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The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, December 25, 1904, Image 21

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Olj ttje EcLje of ttje Future
The Submerged Middle Class, the t( Sfrap Hangers ” of Civilization, Crowded
Out Everywhere.
New York, Dec. 24.—The great Mid
dle Class has a sob in its pocket for
the victim of every wrong. Whenever
a white man or a whiteish man sits
down on his black 'burden long enough
to /makd it squeal, and the world
thinks it would be good form to shed
a cosmio tear over it, we are ex
pected to do the shedding. We always
do. We are helplessly ready at all
hours of the day and night to weep
over other people.
Yet our own tragedy ia such that
it would be a big contract to under
take to furnish sobs equal to the oc
Our very name is beginning to sink
out of sight. The ichthyosaurus and
the great auk are mentioned oftener
than we are. Yet they are extinct,
and there are more of us than ever.
Our fate is sadder than that of ichthy
osaur or brontosaur or great auk. We
are being buried alive. We are sub
merged under the rival masses of rich
and poor.
Being Crowded Ont.
The big cities, which we built up,
are crowding us out. They have room
only for tenements or palaces. The
Middle Class has had to hunt cover
in the woods. We have escaped in
hordes to the suburbs, where we are
still treated with some measure of
kindness by the other branches of
the animal world.
The city has squeezed us out, and
forgets us totally. We are only re
membered annually in the tax levies.
Neither we nor anybody else fails to
look at uS\as the great source of pub
lic revenue. Nobody imagines that
we shouldVget something in return.
We don't imagine it ourselves. Wje
are the habitual and hereditary tax'-
payers of the world.
Every year we pay the same taxes
that the owners of revenue-producing
city property do; then we pay these
owners office rent which, as they care
fully explain to us, has been made
extra high on account of the tax rate.
The Middle Cla.H Pays.
We pay for the city’s sidewalks,
and uncomplainingly form a suburban
committee to raise money to lay our
own. We pay for the city’s police
and hire private watchmen for our
selves; we pay for the city lire de
partment and form a volunteer fire
company to save the suburbs.
In suburb and in town, the Middle
Class sees its tax rate go up steadily
to pay for lovely sanitary tenements
for the poor and playgrounds for the
poor and parks for the poor and
bands of music for the poor and art
galleries for the poor and asphalt and
macadam for the automobiles of the
Our trains are all flay coaches. Our
cars are all crowded. When the rich
man sees a line ot packed cars and
wrinkles his nose at the decidedly
Lower Class odors that float in the
thick air, he lakes a cab. There is
nothing for us between that cab,
which costs too much, a id that nickel
ride, which is monopolized by the
Strap Hanger of Civilisation.
The Middle Class ,has become the
strap-hanger of civilization.
Nobody dreams of supplying it with
seats either in cars or anywhere else,
in health or illness.
Hospitals arise everywhere. In
them the poor get the advantage of
every recoa. sa of surgical and medi
cal science. Specialists and experts
do it all without pay for the poor.
When they treat a patient who is
able to pay, their charge calls for a
rich man’s purse. There is no Middle
Class tariff in surgery and specialism.
We pay for schools and they teach
the children to cook and sew—things
that the children of the Middle Class
learn at home. The whole system of
American education aims to reach the
children who have no home advan
tages whatever. If we don’t like that
for our Middle Class children, we can
send them to private schools that cost
Just about what our average salary is.
Ko Theater* for Them.
We are crowded out of the theaters,
too. The playwright of to-day either
offers a moral goulash made of odor
ous materials to please the blistered
taste of the elect, and our wives hold
their noses at the scents which arise
plainly from the steaming dish de
spite all the hot spices with which
it is loaded; or he produces an article
of pathos and wit made wholly for
that large class which is bitter Middle
Class sufferer once called “them
If we want Shakespeare we may
manage to see one good play in a
lifetime by beggaring ourselves in
paying for seats; or we may go to see
persons who have taken to Shakes
pearian drama after having failed as
barbers or pugilists.
When we enter a restaurant with
our wives, the haughty self-compla
cency with which we trod the demo
cratic streets leaks out of our craven
Middle Class boots immediately. The
head waiter stalks before us like Ger
manlcus bringing in a triumphal train
or captured barbarians. The very
curve of his back is patronizing. He
gives us seats farthest from the win
dows. The exeeutioneer to whom he
delivers us makes patronizing sugges
tions, which, as we know full well,
fight down to the depths of our cow
af<liy souls, are really only poorly
Manufacturers and Retailers.
