The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on June 20, 1894 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, June 20, 1894
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' " " MOUJ1& IOWA CHAPTER It.—(Continued.) *'l have not the honor of keeping •time for the city surveyor," was the •reply. Mr. Blake well-gave it tip. Rising to po. he Baid: "I appear to have offended you in some way. Madam, I beg your pardon. But the city surveyor is a public 'officer, and will no doubt answer my inquiries. I will find his office. Good morning." , A;n1 while Mr. Blakewell went in search of the surveyors office Aunt Ruthy went up the street to confer with her niece, Mrs. Gust. Let us follow her. . "Mary," said Aunt Ruthy to her niece, -S-'a stranger, who says he is from Kentucky, came to my house—thinking-it was yours—asking about Little Joe. I think he wants him. Can you give him up?" "I can do whatever is right. But I. hardly know how I could let Little Joe go away.?' .'-'.' Joe was sitting quietly at the window watching passers-by in the street; but he heard and apparently understood the import of the words r spoken by Mrs. Gust, and he went to where she sat, threw his arms about her neck, kissed her with expressive affection and said: "Never go with strangers, Joe!" . "No, Joe," responded the foster mother, "no strangers, unless with very strong claims'in-beh'Mllf of one who may love you more than I, shall ever take you away." This long sentence was rather too much for Joe's comprehension; but he ielt its import, and looked pleased and reassured. A minute later Mr. Gust entered the room accompanied by tho strange gentleman, whom he introduced to his wife and, Aunt Ruthy. as Mr. Blakewell. .Mrs. Gust received the gentleman with lady-like respect and kindness. Aunt Ruthy, said "Humph," with a nod of recognition; and Joe took the hjind of Mr. Gust, saying; "Never go with strangers, Joe." "Is that the boy, sir?" said Blakewell. • "This is Joe," replied Mr. Gust. "Is he always so?" "Yes, just as you see him." • "Does he never talk sense, sir? Has he told nothing of his history?" "He has told nothing, and knows nothing. 'He' is a harmless, feebleminded, boy." "You call him Little Joe only from the medal, you sa.y?" Then, turning to the boy: "Let me see the medal, Joe?" Joe slowly moved his head negatively from side to side with a scared look. "This is not the boy I am seeking," said Blakewell.' 'That boy was specially bright; and his fate and that of his father is still a mystery. But, if you please, sir-—as I am a stranger to you —I will deposit the money value of the medal, and take it to the mother of the lost boy to learn whether she can throw any light upon it. At the same time he took from his pocket a bank bill for 850 and offered it to Mr. Gust. "Joseph Gust," here interposed Aunt Huthy, "don't you do it!" "I could ce.'tainly trust you with the medal," said Mr. Gust, "but it has never been off his neck since he came to my care. He'clings to it with a strange pertinacity, and I believe if it -were forcibly taken away the boy would go into convulsions. I will give you a copy of the inscription; probably that will answer every" purpose.'' . Then he gently drew the medal by its chain from the boy's bosom, exhibited it to Mr, Blakewell and . made for hiin a copy of the inscription—Joe all the while in a tremble of suppressed fear. Mr. Blakewell thanked him politely; obtained from Mr. Gust full par- tieulars of the drowning of the man »nd horses and tha rescue of Jos and took his leave. And no sooner was he fairly outside the door than Aunt Ruthy "said very positively: _ '•That man is a scoundrel. He means no good to. Joe, and I wouldn't trust him." "Why, Aunt Ruthy, what has ho pr done that you should suspect •'I saw clear through him _in a qiainute," replied Aunt Kuthy, "He means misph^e|," , .Frojn Mi-.' Gust's door 'Blakewell Tv4J&«d straight to a ' cheap jewelry store in LOW&F-Market street, kept by >£ mgn. kiiown al} over ,tho city as "Old '0h'(u&ey MoUerV" How Blakewell e.'fl.ecr W§-man's peculiarities was l{n'oW,n; but He knew-them, or he'fenew the.m, .well. }jy birth was u, Frenchman; but from residence, in the United States he liad