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Montpelier examiner. [volume] (Montpelier, Idaho) 1895-1937, December 18, 1914, Image 6

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Underneath the High-Cut Vest
A Business Adventure of Emma McChesney
By EDNA FERBER
Author of "Dawn O'Ham, " "Buttered Side Down, " etc.
We all carry with ua into the one
ntght-stand country called Sleepland, a
practical working nightmare that we
use. again and again, no matter how
varied the theme or setting of our
dream-drama. Your surgeon, tossing
uneasily on his bed, sees himself cut
ting .to remove an appendix, only to
discover that that unpopular portion
of his patient's anatomy already bobs
in alcoholic glee In a bottle on the top
abelf of the laboratory of a more alert
professional brother. Your civil en
gineer constructs imaginary bridges
vrblch slump and fall as quickly as they
Are completed. Your stage favorite,
la the throes of a post-lobster night
snare, has a horrid vision of herself
"resting" In January. But when he
who sells goods on the road groans
And tosses In the clutches of a dread
ful dream, it is, strangely enough,
never of canceled orders, maniacal
train schedules, lumpy mattresses, or
vilely cooked food. These everyday
things he accepts with a philosopher's
cheerfulness. No—his nightmare Is
Always a vision of himself, Blck on the
road, at a country hotel in the middle
of the spring season.
On the third day that she looked
with more than ordinary Indifference
upon hotel and dining car food, Mrs.
Bmma McChesney, representing the
-T. A. Buck Featherloom Petticoat
.company, wondered if, perhapB, she
.did not need a bottle of bitter tonic.
-On the fifth day she noticed that
there were chills chashing up and
.down her spine, and back and forth
from legs to shoulder blades when
other people were wiping their chins
.And foreheads with bedraggled-looking
handkerchiefs, and demanding how
long this heat was going to last, any
way. On the sixth day she lost all In
terest in T. A. Buck's featherloom pet
ticoats. And then she knew that
something was seriously wrong. On
the seventh day, when the blonde and
nasal waitress approached her In the
dining room of the little hotel at Glen
Rock, Minn., Emma McChesney's mind
somehow failed to grasp the meaning
•of the all too obvious string of ques
tions which were put to her—ques
tions ending in the Inevitable "tea, cof
fee 'r milk?" At that juncture Emma
McChesney A
girl's face lr
bending way, had passed one hand
.dazedly over her hot forehead and re
plied, with great earnestness:
"Yours of the twelfth at hand and
contents noted ... the greatest
tittle skirt on the market . . . he's
going to be a son to be proud of, God
.bless him . . . want to leave a call
for seven sharp— "
The lank waitress' face took on an
Added blankness. One ot the two trav
eling men at the same table Btarted
to laugh, but the other put out his
band quickly, rose, and said, "Shut up,
you blamed fool! Can't you see the
lady's sick?" And started In the di
rection of her chair.
Even then there came Into Emma
McChesney's ordinarily well-ordered,
alert mind the uncomfortable thought
that she was talking nonsense. She
made a last effort to order her brain
Into its usual sane clearness, failed,
And saw the coarse white table cloth
rising swiftly and slanting to meet
her head.
ad looked up into the
n a puzzled, uncompre
It speaks well for Emma McChes
ney's balance that when she found
herself la bed, two strange women,
.and one strange man, and an all-too
familiar bell-boy In the room, she did
not say, "Where am I? What hap
pened?" Instead Bhe told herself that
the amazingly and unbelievably hand
some young man bending over her
with a stethoscope was a doctor; that
the plump, bleached bltinde In the
white shirtwaist was the hotel house
Jkeeper; that the lank ditto was a
waitress; and that the expression on
the face of each was that of appre
hension, tinged with a pleasurable ex
xltement. So she sat up, dislodging
the stethoscope, and ignoring the pur
pose of the thermometer which had re
posed under her tongue.
"Look here!" she said, addressing
the doctor in a high, queer voice. "1
can't be sick, young man. Haven't
time. Not just now. Put It off until
August and I'll be as sick as you like.