PIANOS from Ihe factory to the customer. Save the
middleman’* profit and buy from ua.
Our *pecial wile of HOLIDAY BARGAINS ia cloainjf.
We have five make* of llie leii piano* known.
jiatatinal) Jlnming fCeta>£
veiled criticisms of what we were try
ing to order.
Conscious of Our Position.
Our wives are really conscious of
the whole patronizing atmosphere. Of
course, they blame us for it. They
would be finely indignant if we were
to explain to them in a clear and
simple way that the situation is due
to the subtle something that tells door
boy, waiters and guests that we are
Middle Class—that, for us, to dine
in restaurants is an occasion; and that
we usually dine at home, and are
served by the same solitary girl of
all work who has previously cooked
the dinner, and who will presently
wash the dishes.
“Middle Class?” our wives would
say. “We would have you under
stand that we are as good as any
body here!” And so we are. But
we are Middle Class Just the same,
and we can deny our nativity over
and over again, as our wives always
would do, and yet everybody recog
nizes us at once.
Go to some restaurant not so styl
ish, you say? Alas! Restaurants,
which are all essentially Middle Class
in origin and calling, have, like most
of us of the Middle Class, become
ashamed of it. They all pretend to
something “higher." There isn’t a
good eating place or a good any other
place where the Duke of Oxide of
Zinc or the Baron of Hoof Jelly—the
modern Upper Class of the last gen
eration’s novels—won’t go in his hun
ger for “something new.” And after
a single specimen of the Upper Class
has once entered a Middle Class
place, he leaves an enduring blight on
it, like the footsteps of a large
thoughtful cow in a soft meadow.
Submerged by the Upper Class.
In vain our wives point to the no
torious fact that the Duke of Oxide
of Zinc and the Baron of Hoof Jelly
were not even Middle Class once, but
that their family trees were rooted
in mire and gave shade to hovels.
They are the nobility now, and they
spend their time submerging us.
They know better than to flaunt
themselves on the stamping grounds
of the classes from which they sprang.
These would rise in their mirey in
dependence and decorate them with
their own peculiar orders of class.
Whenever they drive automobiles
through the streets of their youth,
they emerge with chariots hung with
tin cans and other rubbish.
So the Upper Class disports itself
among us. It knows that we are too
Middle Class to resent with violence
the corruption of our waiters, our
servants and our tradesmen.
No Way of Escape.
We can’t escape by running away
to a lower level ourselves. Beyond
us is the jumping-off place. We es
cape from the boulevards where our
Middle Class bearing marks us as
fair victims for the motor car, to the
side streets where that same bearing
marks us as aristocrats and tempts
ready missiles of wit and denser ma
terial. There is no Middle Street
for us.
Or we go to a hotel—an ordinary
hotel of the kind that is turned out
apparently by the gross in America—
w'here the carpets are eloquent his
tories of the feet of past generations;
where the woodwork is of that som
bre hue which exists only in hotels;
where the plaster walls are painted,
and not by Michel Angelo, either;
where the window's look forth on a
square court in w'hich bloom masses
of tin cans, waste paper and other
familiar and favorite examples of
American hotel flori-culture.
Discovered on the Spot.
As soon as the clerk looks at us, we
realize that we are discovered. The
stern demand that we intended to
make for the best room in the house
at the regular rate, becomes the usual
hesitating plea for “the best you can
do.” And even as he reaches for the
key, we know, writhing inwardly, that
we are going to be sent to the Middle
Class room.
Our quiet valise, our quiet dress, our
quiet manners, are all against us
everywhere. If we could only swag
ger to the desk with a frayed cigar
held molstly lr. the angle of our
mouths, and could slap that clerk on
the back and address him familiarly
as “old man," we would get the best
room at once, even if our coat were
greasy, our linen quite beyond the ben
efit of reasonable doubt and our hat
essentially unsanitary. Or we would
get it if we leaped from an automobile
and called masterfully for the porter
to carry four ounces of baggage for
No Room In Bower Bevels.
