The enterprise-recorder., February 10, 1910, Image 7

About The enterprise-recorder. (Madison, Fla.) 1908-1933

Image provided by: University of Florida

                
THE CITY
Tyh. S, ou",n. Tl"ima aw; but my! he's owful green!
bo very many thinks. He sum , a n,vor mliken a row,
Ana " Li Kf"8" ,,,H miw wua In a ynnl till now!
He never gathered iimixi inn ,.,,rH. ami u a ti,c n,i lime h
threw up a "tick to kno.k ,iw ; un, ,,. rf the .,,
My! I would huta to be that out una not know muru thun Dim:
FiTiJ" '"j!ome i,hor; nl,l t rroek "nil no he never boh
A-A'hlrz. ami ho haunt not 11 suit of reel ohl itlie:..
I he jtiml y.iu have to have to nh; and he aayn ho ciiii'i bo
He wont chew slippery Hhini umk or beeswax; hen uln.id
(if II been viae ho told us that lie don't know how Hi. iiihuV;
And he won t dig up iiiikIo worms because thev wIkhI- m
1 never aaw the pla.o he Uvea, but my! It" mux be Slow!
He don't know what a aprlim-hoard ii. and hasn't i!"t a hat
And If It a ralnlnif In the wwis he hurries up to Kel
l ack home because he'a bo afraid he ll .-t hla straw hut wet.
One day we killed a garter anake they don't have tli-m In town
hfu'.o-'i0 ":8,,a" w"n,t "le u'"" ''"" " "" Town!
A ihint. J?r if !"". '.'' ni'''r. m" l,"n here th.- nv.ro
lie thlnki of ull the things Ile a learned he didn't know beforel
5il";if.?iU?Rrn"S .hei,hB" to,llve ""nowhere, hut It must bo
An awful thing to Ivu ho long nnd m-ver rllinb a trie,
Or Dl UK
wutermelon when you
i . V,"u p" yu can
or dive Into the creek or ait upon
, p, nniii up unu nuin.'ii until von feel It vet
J!"," 11 '"i'r1". to "? '" "o n"V,r learned t awlm'
My! I would hate to be that old and not know mote than him!
J. W. Foley.
MARSTON'S
By Margaret
Shiela was perplexed. Sho rested
her elbows on the table among the
loose sheets of manuscript, and her
chin In hor bands and, staring out
at the gray sky, tiled to think how u
young man should propose.
Suddenly she bad an Idea.
Being by nature as Irish as her
name and eyes, she was Impulsive, and
choosing a clean sheet of pa;er, Bhe
dashed off the following letter:
"Dear Marston How does a young
nan propose at all? In a letter, mind!
No getting off with glances and half
words. 1 want a letter from an ordin
ary nice young Englishman, my hero,
to my heroine, asking her to marry
him. My Imagination evidently falls
to supply a correct letter, for the edi
tor of "The Crescent' (oh, Marston,
think of ine appearing in "The Cres
cent') well, he writes that he likes
l short story of mine very much, and
he thinks the plot original, but that
I fall In depleting the hero's love for
the heroine, more especially in the let
ter he writes to ber to ask her to
marry him.
"Now, I have an inspiration, Mars
ton, could you write a proposal for
me? Just aa you think you would
write to any one you wanted to marry.
You see, you're a man, and would
know what to say, at any rate, belter
yn I should; so you will help me,
won't you? Yours,
"SHEILA DESMOND."
She posted it then and there.
The next afternoon when she re
turned to the rooms she shared with a
fellow-writer she found bis answer
waiting for her. She pounced on It
delightfully.
It ran thus:
"My Dear Sheila After all I'm go
ing to writa it, I've tried so often to
ay it, and I never can screw up my
courage. I want to ask you If you'd
be my wife, I know you've never
thought of me like that, and you're
heaps loo good for me, but I love you
o I'd have to make you happy. I'd
jive my whole life to that. Won't you
try and care for me a little, dear?
You're Just the world to me every
thing's meanlnsless without you.
"Forgive me if I've startled you.
dear. I'm but a clumsy brute anyway,
"MARSTON HUGHES."
Marlon, her friend, looked up from
ber letters first.
"Well." she said, "will it do?"
Sheila's head was still down, bent
over the sheet of smudged note-paper.
"Yea," she said, slowly, "it will do,
I must write and thank him this even
ing." That evening Sheila dashed oft a
note:
"Dear Marston Thanks for letter.