Why, man, this is the middle of June,
and I'm due in Minneapolis now."
"Lie down, please," said the hand
some young doctor, "and don't dare
remove this thermometer again until
1 tell you to. This can't be put off until
.August. You're sick right now."
'Airs. McChesney shut her lips over
;tht- little glass tube, and watched the
young doctor's impassive face (It
[takes them no time to learn that trick)
and, womanwlse, jumped to her own
.conclusion.
"How sick?" she demanded, the
thermometer read.
"Oh, It won't be so bad," said the
very young doctor, with a profession
ally cheerful smile.
Emma McChesney sat up in bed with
A Jerk. "You mean—sick! Not ill, or
grtppy. or run down, but sick? Trained
nurse sick! Hospital sick!
twice-a-day sick! Table-by-the-bedslde
with-bottles-on-lt sick ! "
Doctor
"Well—a—" hesitated the doctor,
and then took shelter behind a bris
tling hedge of Latin phrases. Emma
JtoChesney hurdled it at a leap.
"Never mind," she said. "I know."
She looked at the faces of those four
strangers,
pympathy—was uppermost In each
She smiled a faint and friendly little
smile at the group. And at that the
housekeeper began tucking In the cov
ers at the foot of the bed, and the lank
waitress walked to the window and
{lulled down the shade, and the bell
J»y muttered something about Ice wa
ger. The doctor patted her wrist ltght
dy and reassuringly.
Sympathy—real, human
"You're all awfuUy good," amid Em
ma McChesney, her eyes glowing with
something other than fever. "I've
something to say. It's just this. If
I'm going to be sick I'd prefer to be
sick right here, unless it's something
catching. No hospital. Don't ask me
why. I don't know. We people on
the road are all alike. Wire T. A.
Buck, Jr., of the Featherloom Petticoat
company. New York. You'll find plenty
of clean nightgowns in the left-hand
tray of my trunk, covered with white
tissue paper. Get a nurse that doesn't
sniffle, or talk about the palace she
nursed in last, where they treated her
like a queen and waited on her hand
and foot. For goodness' sake, put my
switch where nothing will happen to
it, and if I die and they run my pic
ture in the Dry Goods Review under
the caption, 'Veteran Traveling Sales
woman Succumbs at Glen Rock,' I'll
haunt the editor." She paused a mo
ment.
"Everything will be all right," said
the housekeeper, soothingly. "You'll
think you're right at home, it'll be so
comfortable. Was there anything else,
now?"
"Yes,"
said Emma McChesney.
"The most Important of all. My son,
Jock McChesney, Is fishing up in the
Canadian woods. A telegram may not
reach him for three weeks. They're
shifting about from camp to camp. Try
to get him, but don't scare him too
much. You'll find the address under
J. in my address book in my handbag.
Poor kid. Perhaps it's just as well he
doesn't know."
Perhaps it was. At any rate It was
true that had the tribe of McChesney
been as the leaves of the trees, and
had it held a family reunion In Emma
McChesney's little hotel bedroom, It
would have mattered not at all to her.
For she was sick—doctor-three-times
a-day-tralned-nurse - bottles-by-the-bed
slde sick, her head, with its bright hair
rumpled and dry with the fever, toss
ing from side to side on the lumpy
hotel pillow, or lying terribly silent
and inert against the gray-white of the
bed linen. She never quite knew how
narrowly she escaped that picture In
the Dry Goods Review.
Then one day the fever began to re
cede, slowly, whence fevers come, and
the indefinable air of suspense and
pression that lingers about a sick
room at such a crisis began to lift Im
perceptibly. There came a time when
Emma McChesney asked In a weak
but sane voice;
"Did Jock come? Did they cut off
my hair?"
"Not yet, dear," the nurse had an
swered to the first, "but we'll hear In
a day or so. I'm sure." And, "Your
lovely hair! Well, not if I know it!"
to the second.