The clerk is Middle Class like our
selves and is open only to the supe
riority of the automobile man or to
the familiarity of the man who tries
to w'heedle him. thus pleasing him by
showing that he is under the clerk’s
Nor could we do better if we went
to a cheap hotel. If the Prince of Ox
ide goes to one, all hands will be par
alyzed by the unexpected honor. But
if we go to one, it Is simply impudence.
The porter won’t even take our bag
gage. Bless you, they can all see Mid
dle Class in us the moment they set
eves on us.
And we have tried the grand hotels
—those marble and gold affairs where
they have Peacock Danes and Palm
Rooms and perfumed fountains and
divorces. Barely have we entered be
fore the bell boy explains to us kindly
that we are heading for the wrong
corridor. The porter lifts our bag
gage with the same suspicious air
with which a super-sensitive man
might lift a mysterious brown paper
parcel that he finds in the gutter.
The Fumous Wax Works Stare.
As we follow the bell boy, and pass
the divans in the corridors, we are
weakly conscious of the stare that is
known so painfully to every Middle
Class person when he enters a pub
lic place. Some of us, after settling
in a seat, have tried to cultivate it
ourselves, to use on the next Middle
Class person who enters. But we
always fail. It belongs to the Upper
Classes. It is to be seen in prefec
tion in the St. Regis and the social
halls of the sound steamers when
the Newport season is on. It is the
wax works stare—the blighting, chill
ing, horribly fascinating glare that
wax figures emit. If a Middle Class
persons tries to make a wax works of
himself, he will succeed only in pro
ducing an exceedingly and strikingly
truthful imitation of a fool. Wax
works are born, not made.
Victims of Starem,
We flee tlje divan review and hide
in our room. W r e want lots of things,
but the bells are not labeled. We
can’t tell whether any particular push
button will bring a bell boy, a fire
engine or the proprietor himself. We
don’t know the way around, and no
body is in sight to tell us. We know
too well that if we forget our posi
tions so far as to ask a guest we will
be treated with crushing pity. Only
the Middle Class ever loses its way
in a stylish hotel. All others are born
to it.
At dinner the waiters treat us with
an exaggerated politeness that may
be either scorn or the fellow feeling
of social equals, but certainly isn’t
respect. We know that we are not
getting half of the dishes that should
be served. W r e can see that we are
setting the poorest portions. All
around us we see how the least sign
of annoyance from the butterflies near
us brings a troop of waiters to the
rescue. But we are permitted to look
gloomy and scowl to our heart’s con
tent. The word has gone forth—un
spoken but none the less plain: "Mid
dle Class. Don’t mind THEM! What
do THEY want here?”
What Im Itf
What is it that emanates from us
to expose our true standing so un
erringly to conductors, waiters, boot
blacks and the world politic and social
There isn’t any difference in clothes
and features. We pay for what we
get, and everybody knows that we
will. We certainly don’t look poor.
Our behaviour at table is as good as,
generally better than, that of the peo
ple who patronize us. We notice that
we do not make nearly so much noise
in theaters, hotels or anywhere else.
We observe that most of the persons
who, by the unanimous consent of
themselves and us, are in the Upper
Class, have manners that range from
indifferent to rather bad, bad, worse
and very bad Indeed.
We aren't guilty of any of these
things. Then what is it that puts
us so hopelessly into our proper class
at once?
The answer is simple enough. We
are marked people 'because we can’t
carry off our bad manners with such
good manner as they can. And until
we can we shall be Middle Class.
The future will see a social revolu
tion, or rather a lot of succeeding
social revolutions. The bottom will
got on top and the top will become
bottom. But we will always remain
in the middle. And In the next gen
eration we will be as unknown as the
pterodacyl—living but unknown, ex
isting but submerged, totally, hope
lessly, never to see the surface.
Sally’s Christmas Gift
A True Story.
It was Christmas Eve In the Chil
dren’s Hospital, and the queen of the
party that gathered around the Christ
mas tree was Sally.
Not all the. children could be there.
Some were moaning in their cots; but
a good number were able to come on
their two feet, while some hobbled
on crutches, and others sat in the half
circle of cribs in front of the tree.
Little brown Sally, was In the cen
ter crib. On the glistening tree hung
a gift for everybody in the hospital—
no candy, for hospital babies do not
have candy. There was something
for Sally, too, but she could not guess
She was the only "darkey” baby In
the room, and the crowd centered
around her, and peals of laughter went
up every time she shook her woolly
head, and set all the pig-tails with
their scarlet rlbobns bobbing.
