is not to be lound in ny outers.
The trade in flowers is not con ined to
sex or nationality. While it is carried
on, so far as street work goes, largely
by children, there are fully as many
boys at the business as girls. Tne
peddlers of the floral beauties are gen
erally French, German, Irish o
American, other nationalities seldom
I esleriac intothe competitieo.
Hye t West.
When I ww oufr West, - write Bill m.
the New York World, I was callinz at
5s Firs F"1 Chicago,
hue grauotib utuiK, u x am sot mista
ken, in America. I saw the bonds se-
curing its issue of national currency
me ower aay in wssnington, and I am
quite sure the custodian told me it was
the greatest of any bank in the Union.
Anyway, it was sufficient, so that I felt
like doing my banking business there
whenever it became handy to do so.
I asked for a certificate of deposit
for $2,000, and had the money to pay
for it, but I had to be identified.
"Why," I said to a receiving teller,
"surely you don't require a man to be
identified when he deposits money?"
"Yes, that's the idea."
"Well, isn't that a new twist on the
crippled industries of this country?"
"No; that's our rule. Hurry up,
please, and don't keep men waiting
who have money and know how to do
"Well, I don't want to obstruct busi
ness, of course: but, suppose, for in
stance, I get myself identified by a
man I know and a man you know and
a man who can leave his business and
come, here for the delirious joy of iden
tifying me, and you admit that 1 am
the man I claim to be, corresponding
as to description, age, sex, etc, with
the man I advertise myself to be, how
would it be about your ability to iden
tify yourself -as the man you claim to
be? I go all over Chicago, visiting ell
the pork paoking houses in search of a
man I know, and who is intimate with
literary people like me, and finally,
we will say, I find one who knows me
and who knows you, and whom you
know, and who can leave his leaf-lard
long enough to come here and identify
me all right. Can you identify your
self in such a way that when I put in
my $2,000 you will not loan it upon
insufficient security, as they did in
Cincinnati the other day, as soon as I
go out of town?"
"Oh, we don't care especially wheth
er you trade here or not, so that you
hurry up and let other people have &
chance. Where you make a mistake is
in trying to rehearse a piece here
instead of going out to Lincoln Park
or somewhere in a quiet part of the
city. Our rules are that a man who
makes a deposit here must be identi
fied." "All right. Do you know Queen
"No, sir; I do not."
"Well, then, there is no use in dis
turbing her. Do you know any of the
other crowned heads?"'
"No, sir."
"Well, then, do you know President
Cleveland, or any of the Cabinet, or
the Senate, or members of the House?"
"That's it, you see. I move in one
set and you in another. What respect
able people do you know?"
"I'll have to ask you to stand aside, I
guess, and give that string of people a
chance. You have no right to take up
my time in this way. The rules of the
bank are inflexible. We must know who
you are, even before we accept your de
posit." I then drew from my pocket a copy of
the New York World, which contained
a voluptuous picture of myself. Re
moving my hat and making a court sa
laam by letting out four additional
joints in my lithe and versatile limbs, I
asked if any further identification would
be necessary.
Hastily closing the door to the vault
and jerking the combination, he said
that would be satisfactory. I was then
permitted to deposit in the bank.
I do not know why I should always
be regarded with suspicion wherever I
go. I do not present the appearance of
a man who is steeped in crime, and vet
when I put my trivial two-gallon ug
on the seat of a depot waiting-room, a
big man with a red mustache comes to
me, and hisses through his clenched
teeth: "Take yer baggage off the
seat!" It is so everywhere. I apolo
gize for disturbing a ticket agent long
enough to sell me a ticket, and he tries
to jump through a little brass wicket
and throttle me. Other men come in
and say: "Give me a ticket for Bando
lin, Ohio, .and be dam sudden about
it, too," and they get their ticket and
go aboard the car and get the best seat,
while I am begging for the oportunity
to buy a seat at lull rates, and then
ride in the wood-box. I believe that
common courtesy and decency in
America needs protection. Go into an
hotel or a hotel, whichever suits the
eyether or nyether reader of these
lines, and the commercial man who
travels for a big sausage-casing house
in New York has the bridal-chamber,
while the meek and lowly minister of
the gospel gets a wall-pocket room,
with a cot, a slippery-elm towel, a cake
of cast-iron soap, a disconnected bell.
j a view of the laundry, a tin roof, and
$4 a day.
A little- t,"-year-old Boston girl was
offering sympathy to a neighbor who
had lost a'little child.
"Yes, Mrs. Brown," said she, "I
know just how to sympathize with you,
for T lo3t a little brother once !"
"Indeed, Ethel," said Mrs. Brown,
1 don't remember it. How old were
you when he died?"
"Oh," answered the ehild, "it was
long before you knew our family! He
died several years before I was born."
Detroit Fres Press.
The Landlady Gets Back.
Agricultural boarder (to landlady)
Yes, Mrs. Phippen, I, like you, have
lived on a farm. In fact, I owned a
stock farm some years ago, and the
hogs I raked are still talked of.
. fWhat kind of hogs were they?"
"Oh, I had several kinds. Poland
China and Berkshire and Chester
hogs, but I didn't like the Berkshire.
Which do .yon think are the most un
prori table hogs, Mrs,-Phippen?'
"The human ones." Jbincom uour-
Bbitaxhia was the name given by the
Bomans to the island of Britain, which
is represented, on. their medahvunder
the figure of a female resting her left
arm onva shield. '
Iff history the Antroetions were a,'
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