The spirit of small-town kindliness
took Emma McChesney in Its arms.
The dingy little hotel room glowed
with flowers. The story of the sick
woman fighting there alone in the ter
rors of delirium had gone up and down
about the town. Housewives with a
fine Contempt for hotel soup sent
broths of chicken and beef. The local
members of the U. C. T. sent roses
enough to tax every vase and wash
pitcher that the hotel could muster,
and asked their wives to call at the
hotel and see what they could do. The
wives came, obediently, but with sus
picion and distrust in their eyes, and
remained to pat Emma McChesney's
arm, ask to read aloud to her, and to
Induge generally in that process
known as "cheering her up." Every
traveling man who stopped at the lit
tle hotel on his way to Minneapolis
added to the heaped-up offerings at
Emma McChesney's shrine. Hooks
and magazines assumed the propor
tions of a library. One could see the
hand of T. A. Buck, Jr., in the
of mineral water, quarts of wine,
ning cordials and tiny bottles of
liqueur that stood in convivial rows
the closet shelf and floor. There came
letters, too, and telegrams with such
phrases as "let nothing be left undone"
and "spare no expense" under T. A.
Buck, Jr's., signature.
So Emma McChesney climbed the
long, weary hill of illness and pain,
reached the top, panting and almost
spent, rested there, and began the
easy descent on the other side that
led to recovery and strength. But
something was lacking. That sunny
optimism that bad been Emma Mc
Chesney's most valuable asset was ab
sent The blue eyes had lost their
brave laughter. A despondent droop
lingered on the corners of the mouth
that had been such a rare mixture of
firmness and tenderness. Even the
advent of Fat Ed Meyers, her keen
est coihpetltor, and representative of
the Strauss Sanssilk company, failed
to awaken in her the proper spirit of
antagonism. Fat Ed Meyers sent a
bunch of violets that devastated the
violet beds at the local greenhouse.
Emma McChesney regarded them list
lessly when the nurse lifted them out
of their tissue wrappings. But the
name on the card brough a tiny smile
to her lips.
"He says he'd like to see you, if you
feel able," said Miss Haney, the nurse,
when she came up from dinner.
Emma McChesney thought a minute
"Better tell him it's catching," she
said.
rs
cases
cun
"He knows It Isn't," returned Miss
Haney. "But If you don't want him.
why—''
"Tell him to come up,'' interrupted
Emma McChesney, suddenly.
A faint gleam of the old humor
lighted up her face when Fat Ed Mey
ers painfully tip-toed in, brown derby
tn hand, his red face properly doleful,
brown shoes squeaking. His figure
loomed mountainous In a light-brown
summer stilt.
"Ain't you ashamed of yourself?"
he began, heavily humorous. "Couldn't
you find anything better to do In the
middle ol the season? Say, <on the
square, girlie. I'm dead sorry. Hard
luck, by gosh! Young T. A. himself
went out with a line In your territory,
didn't he? I didn't think that guy had
it in him, darned if I did."
"It was sweet of you to send all
those violets, Mr. Meyers. I hope yoii're
not disappointed that they couldn't
have been worked In the form of a
pillow, with 'At Rest' done in white
curlycues."
"Mrs. McChesney!" Ed Meyers'
round face expressed righteous grief,
pain, and surprise. "You and I may
have had a word, now and then, and I
will say that you dealt me a oouple
of low-down tricks on the road, but
that's all in the game. I never held
it up against you. Say, nobody ever
admired you or appreciated you more
that I did—"
"Look out!" said Emma McChesney.
"You're speaking in the past tense.
Please don't. It makes me nervous."
Ed Meyers laughed uncomfortably,
and glanced yearningly toward the
door. He seemed at a loss to account
for something he failed to find in the
manner and conversation of Mrs. Mc
Chesney.
"Son here with you, I suppose," he
asked, cheerily, sure that he was on
safe ground at last.
Emma McChesney closed her eyes.