Her merry little, face peeped out
above a gorgeous red Jacket, and her
eyes danced with mischief and delight.
She had an answer for every question
and a smile for everybody, and she
gave her orders like an empress to her
willing subjects.
"Dar’s Santy! I seed him fust. ‘Deed
•n’ I did!”
And right she was. for In bounced
a Jolly, fat old man, heavy with furs,
cotton-batting snow and a great pack.
There was a Jingle of sleigh-bells out
side the door that did not escape
“Dem’s de reindeah! Don’ you heah
de bells? Let ’em come In!” but this
order was not obeyed, for there was
no room for reindeer In the crowded
“Hey, children! Merry Christmas!”
cried Santa; and a rousing cheer was
led off by one of the young doctors.
Then all attention was turned to the
tree. As the names were called, ea J.
speechless and shiny-eyed child re
ceived a beautiful gift.
Hally's turn cams after a while, and
her delight was unbounded when
Hants, with his own furry hands, pre
sented her with a dolly dressed In pink
•llk~ real live white dolly, with
golden hair, and eyes that opened and
“Oh, my lan' o' goodness* Ain't she
lubly'' Don' you tech huh! Hhc’s tor
baby!" and In an ecstasy of delight
Hally fell to fondling her blonde lari
U,g Everything else was forgotten.
At last every child had received a
gitt. Than there wen* some for the
doc tors ist na rasa. The young **>•.
tar who had htmi Ur# JuttMwt in Um
, . :
I JL Aff Georgia’s Greatest Store
Extends to One and All
||i A Very Cordial
jfif Christmas Greeting
And Desires to Thank Its
J Patrons and the Public in Gen
| eral for the Very Liberal Holi=
day Patronage It Has Been
Tendered This Season, which
Has Proven the Biggest in Its
This Store Will Be Open To-morrow Until 1 p. m.
B. H. LEVY, BRO, & CO.
unloading of the tree, and who had
led the cheering, was astonished at
receiving a ’doll, very black as to com
plexion and woolly as to hair.
The young doctor laughed; then a
happy thought struck him.
“Here, Sally!” he cried, “here’s one
of your kind,’ ’and he tossed it to the
brown beauty in the crib.
Sally looked up, saw the black doll,
and in an Instant a change came over
her. Her black eyes snapped and a
tierce rage filled her little soul.
“I won’t had It!” she shrieked.
“Take it away! It’s a nlggah—a brack
She tossed It to the farthest corner
of the crib, and with her arms still
around the white dolly, burst Into
passionate weeping. The nurse in
charge wisely left her to herself, and
the sobs soon ceased.
Out of the corner of her eye Sally
looked to see If any one was noticing,
but the crowd was watching the hap
pier children. Slowly the instincts of
race and motherhood asserted them
A small brown hand crept furtively
toward the far corner of the crib,
small fingers twined around the wool
ly locks, and the pale-faced dolly drop
ped from her embrace.
"You ah ma own brack baby,” she
crooned, and then, very low, she hum
“Rpeky-bye baby, In de tre top,
When de win’ blows de craddle mus’
When de bough breaks de crtaddle will
An' down comes baby, cradle an’ all.”
The Christmas tree, the lights, the
fun, were nothing more to her. She
held to her heart the beloved child of
her own race and color.
inauguration'" balun
Will Probably He Held There In
stead of In Pension Halldlng.
Washington, Dec. 25.—A1l Indications
point to the use of the Capitol of the
United States as the place for the In
augural ball next March. Ever since
the erection of the pension building
these functions have been held In that
structure, which affords more clear
floor spare than any building In
Washington. Every time the building
Is so used the 3,000 clerks employed
there lose from four to six days’ time,
the government Is out of thousands
of dollars In unearned salaries and
records of the greatest value are sub
jected to the constant danger of Are
from temporary kitchens.
