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Mining W&k Journal.
J. BENSON ODER, Editor FORTY-SECOND YEAR. NO. 11 The Presidential Wager By M. QUAD Copyright, 1912, by Associated Lit erary Press. The town of Gorman had never been greatly interested in candidates or elec tions. There were no political bosses, no grafters, and the candidates select ed to run for town offices were of the best, and it made little difference who was elected. A change was at hand, however, but no one suspected it until it came down upon the town like a roaring lion. Henry Jackson was one of the men who traveled the country over, taking orders for the articles turned out at the factories, and one morning, as he returned from a trip, he met Elder Scott in front of the postoffice: “Howdy, elder?” says Mr. Jackson. “A little rheumatic, thank you,” re plies the elder. "Politics warming up here any?” “Not that I have heard of.” “It's red hot outside." “Well, let ’em go it. I’ve made up my mind who I shall vote for for presi dent, but I’m not going to do any yell ing about it" "Blank is your man, of course?” “He is that. He’ll sweep the coun try." “He’ll sweep nothing! You old dozers here had better wake up as to what is going on. Your man won’t be knee high when the votes are counted." Now, what followed the elder could never clearly explain. He had never done the like before, aud he % didn’t mean to do it then. Something came over him of a sudden, and he got mad for the first time in seventeen years and raised his voice to say: “Don’t call me an old dozer! I don’t care what they say outside. My man is sure of election.” "So is Tom Jones!" “Don’t imagine you know it all!” “And don’t imagine you know any thing at all about it. Why, man, your party leaders gave the thing up weeks ago.” By this time a score of men had as sembled to hear the discussion, and the elder was put on his mettle He was the only man in Gorman who had ever predicted a blizzard and had it arrive on time, and he didn’t want to lose his prestige. He drew a long breath and, to the horror of his friends, called out: “My candidate will be elected, and I’ll bet on it!” “How much?” asked Mr. Jackson as his hand went to his pocket. “A dol—that is, I will bet 10 cents!" “Hoot mon, but that is not even a baby’s bet!” “Then, by gosh. I’ll make it 15!" “Say $10." “No. Fifteen cents is my limit” As Mr Jackson could not get the figures raised, he accepted them, and the money was placed in the postmas ter’s hands. It was spoken of as the highest election bet ever made in that town, and iuside of two hours it seem ed that 200 men had heard of it. Some complimented the elder on his nerve, and some shook their heads and pre dicted that it would turn out a bad thing for the town. The enormity of his offense did not occur to the elder until the next day, when his good wife heard of the wager and tackled him with: "And you made an election bet with Mr. Jackson the same as a loafer would!” “It was only for 15 cents.” “But I could have used it to buy a roller towel, and then look at the prin ciple of the thing! I can’t believe it of you. What are Christian men and women going to say?” “But Jackson tried to bluff me down.” “S’posin' he did? It’s the duty of an elder of the church to be bluffed." “Darn him, he tackled me when folks were around!” "See! See!” exclaimed the wife. "First you make a bet and then you swear. The next thing will be swap ping horses!” “You know I didn’t mean to be wicked." pleaded the elder. “But it was wicked to bet. and you go straight to the postmaster and get that money back and give it to me.” “Oh. no. you don’t!” replied the post master when the good man sneaked into the office and whisperingly asked to draw his money down. “But it was what they call a bluff.” “I don’t see it that way. You must have Mr. Jackson’s consent. Have you got cold feet so soon?" The elder looked down at his feet and shuffled them around as he would feel of them and said: “My wife wants the money.” “But she won’t get it." “I don’t know what our church will tay.” “Sorry for you, elder, but in time you may become a real old sport. You may win out on this and scoop in Jack son’s cash.” To the astonishment of a large share of the voters of Gorman, the elder’s candidate won out, and he was on hand at an early hour to claim his stakes His rejoicing was darkened, however, when charges were brought against him in his church and he was summoned for trial. He expected th worst, but he didn’t get it The find ings read: “He could have been more wicked and bet 25 cents “He helped to elect his candidate “He has put the SO cents in the con tribution box. “He won’t ever do it again. “He didn’t yell on election night "We therefore find the accused broth- j er not very guilty—not *o very.” A Thoughtful Son-in-law. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll be drowned?” “Oh, you see, I have a buoy to put around you in case of danger!”—Pele Mele. Trimmings. Hubby—What in thunder does this bill mean, Matilda? It says, “Auto mobile coat. $150; trimmings, $3,000.” Wifey—Yes; it’s all right, dear. You see, the item “trimmings” is an auto mobile ordered to match the coat.—St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Not a Clear Title, “Does Thompson W ,/W bear a good repu- 'a — “He "ran for of- Infallible Sign. "' Angler (instinctively) Something tells me that there are fish about here!” —Sydney Bulletin. And the Thing’s Done. “I wish I were popular.” “That’s easy.” “How easy?” “Just buy a cottage in the country and serve chicken suppers to your friends.” Before and After. “He comes to see her every night in the week.” “That is nice for her.” “Yes, but wearying.” “She should put up with it, though. A girl should see as much of Her fu ture husband as possible before mar riage, for after that he may not be i around evenings.” FRO STD ITRGr, MD, DECEMBER 7, 1912 TURNED THE TABLES^ A Comedy That Was Enacted In the House of Representatives. In the closing days of the first ses sion of the Fifty-seventh congress Uncle Joe Cannon, theu chairman of the appropriations committee, had vigorously attacked some provisions of the naval appropriation bill that had been inserted by the senate. Finally he secured a vote in the house, instruct ing the conferees of the house not to recede on their disagreement to one particularly obnoxious provision. The matter was debated iu confer ence for about three weeks. Fiually the house conferees yielded in a minor particular to the senate and reported an agreement to the house. When this agreement was read and Mr. Cannon learned that the position of the house had been altered by the conferees he took the floor and in scathing language denounced the conferees for having, as he said, “betrayed the house.” A vote was taken, and Mr. Cannon’s position was sustained. Thereupon the speaker, Mr. Henderson, took the measure out of the hands of the mem bers of the committee on naval affairs and appointed a new conference com mittee, consist!!*# of Mr. Cannon (Uncle Joe), Mr. Moody of Massachusetts and Mr. Shafroth. The following morning these confer ees met the senate conferees, and after a stormy session of several hours’ du ration they found that they, too, would have to yield to the senate conferees in minor particular. They then reported an agreement to the house. As soon ns it had been read the late Amos J. Cummings, who had been one of the original conferees, arose at his seat, and, taking almost the exact words of Mr. Cannon—uttered the evening before —he told the members how they had been “betrayed” by their new conferees. Then, turning to Mr. Cannon, he said with withering scorn: “For three weeks the former conferees of the house fought the senate confer ees inch by inch. It was only when the members of this house began to ap peal to us to reach an agreement in order that they might get away from the heat of Washington’s summer that we finally yielded in a trifling matter.” Then, shaking his finger at Mr. Can non, who stood across the aisle from him, and, raising his voice to a high pitch, he thundered: “But, sir, what did you do? You fel' at the first shot; you dropped in the first ditch. Sir, you’re misnamed. You’re no cannon; you’re a toy pistol!” Everybody roared with laughter. The house promptly turned down the Can non report and adopted the one that had been rejected the night before. Within three hours thereafter the ses sion had adjourned sine die.—New' York Sun. Justifiable Ignorance. While crossing a city street a farmer W'as knocked down by an automobile. Before he could get out of the w'ay he was knocked down again by a motor cycle w'hich came rushing along be hind. A friend of his on the sidewalk yelled to him, “Why didn’t you get out of the way?” “How In the dickens did I know it had a colt?” was the angry response.— Everybody’s. Entirely Different. It was early morning in a quiet Eng lish village, and old Mr. Bell was in dustriously plying his hammer on a wooden contrivance under the kitchen window in the back yard when a neighbor called to inquire after his wife, who had not been w T eil for some time. The old chap’s reply, however, was "I S’POSE THAT’S ’ER COUGHIN’." drowned by some one in the house coughing very loudly. “Poor dear! I s’pose that’s ’er cough in’, ain’t it?” cried the sympathetic neighbor. “Na, na, ma man,” replied the aged toiler, surveying his handiwork proud ly; “it ain’t a coffin. It’s a ’en coop.” Motto For a Station. Vice President Sherman and a sena tor from Alabama were in front of the new Union station, within a stone’s throw’ of the capitol. “Why.” the senator asked, looking at the inscriptions cut into the granite, “do they have quotations from the Bi ble on the front walls of this sta tion?” | “To keep the people from going 1 astray,” the vice president replied.