The little room became very still. In
a panic Ed Meyers looked helplessly
from the white face, with its hollow
cheeks and closed eyelids to the nurse
who sat at the window. That discreet
damsel put her finger swiftly to her
lips, and shook her head. Ed Meyers
rose, hastily, his face a shade redder
than usual.
"Well, I guess I gotta be running
along. I'm tickled to death to find you
looking so fat and sasBy. I got an
Idea you were just stalling for a rest,
that's all.
Say, Mrs. McChesney.
there's a swell little dame In the house
named Riordon. She's on the road,
too. I don't know what her line is,
but she's a friendly kid, with a bunch
of talk. A woman always likes to have
another woman fussin' around when
she's sick. I told her about you, and
how I'd bet you'd be crazy to get a
chance to talk shop and Featherlooms
again. I guess you ain't lost your in
terest In Featherlooms, eh, what?"
Emma McChesney's face indicated
not the faintest knowledge of Feather
loom petticoats,
aghast. And as he stared there came
a little knock at the door—a series of
staccato raps, with feminine knuckles
back of them. The nurse went to the
door, disapproval on her face. At the
turning of the knob there bounced Into
the room a vision in an Alice-blue suit,
plumes to match, pearl earrings, elab
orate coiffure of reddish-gold and a
complexion that Bhowed an unbeliev
able trust In the credulity of mankind.
"How-do, dearie!" exclaimed the vi
sion. "You poor kid, you!
you was sick, and I says, 'I'm going up
to cheer her up If I have to miss my
train out to do it.' Say, I was laid
up two years ago In Idaho Falls, Idaho,
and believe me. I'll never forget it. I
don't know how sick I wbb, but I don't
even want to remember how lonesome
I was. I just clung to the chamber
maid like she was my own sister. If
your nurse wants to go out for an air
ing I'll sit with you. Glad to."
"That's a grand little Idea," agreed
Ed Meyers. "I told 'em you'd brighten
things up. Well. I'll be going. You'll
be as good as new in a week, Mrs. Mc
Ed Meyers stared,
I heard
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"Ain't You
Ashameo of
Chesney, don't you worry. So long."
And he closed the door after himself
with apparent relief.
MIbs Raney, the nurse, was already
preparing to go out. It was her regu
lar hour for exercise. Mrs. McChes
ney watched her go with a sinking
heart.
"Now!" said Miss Riordan, comfort
ably, "we girls can have a real, old
fashioned talk. A nurse isn't human.
The one 1 had in Idaho Falls was
strictly prophylactic, and antiseptic,
and she certainly could give the swell
alcohol rubs, but you can't get chum
my with a human disinfectant. Your
line's skirts, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Land, I've heard an awful lot about
you. The boys çn the road certainly
speak something grand of you. I'm
really jealous. Say, I'd love to show
you some of my samples for this sea
son. They're Just great. I'll just run
down the hall to my room—"
She was gone. Emma McChesney
shut her eyes, wearily. Her nerves
were twitching. Her thoughts were
far, far away from samples and sam
ple cases. So he had turned out to be
his worthless father's son after all!
He must have got some news of her
by now. And he Ignored it. He was
content to amuse himself up there in
the Canadian woods, while his moth
Yourself?"
now.
Miss Riordon, flushed, and panting
a little, burst into the room again,
sample caae In hand.
"Lordy, that's heavy!
It's a wonder
I haven't killed myself before
wrestling with those blamed things."
Mrs. McChesney sat up on one el
bow as Miss Riordon tugged at the
sample-case cover. Then she leaned
forward, interested in spite of herself
at sight of the pile of sheer, white,
exquisitely embroidered and lacy gar
ments that lay disclosed as the cover
fell back.
"Oh, lingerie! That's an ideal line
for a woman. Let's see the yoke in
that first nightgown. It's a really won
derful design."
Miss Riordon laughed and shook
out the folds of the topmost garment.
"Nightgown!" she said, and laughed
again. "Take another look."
"Why what—" began Emma Mc
Chesney.
"Shrouds!" announced Miss Riordon,
complacently.