Congress passed a Joint resolution
two y ago prohibiting further use
of the pension building for trails. The
Senate rescinded the effect of this
resolution this week, but the House
leaders will not consent to the repeal,
and the Inaugural Committee la In s
quandary front which It sees no es
cape unless It accepts the Capitol
in the House the suggestion has
been made that the Coflgreaslonsl Ll*
brary be utilised, but represents!lves ,
look upon this ass desecration of
that beautiful building If the ball Is
not held in ib* ttdund* ot the Cap
Itiij a temporary structure must w;
ererbuu et tbs ball ibusi be abandon
The Child of Millionaire Row Ha*
Fewer Illusions Than the Child
from Poverty Flats—Wealth Rath
er Than Poverty Kill* the Christ
inas Spirit—How- the Very Rich ot
New York Spend the Happy Holi
New York. Dec. 24.—Wealth rather
than poverty kills the Christmas spir
it. The child of Millionaire Row has
fewer illusions than the child from
Poverty Flats. The rapidly Increasing
millionaire class, particularly In New
York, celebrates Christmas Day in a
fashion peculiarly its own, which In
cludes but few of the old customs and
traditions followed by their grand
parents, If fortunate enough they be
to have possessed ancestors worth
Messenger boys and electric wag
ons have supplanted Saint Nicholas
even In the childish mind. The little
children of the rich seldom pass this
holiday In the drawing room with their
parents, but the parents visit the nurs
ery for a few short moments, trying
hard not to look bored, and then hur
ry away to their own pleasures.
In most of the homes of the very
rich no celebration of the day Is visi
ble on the surface save holly wreaths
hung In the windows and red and
green decorations on the dinner tablo.
At no time of the year are the fash
ionable restaurants mofe generously
patronized by the men and women who
comprise the smart set, and It Is most
correct for a popular pair to give a
Christmas dinner at 8 o’clock In one
of the white and gold private rooms
of these restaurants.
Two Exceptions,
Only two of the young matrons who
stand high In the social blue book,
really give their children an old-fash
ioned merry Christmas. These are
Mrs. George J. Gould snd Mrs. Cor
nelius Vanderbilt, formerly one of the
Wilson girls. Mrs. George J. Gould
Is slwsys at Georgiancourt for Christ
mas and her five children enjoy a real
< ’hrlsttnss day, receiving toys and
books In mud profusion. This year
Miss Marjorie Gould will have some
itew Jewels because her debut Is not
So very far off. The Gould boys,
Klngdon and Jay, have only to a*,
press a wish and their Indulgent fath
er gistifles It. Mr. Gould gave hie
Odors of Perspiration • Hoyal Foot Wash
as■*>■ i *-•. I ' xxatwwMii* —a-A*aua& feet, sts by ssiasaMtr^ne^auaMtMmaNMHWß
*■>*• ‘ •••Sag. cures Sweating, lotting Swollen, Tin* raw*.
wife a string of pearls last year, and
it Is said that this rope was worth
SIOO,OOO. In the Christmases of the
past Mrs. Gould has received emer
The other women of the house of
GouJd are most domestic, and Mrs.
Edwin Gould passes Christmas with
her children and her parents, the Shra
ays. Likewise Mrs. Frank Jay Gould
scarcely stirs from her children’s nurs
ery on this day.
Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt has two
small children and the biggest and
best Christmas tree In all New York
is heaped with decorations for the ex
press pleasure of little Cornelius, Jr.,
and Miss Grace Vanderbilt.
Entertain In Country Home*.
The very rich have adopted the
English manner of passing Christmas
out of town, and some ’of the most
rioted leaders of fashion withdraw for
holiday week to their country homes,
taking with them a large party of
guests. After leaving the city of steel
and stone, they are prepared for some
of the old-time traditions and proba
bly the house parties of Mrs. Ogden
Mills approach more nearly to the
ideal Christmas than any other. Mrs.
Mills has a fine old estate at Staats
burg-on-the-Hudson, and Invariably
she, her daughters and her close
friends have the Jolliest sort of a cel
A rival Christmas party along the
same lines is given at Ophir Hall near
White Plains, where Mr. and Mrs.
Whitelaw Reid live. Mrs. Reid is a
sister-in-law of Mrs. Mills, and both
have the same idea of entertaining. It
Is a tradition that on every Christ
mas Mr. Mills present* his wife with
a Jewel that staggers even the pam
pered friends of the Mills family. For
instance, last year Mrs. Mills’ Christ
mas gift was a revlere of diamonds
that oovered her neck and shoulders
like a small cape. The previous
Christmas she received an all-round
crown of diamonds which is the high
est tiara In the Metropolitan Opera
Gem* for Millionaire Wives.