I'm quits sorry for you you do It so
ell! Hut It will do beautifully for
the hero In my story. 1 could never
nave written one like it myself. I
lid not know you had so much elo
quence. I'm sure it's be compensa
tion for your trouble when you see
Jour letter in 'Molly, the Maid,' In
The Crescent!' Yours sincerely;
"SHIELA DESMOND."
Sheila flung down her pen with on
inpatient sigh.
"Can't you get on?" Marion asked,
ttmpathetiitflly,
"No, Marian; will you come and
viie when I'm In the workhouse?'
"Yea, dear, and bring you a bun In a
Paper bag."
"Aren't you mixing me up with the
"Fa at the zoo?"
JIarlan, eyed her thoughtfully,
't's a pity you don't try to get on
'th that other story 'Molly, the
Jlau7 " she said. "You know the edi
tor of 'The Crescent" will forget you.
" over three week since be sent
Jour story back for you to alter."
"I think I'll go out." said Bhiela. in
wnaenaently. Marian's eyebrows rose a little. She
Jiwced out at the thin drizzle of rain
lng from heavy gray skies.
Beautiful day for a walk," she said.
ohella went forth into tit drlizle,
C0U8IN.
think it's ripe, or wear
ilp and do not n-el to rare:
the bank and net
PROPOSAL.
Westrup.
a slim gray figure, and proceeded to
try und walk herself Into a sullablo
Inline of mind. She shared Central
Park with a workman for awhile,
'.hen even he went away, and appar
ently Bhe had the park to herself.
Then she saw a tall figure approach
ing. Ab he drew near he raised his hat.
"Oh, so you are hack, Marston!" she
cried, gayly. "Will you hold my um
brella while I shake hands with you?"
"I wouldn't think of troubling you."
There was a little pnuse of horror.
TJ,.. rnM ii. . , ...
.w im.r, ijiiih nj a ruECUtia irom me
damp air, was raised to his, like a
eniius who nau ueen chidden for an
unknown fault, lint Sheila wbb not
a child, so she smiled a Btiff little
smile and
"It Is a nuisance," she agreed, in
differently. "Inn't it a horrible day?"
"Yes."
There was a pause.
"Have you been in town long?" sho
asked.
"About three weeks."
"Then you have had your fill of this
damp, close weather," she said, and,
nodding her pretty head, she walked
on.
Marston Hughes stood and watched
the slim figure disappear Into the gray
mist,
That night in bed Sheila burled her
head deep Into hor pillow auu "Oh,"
she cried, "If I were In love a hun
dred limes over I would never give up
my old friends! Never, never!"
"I wonder why Marston Hughes nev
er comes here now?" Marlon said,
thoughtfully.
Marlon was trying at times.
But the whole race opposite her
smiled bravely on.
"Oh. he's a bad bhoy, entirely, and
'tis the truth I'm telling you. For
hasn't he gone and forgotten his ould
friends, while he's aflher courtln' the
muld he lores?"
Once sho met him In the street. It
was a miserable fog-py evening, and
she was coming home from an unsuc
cessful visit to an editorial sanctum.
"You've no business to be out In
this fog alone!" he said, brusquely.
"I'm am on my way home," she said
coldly.
He said nothing. She remembered
that he was always more prone to act
than to talk. Anyway the next mo
ment she found herself in a cab, with,
him beside her.
When he spoke hi voice was harsh.
"What have you been doing to your
self?" he said.
"N-nothing."
"I suppose you are over-working
and under-eating. It's absurd. You're
"My things haven't had much luck
lately," she said.
"All editors are fools," the energy
of his tones brought an odd sense of
comfort to her.
"Sometimes it's the contributors,"
she said, with a little laugh.
"Not in your case," with firm con
viction. "I'd bow, only it's bo dark."
She talked on gayly, nnd then sud
denly they were almost there. She
gave a little breathless gasp: "Mars
ton, why haven't you been to see me?"
Why didn't he answer? Oh, why
had she said it? Yet it didn't seem
much to do for old friendship's sake.
"I couldn't," he said quietly.
The unhealthy cIobo weather had
changed; there was frost In the morn
ings now.
"It Is bitterly cold out. Mind you
put your thick things on," said Marl
on one morning as she hurried away.
Soon after Sheila slipped into her
thick coat obediently. Marston had
once approved of It; he had said the
manliness of it on her was delightful.
She put her hand absently Into one
of the pockets, and drew out an envel
ope. ) Looking down at it the dream
iness In her eyB Blowly gave place tj
a bewildered wonder. It was ad
dressed in her own writing to Marstoa
Hughes!