"Shrouds!" shrieked Mrs. McChes
ney, and her elbow gave way. She
fell back on the pillow.
"Beautiful, ain't they?" Miss Riordon
twirled the white garment in her band.
"They're the very newest thing. You'll
notice they're made up slightly hob
ble, with a French back, and high
waist line In the front. Last season
kimono sleeves was all the go, but
they're not used this season. This
one—"
"Take them away!" screamed Emma
McChesney, hysterically. "Take them
away! Take them away!" And buried
her face in her trembling white bands.
Miss Riordon stared. Then she
slammed the cover of the case, rose,
and started toward the door. But be
fore she reached it, and while the sick
woman's sobs were still sounding hys
terically the door flew open to adidlt
a tall, slim, miraculously well-dressed
young man. The next instant Emma
McChesney's lace nightgown was
crushed against the top of a correctly
high-cut vest, and her tears coursed,
unmolested, down the folds of an ex
quisitely shaded lavender silk neck
tie.
"Jock!" cried Emma McChesney;
and then, "Oh, my son, my son, my
beautiful boy!" like a woman In a
play.
Jock was holding her tight, and
patting her shoulder, and pressing his
healthy, glowing cheek close to hers
that was so gaunt and pale.
"1 got seven wires, all at the same
time. They'd been chasing me for
days, up there In the woods. I thought
I'd never get here."
And at that a wonderful thing hap
pened to Emma McChesney. She lifted
her face, and showed dimples where
lines had been, smiles where tears
had coursed, a glow where there had
been a grayish pallor. She leaned
back a bit to survey this son of hers.
''Ugh! how black you are!" It was
the old Emma McChesney that spoke.
"You young devil, you're actually grow
ing a mustache! There's something
hard In your left-hand vest pocket. If
It's your fountain pen you'd better res
cue It, because I'm, going to hug you
again."
But Jock McChesney was not smil
ing. He glanced around the stuffy
little hotel room. It looked stuffier
and drearier than ever In contrast
with his radiant youth, his glowing
freshness, his outdoor tan, his immac
ulate attire. He looked at the aston
ished Miss Riordon. At his gaze that
lady muttered something, and fled,
sample-case banging at her knees. At
the look In his eyes his mother
hastened, womanwlse, to reassure him.
"It wasn't so bad, Jock. Now that
Ji
III
, J,
X: >
H« Began, Heavily Humorous.
you're here. It's ail right. Jock, I
didn't realize just what you meant to
me until you didn't come. I didn't
realize—"
Jock sat down at the edge of the
bed, and slid one arm under his moth
er's head. There was a grim line
about his mouth.
"And I've been fishing," he said.
"I've been sprawling under a tree In
front of a darned fool stream and won
dering whether to fry 'em for lunch
now, or to put my hat over my eyes
and fall asleep."
His mother reached .up and patted
his shoulder. But the line around
Jock's jaw did not soften. He turned
his head to gaze down at his mother.
"Two of those telegrlms, and one
letter, were from T. A. Buck. Jr„" he
said. "He met me at Detroit. I never
thought I'd stand from a total stranger
what L^ood from that man."
"WlgPevhat do you mean?" Alarm,
dismay, astonishment were in her
eyes.
"He said things. And he meant 'em.
He showed me, in a perfectly well
bred, cleancut, and most convincing
way just what a miserable, selfish,
low-down, worthless young hound l
am."
"He—dared!-—"
"You bet be dared. And then some.
And I hadn't an argument to eomo
back with. I don't know Just where
he got all hia information from, but it
was straight."
H( got up, strode to the window, and
came hack to the bed. Roth hands
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'Shrouds!" : hrieked Mrs. McChesney.
thrust deep in his pockets, he
nounced his life plans, thus:
"I'm eighteen years old. And I look
twenty-three, and act twenty-five—
when I'm with twenty-flve-year-olds.