— Washington Star. AN INDEPENDENT NEWSPAPER Nelle’s Baby. To Nelle Broadwater Zeller, with love : Little child of Nelle ! her first-born ! how her heart with rapture thrills! — As she holds you to her bosom while your plaintive cry she stills ! And she tries to search the future to learn what God has in store For a gift so fair and precious sent by Heaven to her door ! Will you be a man of business, like your father, little boy ? Will your soul be filled with music, running over in it’s joy— Like your fair and gifted mother who has held our hearts in thrall By the sweet and tender melodies awakened at her call ? Are your eyes brown and mischievous—like your small, proud “Uncle Gratt?” Will you be like little Margaret—so merry, sweet and fat?— Serene and stoical, like Russell—calmly let the old world slide ? Or fulfil the cherished dream of someone on your father’s side ? Will the world e’er sing your praises ? Will j'ou grow up strong and rich ? : Or just bravely do your duty in an humble, quiet niche ? What the future has in store for you not one of us can tell; But whate’er it is we’ll love you, little baby of our Nelle ! Sara Roberta Getty. 1882 1912 ™ f THIRTY YEARS AGO. f | The Items Below Were Current During Y Week Ending December 16, 1882. The 168th course was laid on the summit of the Washington Monument, in Washington, D. C., completing the shaft, Monday, December 11, 1882. It was reckoned that the Monument is 2% inches higher than the pinnacle of the Goddess of Liberty on the Capitol Dome, and altogether 336 feet 5J4 inches high. Much ado over the resignation of the County School Commissioners. Messrs. H. L. Thompson and Samuel Gay, mine engineer and inspector, re spectively, made a tour of this coal region and returned a most compli mentary report. The extension of Orman to Water street was provided in a Council reso lution, and Henry J. Powell was elected Councilman to fill vacancy occasioned by election of Andrew Smeltz Mayor. Owen Evans, of Youngstown, 0., paid a visit to relatives and friends here, and L• P. Wolfe returned from a tour of the West. The steam pump at Ocean was tested first time Monday •'light, De cember 11, 1882, and at 2 next morn ing it was pronounced an assured suc cess. James Jacobs was the engineer. Tuesday, December 12, 1882, Mrs. Catharine Powers, wife of Frank Powers, died, aged 34 years. Thursday, December 14, 1882, Mrs. Catharine Fink died in Eckhart. She had lately arrived from Europe. Mr. and Mrs. Thomas R. Riggs, of this place, lost an infant son by death Tuesday, December 12, 1882. Thursday, December 14, 1882, Col. Crawford W. Shearer died in this place, aged 69 years. He was a Scotchman by birth, long time super intendent of the Hampshire and Bal timore Coal Company, and served three years of the Civil War as Lieu tenant-Colonel of the Third Maryland Regiment. Saturday, December 16, 1882, Lulie Ellsworth, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J. M. Zimmerly, died, in the 4th year of her age. A reception given by Mrs. Alexander Sloan, Lonaconing, to her son and his bride—Mr. and Mrs. D. W. Sloan, Wednesday, December 13, was very numerously attended. All Appealing Note From a Hungry “Pote.” Dear critics, try 3'ourselves the things that you would have us do. There’s not in criticism that’s commendable or new. Of all the things I’ve ever done with heart or hand there’s naught I couldn’t have improved upon if given second thought. Think not that you’ve alone discovered weakness in my art, For I’ve already gleaned —it promises better form next start. Be kind at heart to poets ! We are not well-fed as you ; Ponder our lowly station —at best our life is blue. Consider our sleepless, hungry nights, spent in pursuit of Muse, Only to find our efforts met with “horse”-laughs and abuse. If we try to please the Irish, then we rouse the Dutchman’s ire ; And if we prod the Irish we are lashed from base to spire. If playfully we gibe a friend with warmest, kindly feeling. He bristles up, cries “halt! you know not with whom you are dealing !” I’d like to please all factions —be at peace with “Jeff aud Mutt,” But a poet is a poet and he’s doomed to keep the rut. Still, to my adverse critics pressing invitation stands To furnish decent musings per my willing pen and hands. And to them who cannot attune to anything I do I’d say —“come, lend your counsel ; I’d be pleased to learn from you.” There’s none of us infallible ; weak spots are always found In strong men —strong of brain or brawn ; God didn’t make us sound. Honest criticism is a thing by