Frostburg mining journal. [volume], December 07, 1912, Image 1

About Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913

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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!”