I've been as much help and comfort to
you as a pet alligator. You've always
said that I was to go to college, and
I've sort of trained myself to believe I
was. Well, I'm not. I want to get into
business, with a capital B. And I want
to jump in now. This minute. I've
started out to be a first-class slob, with
you keeping me in pocket money, and
clothes, and the Lord knows what all.
Why, I—"
"Jock McChesney," said that young
man's bewildered mother, "just what
did T. A. Buck, Jr., say to you, any
way?"
"Plenty. Enough to make me see
things. I used to think that I wanted
to get into one of the professions.
Professions! You talk about the ro
mance of a civil engineer's life! Why,
to be a successful business man these
days you've got to be a buccaneer,
and a diplomat, and a detective, and a
clairvoyant, and an expert mathema
tician, and a wizard. Business—just
plain, everyday business—is the gam
iest, . chanciest, most thrilling line
there is today, and I'm for it. Let the
other guy hang out his shingle and
wait for 'em. I'm going out and get
mine."
"Any particular line, or just plan
ning to corner the business market
generally?" came a cool, not too
amused voice from the bed.
''Advertising," replied Jock, crisply.
"Magazine advertising, to start with.
I met a fellow up in the woods—named
O'Rourke. He was a star football man
at Yale. He's buckfhg the advertising
line now for the Mastodon magazine.
He's crazy about it, and says it's the
greatest game ever. I want to get into
it now—not four years from now."
He stopped abruptly. Emma Mc
Chesney regarded him, eyes glowing
Then she gave a happy little laugh,
reached for her kimono at the foot of
the bed, and prepared to kick off the
bedclothes.
"Just run into the hall a second,
son," she announced. "I'm going to
get up."
"Up! No, you're not!" shouted Jock,
making a rush at her. Then, in the ex
uberance of his splendid
strength, he picked her up, swathed
snugly in a roll of sheeting and light
blanket, carried her to the big chair
by the window, and seated himself,
with his surprised and laughing moth
er in his arms.
But Mrs. McChesney was serious
again in a moment. She lay with her
head against her boy's breast for a
while. Then she spoke what was in
her sane, far-seeing mind.
"Jock, if I've ever wished you were
a girl, I take it ail back now. I'd rath
er have heard what you just said than
any piece of unbelievable good fortune
in the world. God bless you for it,
dear. But, Jock, you're going to col
lege. No—wait a minute. You'll have
an
young
Strenuous School Life.
School life at Shrewsbury, England,
in the sixteenth century was a strenu
ous affair. Mr. Percy Addleshaw, In
his "Life of Sir Philip Sidney," has an
interesting account of the school at
that time. "The school year," he
writes, "was divided Into halves.
From Lady day to All Saints' day the
hours of attendance were from six
o'clock In the morning till eleven, the
dinner hour. In the afternoon the
boys studied from 12:45 till five
o'clock. Prayers were recited at the
beginning and close of the day. If a
holy day occurred in the week it was
a play day; but usually the weekly
day for games was Thursday. One
custom then begun is still observed
. At 'the earnest request and
great entreaty of some men of honor,
of great worship, credit, or authority,'
an extra holiday was granted to the
boys. The Judges of assize, when vis
iting Shrewsbury, are still accustomed
to ask for. and obtain, this boon."
Keeping Up an Old Custom.
Lammas, as August 1 is sometimes
styled, remains an important anniver
sary not only In Scotland, where it
is quarter day. but throughout rural
England, the Pall Mall Gazette ob
In many parishes the pasture
serves.
of Lammas lands "belongs from this
date until Lady day to all parishioners
who draw smoke," not through pipes,
but chimneys. The mysterious word
Lammas 1s merely loaf mass, so called,
because this was anciently our nation
al harvest festival. A loaf made from
the new corn was formerly presented
at church on this date, which fell
nearly a fortnight later under the un
reformed calendar. Farmers around
Chichester seem to have some sub
conscious reminiscence of this old cus
tom. for they always try to get a loaf
baked from the new wheat before the
end of Goodwood week.