none despised ; If spoken with sincerity it’s welcome help is prized. But, critics, try the things yourselves that you’d have others do, For idle criticism’s not commendable nor new. And if you find (you surely will) that some things “can’t be did,” Of petty, poison-prejudice, your sj’stem will be rid— Then, once more we’ll all be “little pals together.” C. B. Ryan. Wont Like It. A Milwaukee (Wis.) Dispatch con veys the information that—- - “A company has been formed here to make cowless milk direct from hay. ” How those who love to see the cow enjoying more than “personal liberty” on the streets will despise the Mil waukee plan. A young man, named Wonder, had a leg badly fractured in Eckhart mine Friday, December Bth. The horse and buggy which several months ago turned up in Wesley Loar’s stable-yard, were sold at pub lic auction Friday, December Bth, for $129, James McFarland, purchaser. O. C. Deffinbaugh, in behalf of the C. and P. R., overlaid the path to the Depot with a heavy coat of ash-cin ders. Building brick walls in the Astor mine to prevent spread of fire pro gressed until it was believed that dan ger was passed. “Chicago Beef Stores” multiplying in Frostburg, J. J. Arnold and G. W. McCulloh being latest to establish them. A numerously-attended convocation of Free Masons in Eonaconing was brought about by a fraternity desire to present a token to William Byers, P. M., about to remove from that place. George L. Wellington, of Cum berland, and James Little, of Lona coning, were elected, respectively, president and vice-president. James M. Sloan made the presentation speech of the token—a costly gold fob-chain carrying a Past Master’s jewel. Speeches were made also by Dr. W. J. Piper, Rev. J. D. Hill and James Jacobs, and songs rendered by Wil liam Byers, Robert White, Hugh Muir, James Frew, John McFarland, James Martin, Frank Moore and John Cuth bertson. Two of the orators also sang—James M. Sloan, “Stalled Now, Waiting for a Song,” and George L. Wellington—“ Grasshopper,” in Ger man. William Hartman, 8 years old, son of Andrew Hartman, had a leg broken Wednesday, December 13th. A hill side, sled and telegraph-pole took part in the mishap. S. P. Thomas and family removed to Scranton, Pa., and Thomas H. Paul to Baltimore. Permission was granted John E. Kelley to hold a night school in Mid land by the County School Commis sioners. David Frew, 37 years old, was killed in Borden Shaft Saturday, December 9, 1882, by a fall of roof coal. What He Is Not. The Frostburg Journal remarks that if the “Boy” doesn’t look out “somebody” will tell him that “some body” is mad. But the Journal ■ should know that the “Boy” looks “out” nearly every time he looks ■ Philip’s Boy. Evidently the “Boy” is not a doctor. There and Here. A picture of the post-office building in Brigdeton, N. J., completed about two years ago, comes from Charles R. Page, once a Journal aitache, who writes of it as— “A two-story building in one sense of the word and only one in another. The small windows on the second floor open from the government of fices, but the offices are only in the front —over the corridor. “The main section is full two stories in height, but the ceiling is high and takes up the two stories from one floor.” Looks like a great deal of waste space in Bridgeton, even though there had to be a two-story building on ac count of government offices. In fact, in Bridgeton the govern ment made a one-story building look like a two-story edifice. In Frostburg the plan is—make a two-story edifice look like a one-story bungalow. Good Advice. “I’d have you know I am nobody’s fool.” "Y r ou’d better be careful then. Y u are liable to lie attached any minute.” Fact. In Cumberland Monday— Wright Butler—O, you are looking as young now as you did 58 years ago! Journal —Sure! And the great paper is here to impose upon you for a hundred years yet! 1 W. B. —I hope so. I hope, too, I’ll : still be here to be “imposed on.” Last Chance. Under auspices of the O. U. B. D. Club a “Leap-Year Dance” will be , held in Terpsichorean Hall, Frost burg Opera House, Friday evening, 27th inst. According to the calendar of coming events, ladies, this is posi tively your last chance to pop the , question to the delinquent for three whole years. So, make the most of it! Irony. ' f1 * ' “Nah, then, come awye, can’t yer? : Y’ down’t want to buy anything to dye.”—Punch. Acknowledgments. Two cards from Syracuse, N. Y., re ceived too late for mention last week — one from William McC. Tyler, who wrote — “This is a bum town for a Thanks giving dinner! Can’t enjoy it! Makes a feller hark back to the good things in the old ’burg. Best regards to the ‘Us Fellers Club.’ ” The other card comes from the firm of Aspinall & Tyler, explanatory as follows: “Us members of the ‘Us Fellers Club’ are here to take Thanksgiving dinner and anything else we can get our hands on.” All three of these “Us Fellers” recognize the Journal as “The Paper That Is Great.” Went to His Heart. Poor George W. Hayes, 15 years old, died Thanksgiving day in Philadelphia from a splinter of his knee-cap which worked its way up and into his heart. A year ago he played foot-ball and his knee-cap sustained an injury in a scrouge. It seemed to get well, but when pains in his left side came and phy -5 sicians could not account for them, t they grew worse until he died. The autopsy showed that a piece of the broken knee-cap had punctured $ his heart. Which makes football a game of danger even after one seemingly re . | covers from a hurt. HENRY P. COOK, Manager WHOLE NUMBER 2,148 To Avoid Slush. To the Mining Journal. Profiting' by the terse, condensed rules, presented in your issue of No vember 23d, credited to a “college of journalism,” the following rhymes are submitted : Do your work ! Do not shirk ! Without a kink Let each gink Strive to do What is true ! Talk is cheap ; —■ Learn to keep Your tongue in tow, Else you’ll go Sprawling after Something dafter ! Sometimes, too, When you’re through Working hard For your “card,” With a zip It will slip Through your fingers, Where it lingers, If your hold Grows too cold. Work with vim That wont dim! Keep up steam, But don’t scream! Stay on the mat 1 Keep at the bat ! To all trouble, Single or double, Just say “scat 1” D. K. Runaway. A heavy steam-shovel car got away from a train last Sunday morning on this side of the Great Savage tunnel, and made a 17-mile run, down-grade, to Cumberland, at a rate of over 78 miles an hour. Two men aboard staid until they saw they could not stop the car. Then they jumped. Luckily, there was nothing on the track all the way to Cumberland. At Georges Creek junction, in the city, however, the car left the cross over switch and turned over to rest. Home-Coming Echo. “After the fine time enjoyed during Home-Coming week in Frostburg and a stay of a month later, I left for Bal timore; visited relatives there; then to Uniontown, Pa., to see more relatives; then to Huntington, W. Va., to see my nephew —Ellis Frost, meeting there also Hazel Frost, I started for home, in Kansas City last Monday, and reached here Tuesday—in good time to eat my Thanksgiving Day din ner with my brother Will. “Meanwhile, we have been busy talking over the good time we en joyed in the old ’burg with our good friends —a time never to be forgotten. “The sad part of all is—it can never happen again in this world! “Grateful remembrances to all!” The foregoing is a copy of a letter received by Journal last Monday, dated Friday, November 29, in Kansas City, Mo. “Lost Hat” Story. A well-known Cumberlander, own ing an automobile, came up the other day, facing a strenuous wind. The auto is one of Swift’s Early Drives, which doesn’t take much account of wind, going or coming. Hence, Mr. S. noticed that the wind, was high at the upper outlet of the Narrows; higher at Six-Mile House; still higher at Clarysville, and at the summit opening on Eckhart Flat it came on him so vile that his well fitting hat took wing, flew away, and has not since been found. This story, retailed to Otto Hohing, sr., this gentleman harked back to a cyclone which once went through this town, carrying shingles and lots of other head-pieces to—nobody ever found out where. Mr. Hohing said that wind has much more to do with comfort in Frostburg than frost, and it might have been more appropriately named Windburg. “The thermometer,” he says, “at 10 degrees below looks uncomfortable, but if there is no wind it isn’t as un pleasant as at 10 above accompanied by remnants of said cyclones.” “One of the marvels of this busi ness, though,” observed Sandy Smith, “is—what becomes of the flag on the First National Bank, which the wind treats so disloyally? A new flag will go up; in about three months it begins to show wear, and, thread by thread, it disappears until all of it is gone. The question—where does it go?” “That’s exactly what Mr. L. S. wants to know about his hat!” ex claimed Mr. Hohing. In later talk about the automobile it was stated that when it is coming at 60 miles an hour against the wind of same speed it is as though the wind were blowing at 120 miles an hour. “Allowing for a gradual fall of the hat, therefore,” said Prof. O’Rourke, “that head-piece could hardly be found this side of beyond three miles below Green Spring Run.” Then L. L. S. raised the question— “will it pay to scour all the country between here and Green Spring Run just to find that hat?” “It will not,” replied Mr. Hohing; “so come in and let us sell you one— No. 8, Belvedere-Waldorf, curved brim, Pisa dome, and complexion to match the car!”