Slowly, with cold fingers that trem
bled and fumbled aggravutlngly, she
opened the envelope, und took out the
Kheet of paper Inside.
"Dear Marston," Bhe rod. "how
does a young man propose ut all?"
Suddenly she r;ave a little strangled
sort of cry a sob and laugh mingled
In It. She But down suddenly on the
nearest chair; she trembled so that
the sheet of note-paper shook in her
hand. Then with a runh the Joy and
color came back to her face; she rose
unsteadily, and, going across to her
writing-table, she unlocked a drawer
and, taking from it a piece of notepa
per scrawled over with thick smudgy
writing, went back to her cbalr and
read It through.
"It's mine," she whispered; "mine
all mine," she gave a little happy soft
laugh and, leaning back rested her
chopk. against the paper.
Then she dashed off an Incoherent
note:
"I want to see you at once. Oh, I
am so sorry. Please come, Murston
do come at once.
"SHEILA."
He came about half-past three.
"You wanted to see me?" he said.
The cold courtesy of hla tone brac
ed her. When she answered ber voice
was as steady as his.
"I want to explain something," she
BMll.
"Yes?"
There was a pause.
"I you see the editor of 'The
Crescent' he he I mean I sent a
short story to him and he liked it,
but he ho said"
She stopped and drew a deep breath.
"He said my hero's love-nialdng
was not real and and specially
the the letter he wrote; proposing "
Across the silence this time his
words cut sharply.
"I hope I helped you there."
Suddenly hrr fortitude gave way.
A despairing little cry broke from her.
"Oli, Marslon, you're making it bo
hard for me."
He was beside her in a moment. He
took her hands In bis.
"I'm sorry," he Bald, remorsefully;
"come and sit down."
Ho settled her gently Into a chair,
put a cushion behind her head, then
spoke softly:
"Now tell me, Sheila."
"I wrote to you I asked you to
writer see, here Is the tetter.''
He took It and read it through, then
glanced back to the date.
"Go on," he said. "Why didn't you
post this. Why?"
His face was as white as hers now.
"I thought I had. I took it to the
post It was In my pocket I re
member now that there was a circular
too I was In a hurry I went to the
wrong pocket I didn't notice In tho
dusk "
"Sheila," he came close, his voice
was hoarse, "you thought my letter
was in answer to yours?"
"Yes."
"Then, Sheila, you didn't know
mine was real?"
She shook her head.
He took herd hands. "Then will you
answer It now?"
And so she answered it for the sec
ond time,
The Potent Pork Barrel,
The President is attacking nn an
cient and honorable Institution when
he declares for a revision of the
method of appropriating for rivers
and harbors, more popularly known aa
the pork barrel process. Those famil
iar with congressional proceedings
know well the process by which the
biennial allotments of public funds
for the waterways of the country are
voted. It Is the old "log rolling'' device
of co-operation. The representative
of tho district through which rolla
that noble stream Squash creek gives
his vote for the projects to deepen
Snake river, Podunk harbor, Goose
bay and the mighty Slwash, while the
representatives of the districts in
which thoso classic waters have been
bestowed by an Ill-wise providence
lend him their help In turn and help
one .another In a true spirit of broth
erly love. Indeed, the filling and head
ing of the perk barrel calls for the
exercise of the moat benevolent spirit
ever manifested in public affairs.
Washington Star.
Could Expose Them.
Senator Tillman at a recent banquet
told an amusing story.
"The pastor of a Tallapoosa church,'
he began, "said rather pointedly from
the pulpit one Sunday morning."
" 'Ah sutnly am rej'lced to seo
Dniddah Calhoun White In chu'eh
once mo'. Ah's glad Bruddah Cal
houn has saw do error of his ways at
lawst, fo' dere Is mo' joy obah one sin
n.ili dat repenteth dan obah de ninety
in' nine'
"But at this point Brother Calhoun
White Interrupted angrily:
" 'Oh,' said be from his seat, 'de
ninety an' nine needn't crow. Ab
could tell some things erbout de nine
ty an' nine ef Ah wanted ter!" Wash
ington Star.
During his nine years of experi
menting Blerlot spent 1100,000 on hli
aeroplane investigation.
TITTUP MF.N
The Pass 'Round Boy.
Th' Thru 'Itouud boy has comi) ni X'
door
1I"'h bi-.-n tliire two-three IIihi-b buhfore.
Hi" pn that Uvea l hi re nlu't Ms pa.
Hut hla ma she's lua reliy ma.