a chance to prove the things you jus
said by getting through in three yean
Instead of the usual four. If you're it
earnest you can do it. I want my boj
to start into this business war equlppet
with every means of defense. Yot
called it a game. It's more than thaï
—it's a battle. Compared to -the eue
cessfui business man of today the Rev
olutionary mlnutemen were aB keer
and alert as the Seven Sleepers. !
know that there are more noncollegc
men driving street cars than there art
college men. But that doesn't influ
ence me. You could get a job now
Not much of a position, perhaps, but
something self-respecting and fairly
well-paying. It would teach you many
things. You might get a knowledge
of human nature that no college could
give you. But there's something—
poise — self-confidence — assurance —
that nothing but college can give you.
You will find yourself in those three
years. After you finish college you'll
have difficulty In fitting into your
proper niche, perhaps, and you'll want
to curse the day on which you heeded
my advice. It'll look as though you
had simply wasted those three pre
cious years. But In five or six years
after, when your character has jelled,
and you've hit your pace, you'll bless
me for it. As for a knowledge of hu
manity, and of business tricks—well,
your mother is fairly familiar with the
busy marts of trade. If you want to
learn folks you can spend your sum
mers selling Featherlooms for me."
"But, mother, you don't understand
just why—''
"Yes, dear 'un, I do. After all, re
member you're only eighteen. You'll
probably spend part of your time rush
ing around at class proms with a red
ribbon in your coat lapel to show
you're on the floor committee. And
you'll be girl-fussing, too. But you'd
be attracted to girls, in or out of col
lege, and I'd rather, just now, that it
would be some pretty, nice-thinking
college girl in a white sweater and a
blue serge skirt, whose worst thohght
was wondering If you could be cajoled
Into taking her to the freshman-sopho
more basketball game, than some red
lipped, black-jet-earrlnged siren gazing
at you across the table In some base
ment cafe. And goodness knows,
Jock, you wear your clothes so beau
tifully that even the haberdashers'
salesmen eye you with respect. I've
seen 'em. That's one course you
needn't take at college."
Jock sat silent, has face grave with
thought. "But when I'm earning money
—real money—it's off the road for
you," he said, at last. "I don't want this
to sound like a scene from East Lynne,
but, mother—"
"Um-m-m—ye-ee-es," assented Em
ma McChesney, with no alarming en
thusiasm. "Jock, dear, carry me back
to bed again, will you? And then
open the closet door and pull out that
big sample case to the side of my bed.
The newest fall Featherlooms are 1 l
I t, and somehow. I've just a whimsy
notion that I'd like to look 'em over."
Paid the Mourners.
The little town of Isle-sur-Sogne,
France, saw a very popular funeral
recently when the remains of an old
maid, scarcely known except to her
immediate neighbors, were escorted
to the cemetery by nearly one thou
sand mourners. The story had gone
abroad that the old lady left Instruc
tions in her will to distribute a small
sum to each person who should see
her buried, at the gates of the ceme
tery after the ceremony. For this
purpose she collected 100 five-penny
pieces, and also set apart $20 for the
funeral
music
accompanying
hearse. These stipulations were scru
pulously carried out, and after being
played Into the cemetery with all the
famous dead marches, the mourners
indulged In such a contest for the
small coins at the gate that a strong
force of police, gathered in anticipa
tion, had to interfere to restore order.
her
Historic Parisian Square.
Before the Revolution the Place de
la Concorde in Paris was but a piece
of waste ground. It was often used
for public festivals and demonstra
tions. and in this manner its baptism
of blood was begun as early as 1770.
In May of that year an exhibition of
fireworks was being given to cele
brate the nuptials of the Dauphin and
Marie Antoinette (note the irony of
fate: 23 years later, as the deposed
king and queen of France, both
beheaded upon this very spot!) when a
panic wbb occasioned by an accidental
discharge of rockets and more than
twelve hundred persons were crushed
to death.
were
Too Much.
"Don't go Into the courtroom
The judge is charging the Jury."