Millionaires usually give their wives
marvelous gems which are displayed
for the first time at the opera during
the first week in January. Last
Christmas Mrs. John Jacob Astor re
ceived from her husband a plastron
of diamonds that covered her bodice.
These plustrons are the newest set
tings, and Mrs. Astor’s new gems
created a furore. The young Astors
pass a quiet Christmas, and often are
members of small dinners parties.
Mrs. Astor, the arbiter of society,
receives on Christmas Day, and her
white house In Fifth avenue Is a mee
ts for hundreds of smart folk. Bhe
receives In a high-backed chair, up
holstered In emerald green, and, of
course, a magnlflo >t bouffet flour
ishes In the backgro id. In the even
ing Mrs. Aslor's daughter, Mrs. M.
Orme Wilson, often gives a family
dinner, but In the earlier days Mr.
and Mrs. Richard TANARUS, Wilson were
selected to give th* family dinner on
Christmas night. The Astors snd
Wilsons have so many Internsl feuds,
however, that these family gatherings
PAGES 21 TO 26
have been dropped tactfully, and al
most ‘all of the slstera-ln-law have
different set# of friends.
Rich Little Ones.
Last Ohrlstnfas Mrs. Hermann Oel
rlchs gave a Christmas Day party for
the older children of society, which
was staggeringly extravagant. Tho
guests were friends of Hermann Oel
rlehs, Jr., and the Christmas tree was
laden with gifts of gold. Sleeve
links studded with precious stones,
gold pencils and tie pins were given
to the boys, and the girls received
gold purses, lockets and other valu
able presents. A large Hungarian
band played for these little aristocrats
and In the evening Mrs. Oelrlchs gave
a dinner dance for her friends. Mr.
and Mrs. H'arry Lehr were once host
and hostess to their friends on Christ
mas afternoon, and the day recep
tion lengthened into an all-night
Christmas Day receptions are not
in fashion any more, but In the reign
of Mrs. August Belmont and Mrs
Phran Stevens they were all the go,
A few of the "old set” persist in
these eggnog parties, and on lower
Fifth avenue and Oramercy Parle
there are countless ’open houses” on
this day.
The Kaicea and Rockefeller*.
Mrs. Russell Sage always has an
Informal reception on Christmas Day.
and In the afternoon the house of
Mrs. John D. Rockefeller Is crowded
with friends. The Rockefellers pass
their Christmas Day In the old-fash
ioned way. and the daughters of this
; great financier go about In modest
broughams all morning distributing
gifts—all done up In white tissue pa
per and brightened with a sprig of
It is the intention of Mrs. Charles
Mr. Schwab to open her magnificent
new home on Riverside Drive on
Christmas Day. but as she is a relig
ious women her observances are not
the reckless, happy-go-lucky occa
sions of the average New York wo
man. Another woman distinguished
on account of her husband's wealth.
Is Mrs. E. R. Thomas, who recently
was admitted to the smartest of the
smart sets. Mrs. Thomas lives in th#
Hotel St. Regis, and Is arranging a
Christmas dinner, with roast turkey
and plum pudding prepared by the
bravest efforts of a $15.000-a-year chef.
Long l*ln*<•* Smart Set.
A merry Christmas la Inevitable for
the smart crowd In Long Island.
Mrs. Oliver H. P. Brlmont. Mrs.
Clarence Mnrkny, Mrs. Van Rensse
laer Kennedy. Mrs. Foxhall Keene
and all those women enjoy Christmas
after the English fashion. There Is
usually a hunt In the morning with a
hunt breakfast, and In the evening
one of the chief hostesses hss a
Christmas dance, to which all th*
fashionable neighbors are Invited.
Tuxedo and Morristown are also fill
ed with fashionable folk at this time
of year, and Christmas dances In
holly-decked room* are the popular
form of amusement, with golf an.l
motor driving to •“title awsy the day.
—’ •
—parson Goods Campbell,
the millionaire, died suddenly this
morning." Little Johnny—"Do you
think he’ll be able to work hi# way
through. pa T" Parson fjotolaln -
'Th lough what, my anttT" Little John,
ny— ‘ Why, through the eye f ugg
Mod*."—Ckfcafa Dally Kswfc

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