Hla roily pa, he don't live ln-re.
An' wviy h i fixed, wy, it looks queer,
Iiiilunuse, w'y, where'a hla nlly l'u
iho inu there ain't Ills n-lly ma.
An' ao he'a Rot two liomea, you ae,
An not .liiht one. like you or mo,
He hufto mav one place a while
An' chanitu then In a. paaa 'round style.
Ho any it oncrt hla relly pa
An him llvni with hla rellv nin.
Hut they uniniini. il, nn' 'at now
He'a Just a I'ara Iti.unJ lloy Bomohow.
He anya he wish lie waa Ilk" me
An' tlilniiB n ii),,, i,y uBe' to be,
An' they llveil liki- iie-y lld bulifore,
fcio lie won't pas 'munii any more.
Th' I'nua 'Round Ilnv. hla name Is Jim
An' I think Juat a 1 .1 o' him
Hut I'm purf tn i, r iih ! n you
'At I don't hallo putt 'tiiiiiKl, loo!
Harper's Weekly.
A Ride In A Csleche.
When I was In ('lunula 1 rode In a
cnleche. Quebec anil Murray Hay are
the only places when; they uro used.
A cnleche Is a high curt with a buggy.
It Is usually painted wlilie, trimmed
wllh green or red. The body is t
on leathern springs between two luuo
wheels. When you go over a rough
road it is like bilng on hoard ship.
There Is a top for rulny weal her.
The driver sits on the iliif lilmard.
A folded blanket Is his cushion, When
you get out you slep on the wheel,
turn around und climb down hack
ward. Tho driver places a snip of
carpet on tho wheel to keep your
skirts clean. We drove nil over the
city of Quebec and enjoyed it very
much. Dorothy R. Stelle, in tho New
York Tribune.
Br'er Rabbit's Tail.
Have you ever noticed unythlng tin
usual about bunny's tall? Next limo
your mother Is going to have rabbit
for dinner If you will look you will
discover on the end of bunny's very
abbreviated tail a small tuft of
white fur.
This while fur grows there, they
say, so that when Mamma and Papa
Rabbit are being pursued by hunters
and are forced to run all tho little
bunnies can follow their elders by
watching the little white spots. Most
wild rabbits are a peculiar brown
color of the ground, and It is difficult
to see them as they are being chased.
And so that is the reason that small
bunny, if he can't keep close to moth
er's Bide, keeps his eye on mother's
tail. Argus.
I na ncKt ut uen.
I should like to tell you about tho
hoi-Be we own. His name Is Ben nnd
he can do many tricks. If you get on
hla back and lift tho reins and say
"Up." he will g up on his hind legs.
He can kneel and Bhake hands and he
rttn dIca lir.An nni-frint tlmA I n n tu'A.
I will tell you what ho did ono day.
Papa had taken the other horse down
town. Ben had not betji out. for exer
cise for quite a while, so he thought
he would go out himself. He opened
his stall duor and then chewed the
wood bolt off of another door nnd
went outdoors. When ho got out he
had a nice little gnlop, but wo got him
in again. There are other things I
could tell, hut I have written enough.
Katharine Heath, in the New York
Tribune.
Winter Botany.
Tho rare stalks of some of our
common wild plants In their winter
garb ami changed conditions tire cur
iously mi fa ml liar. Some tall and
gaunt stems hold aloft a few queerly
ehaped, dried and empty pods, while
sonic, like the evening primrose, have
their long steniB covered with pods.
Far more tantnlizlng Is an unknown
dried pod than nn unknown flower,
for our botanical key will Bpefldlly un
lock the secret of the flower's name,
but before the sphinx-like pod one is
helpless for the time nt any rate.
Even the flowers one knows well pro
duce pods of other forms of teed
holders of such unexpected shapes as
to appear more a roguish dlxguls
than a regular fruiting. Who would
think, for example, that such a profu
sion of tiny waxen blossoms a those
that so charmingly top the common
milkweed would leave to represent
them merely a single, great, rough
pod sometimes two, rarely three
Instead of a whole cluster of tiny pods
or even berries? St. Nicholas.
A Girl's Threat.
(Vanny and Roe lived all alone in
a Utile house on a country road.
Granny loved the tot, and well she
might, for Rose tried In every way to
help and please the old lady.
"Why shouldn't I?" she often said.
"Don't you spend your whole time
working and caring for me?"
One day Granny waa sent for by a
neighbor a mile down tho road to see
a sick baby, so Granny had to leave
Rose alone. "I'll take care of the
horte," said tho child.