"Holy smoke! Is a man dragged
sway from hia buainess to serve on
the Jury and then charged for It*"
now.
Look Who's Here!
Hobday Che» and St. Nick.
Make your gift* practical — u*ehd. Fat
her, a diamond, jewelry, watch. For him.
links, lob, ring, watch. Buy of us and
a
ST
UTAH
AALT LAKE
Wherever a house is being built all
the neighbors disagree upon how it
could have been better -planned.
Biggest Value Coffee
Considering the low price you
pay and the high quality product
you receive, this is the market's
biggest value coffee.
H EWLETT'S
Lune ta Coffee
Trains ot thought are often derailed
by a flood of talk.—Albany Journal.
YOUR FARM WORK
will find an
able assist
ant in .. .
These high class work clothes are
made to wear; they cost no more than
the inferior kind. Your dealer here
at home has them. Insist on Never
Rips and you'll have satisfaction.
The Nicotine Lure.
A young fellow who was an Inveter
ate cigarette smoker went to the
country for a vacation. Reaching the
small town In the early morning, he
wanted a smoke, but there was no
store open. He saw a boy smoking a
cigarette and approached him, saying;
"Say, boy, have you got another cig
arette?"
"No, sir," said the boy, "but I've got
the makings."
"All right," the city chap said. "But
I can't roll them very well. Will you
fix one for me?"
"Sure," said the boy.
"Don't believe I've got a match,"
said the man, and he searched hia
pockets.
The boy handed him a match.
"Say," the boy said, "you ain't got
anything but the habit, have you?"
Scored Off Hia Dad.
He was the sen of a worthy manu
facturer and had just returned front
abroad. Hia father, a brusque, matte*
of fact man, surveyed his offspring,
who was togged out in the latest Lon
don fashion, with distinot disapproval.
"Young man," he blurted out, "you
look like an idiot.'**
Just at that moment and -before the
youth had time to make a fitting re
play, a friend walked in.
"Why, hello, Billy! Got back, have
you?" he exclaimed,
how much you resemble your father."
"So he's been telling me," said Billy,
quietly.—Brooklyn Eagle.
Law Versus Literature.
James Oliver Curwood, a novelist,
tells of an encounter with the law.
The value of a short story he was
writing depended upon a certain legal
situation which he found difficult to
manage. Going to a lawyer of his ac
quaintance he told him the plot and
was shown a way to the desired end.
"You've saved me just $100," he ex
claimed, "for that's what I am going
to get for this story."
A week later he received a bill from
the lawyer as follows:
"For literary advice, $100." He said
he paid.
"By George,
It Worried Her.
"Fred, do you remember where you
were In 1910?" asked the bride of a
few months.
"Why, no dear; I don't remember
exactly," replied the young husband.
"Why do you ask?"
"Why I was reading today In the
paper that it Is said that In 1910
one person In every 800 In the United
States was In prison."—New York
American.
Defined.
"What is the difference between a
visit and a visitation?"
. "Well, when your pretty young sis
ter comes to see us, that's
When your mamma comes and stays ,\
a month, that's a visitation." ' l 3
a visit
V
Not True to Life.
"The play is not a -bit romantic."
"Why bo?"
"There's an interval of
it
one week
between the first and second acts, and
they have the same servant in both."
—Philadelphia Public Ledger.
Just to Make Sure.
Mistress. Why have you put two
hot water bottles In my bed, Bridget?
Bridget.—Sure, mum, wan of thlm
was leaking, and I didn't know which
sure.—
80 I Put both in to make
Punch.
A Big Soft Anyway.
Gwen—He really must have
spot in his heart for
Pen—How do you know that?
Gwen He says he is always think
ing of me.
Pen—But you know
think with his heart,
must be in his head.
Wedding Persiflage.
Mias Fluff—Mr. Deepthought. do
you think marriage is a failure?
Mr. Deepthought—Well, the bride
never gets the best man.—Judge.
a soft
ESI
a man doesn't
The soft place

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