los^ all taint of Gallicism from his gne.e«h, »nd bpoke English, at least as »s his neighbors. He was 60 years short, 'stout, broad-shouldered, th a f.t-jalthy step Jit* a p^t; t»U<ed to a ^xiiet yndertone, H^ his face wore an expression of mingled cunning and good humor. Everybody spoke of "Old Charley Molier" as a cunning rogxie; but that had never been distinctly . proven in a single instance. He had accumulated quite a fortune "bv hook and by crook" as his neighbors said; and he only kept the little cheap jewelry store for apre? tense of having an honest occupation, lie loved his only child, Vivette, a girl of 10 years, as the apple of his eye. And if he really loved any other person in the wide world—since the death of his wife—nobody suspected it. Introducing himself as Mr. Sam. Blakewell of Gray Sulphur Springs, Ky., that gentleman requested a private interview with Molier. Molier. led him politely to another room—an inner room, separated by a glazed door from the shop, so that he might watch for customers and at the same time hear what Mr. Blakewell had to say. Mr. Blakewell openedMhe conversation. : ..'••"Doyou know an idiot boy named Joe," queried he, "who is living with your city surveyor, Mr. Gust?" "An idiot boy named Joe?" queried Molier with well feigned surprise. He knew the boy very well, but it did not then suit him to say so. "Little Joe, they call him at Mr. Gust's. Do you know Mr. Gust?" "Very well* And I may have seen the boy. Do you know Joe?" "I do not know him," replied Blakewell; "but the boy wears a medal and silver chain about his neck— worth some five or ten dollars only—which I want. Get it for me and I will pay you well." "Will Gust sell it?" VNo." "Will the boy sell it?" "No; he hasn't sense enough to sell it; and yet he has sense enough to hold on to it. . It cannot.be had that way.". "Do you want me to steal it?" This was asked by 'Molier with a knowing look which well .expressed thought, which was that if Blakewell intended a crime shoiild be committed he must share the responsibility, and there must be a clear \inderstanding between them. "How much will the chain and medal be worth to you?" "To me! not anything. A lady in whom I have some interest lost her husband and son som.e three, years since, and though her boy was not an idiot, he resembled this boy Joe somewhat. I would like to show that medal to the lady to see if she knows anything about it." "Then, plainly, Mr. Blakewell, how much do you offer me for the medal?" "I shall leave the city Saturday morning for home. If you will deliver that medal to me at the ferry-boat landing as I cross to Kentucky at 10 o'clock, I wfll give you a fifty-dollar bill." "And you will also give^me a receipt for the medal, and I will give you a receipt for the monej'." Seeing then that Blakewell hesitated he jvdded: "Larceny is a penitentiary offence in this state. We shall need ; the receipts for mutual protection Yours will ac- 'knowledge the purchase of a chain and medal; mine the receipt of 850 for silver medal and chain. If that suits you, I think I can purchase them for you." "I accept," said Mr. Blakewell. ''Meet me at the ferry, and the fifty is yours." He then took a formal-leave and went out. One of Old Charley's peculiarities was a habit of talking to himself, which he immediately proceeded to do. "A little too smart; I took his measure in a minute. Doesn't wear his'name as if it fitted him—must'find his real name some infernal villainy about the matter. Little Joe's a g-ood boy, if he is a fool, and Vivette praises his funny ways, A man doesn't pay $50 for a medal and chain worth ten, iinless he wants it more than the fifty. Goes away Saturday; all right; shall have a medal and I'll have the fifty." Then he put a lump of beeswax in a caip of warm water and set it in the fireplace for tho wax to soften, and went to his show-case and examined a lot of silver chains to see whether they would aid him in a scheme he was concocting. That very afternoon Joe, who was accustomed to pass the shop of Molier qxiite often, stopped before the window to look at the glittering baubles there. "Come in, Joe!" said Molier, holding up a bunch of silver chains; "I have something to