"But I may be late In returning." '
"Oh, trust me, Granny. You'll b
how I'll take enre of things in your
absence. I'll even cook teg for us."
So Granny went, and Rose went
About her work singing nnd happy.
Finally, when she bad dusted and
mended nnd cooked, she look kitty
Into the sluing roni to rend aloud.
Homely was sho seated than she
heard n stealthy footstep In the kitch
en, and, peeping through the door, she
saw a big man ut the drawer where
Granny kept the silver.
Rose held her breath. Screaming
would do no good, for the nearest
neighbor lived far beyond her voice.
Oh, she was so frightened, but she did
not lose her presence of mind, for in
a twinkling she mado up her mind to
make the thief believe she owned a
big dog. Bravely she opened the
kitchen door, and In a loud, steady
voice she said, "I will give you one
minute, sir, to leave the house. Go
before I cnll tho big dog. Here
Rover," she culled loudly "come catch
him!"
The thief, though a coward at heart,
saw determination In the young face
before him, and with a curse he Jump
ed out of ihe window nnd ran away.
"My pet," cried Granny that even
ing, folding the child to her breast,
"were you not dreadfully afraid? You
are a true heroine, dear, but I'll never
leave you alone again, never!"
"Oh, Granny, It was funny to see
him run. Ho really thought I had a
dog!"
"Hut," sobbed Granny, "snppo.se he
hadn't?" Philadelphia Ledger,
Why John Lost His Place
The story Is told of a bright young
clerk, who, recetly, was dismissed
from a large retail establishment.
"After this week, John, we sliull no
longer need your services," said the
manager,
"Hut but why, sir?" snld John,
amazed. "You nre not reducing the
force, and my work lias been satlsfac
tory, hasn't ll '"
"I have no fault to find with your
work," said the nuiwe;er, seriously,
"but there Is a very ii'noprtant fault
for which I am compelled to dismiss
you."
"What Is It, sir?" said John.
"You do not keep your opinions to
yourself," said the manager and then
he went on to Inform John as to what
bis opinions had done for him.
John was quick In his Judgment of
men and things rather prided him
self upon it. Before being In the store
a week, he had formed an opinion
of about everybody In it down to the
least of Ihe errand boys. Then he had
stated these opinions to one, nnd the
other, and as u result everyone dis
liked him cordially. Some had re
fused to work wllh him on account of
what he said about them, nnd this
had brought tho matter to the mana
ger's notice. It also had been re
ported to him how John had express
ed opinions freely as to the manage
ment of tho business, the mistakes,
that, in his Judgment, were being
made, anil the improvements that
ought to be carried out. John had
aired these opinions outside the store,
nnd they had been henrd, and repeat
ed, by someone in a rival concern.
"We can not keep you here, John,
for these reasons," concluded tho man.
nger. "But you are a clever fellow,
and I am sure this lovson will bo
enough. In your next place, have aa
many opinions br you choose, but
don't men) ion them to anybody, and
you'll succeed nil rluht. You're not
the first one we've had to Rend away
for the same reason. Some of them
never learned better, but believe
you will." 1
John did. But his story Is only an
olher Incident proving the old truth,
that the tnngno is an unruly monitor.
The boy who hopes to succeed In life,
the plrl who wants to grow up be
loved nnd admired, must learn to con
trol a cnreless critical tongue. "She
writes a correct letter, Is systematic
and hard-working," snld one woman
of large wealth, speaking of n girl
who had been her private secretnty
for a month on trial, "but she takes
her luncheon at a restaurant where
site was overheard to mention a' very
Important privilege matter of mine,
with critical common! s. I prefer the
dullest plrl who ran hold her tongue,
to the cleverest one who cannot, nnd
7 shrill not keep her."
The flr.-t thing to do with one's ton
(rue is to control It. Many hnvs nnd
rrlrls make It the last thing Instead.
Then, when they fall to be successes,
they wonder why. PerhapB these two
true stories mny set them to thinking,
and show them tho personal answer.
Sabbath-School Visitor.
Worse Than a Hired Man.
"Yaas," drawled the postmaster of
Bacon Ridge, "that's old Zeb White,
the laziest man In the State."
"In what way is he so lazy, asked
the coffee salesman.
"Why, every Sunday h- takes the
two chickens they are going to have
for dinner and ties them as near to
the pike as possible.
"H'm! What Is that for?"
"So the racing automobiles will whls
their feathers off and ho won't have
the trouble of plcklns them." Hous
ton Post.