show you." The boy examined the chains ouri- ousjy, pleased at the attention shown hitOi and with a merry laugh: "Like Jqp's jnedal," At the sajae tinje he pulled out the medal by its chain $md placed his P>vn silver cord beside one o| the others, as if for comparison. "Wait a moment, Joe," said Molier, taking the wax from the warm 'and Waking two disc-like lumps. me shpw ypu." Antl in ft f.ew as the tskalfl ifraS ft small common one, then fotmd in all the shops. Joe looked oil With a etirlouS interest in these novel proceedings; attd when Molifef gave him a "Pi-penny bit" of silver 1 at tha end lie ran oft out the door with a'laugh, crying: "Say 'thank yon,' Joe;' 1 and then saying "Quarter to fonf," ran off home. After Joe's departure Molier laughed to himself with a low chuckle, and all the time talking to himself selected a piece of sheet silver of the proper thickness, rounded it to the stee of a half dollar and prepared it for ittscrip-' tiotts. He was an expert engraver* and within two or three hours had copied the inscriptions from the wax with great exactitude, and attached the chain to the finished medal so that the difference between that and the original* still on Joe's neck, would be difficult to determine, even with the two side by side. "And they never will be side by side," said Holier, talking to himself. "None the worse for Joe; none the worse for Blakewell. Name isn't Blakewell, though, by a long shot. Kentucky jeans can't 'fool me—little too fresh," pitting the medal and chain into a small box partly filled with coal ashes and cinders, and shaking it well to give the silver a worn look. "If he thinks 1 shall not know about this matter he doesn't know Charley Molier." That evening Molier dropped into Brinkerhoff's hotel and from that to Dennison's, where he learned that the Kentucky gentleman hud gone by the name of Blakewell. But he was not satisfied. However, he gave up the chase for the present, went home and prepared the receipts to be passed between himself and the ICentuckiau, and on Saturday morning at 10 met Blakewell at the ferry, delivered the chain and medal, passed receipts as agreed, got his 8f>0, and returned, without*, a word, from.,either. Blakewell scrutinized his prize for,a moment..put it into his pocket and drove aboard the ferry-boat. About the middle of the river Blake-: well stepped to the stern of the boat away from the .other passengers, drew the chain and medal from his pocket and dropped it quietly into the river. Then saying to himself, "You'll tell no tales," he walked forward, entered his carriage, and in a few moments drove off the boat a-nd was on his way —as he had said—to Gray Sulphur Springs. CHAPTER HI. AT QUAY SUr.l'JIUK SPJUKGS. !CHB FOLKS, N THE EVENING of the second day after crossing the ferry at Cincinnati, the man who had called himself Sam Blakewell in that city drew up before the hotel in Gray S u1p hur Springs, and turning over his team to a black hostler who called him "Mas'r Sam" with welcoming grin, walked leisurely up the steps and into the hotel with an air which said plainly: "I am monarch of all I survey." The Springs hotel was not such o building as now graces many an American watei-ing place; but for that day and region it was quite sufficient. Its two stories and basement were surrounded with piazzas, accessible from the numerous doors which opened upon the porches from thirty or forty rooms. It had been built some years before for the accommodation of visitors, and proved to be unexpectedly profitable. And together with its surrounding grounds and its cold and hot springs of sulphurous waters to which invalids and pleasure-seekers at certain seasons caine in considerable numbers and left much money behind them, constituted the most valuable estate for miles mound; and be- sidea.the hotel and its special surroundings there was an extensive farm and tobacco plantation with their complement of slaves, belonging to the same estate. All these were the property of Thomas Blake—known all through that region as "Old Tom Blake." Tom Blake and his two sons Samuel and Jefferson--or Sam and Jeff, as they were frequently called—had not lived very harmoniously since the death of the mother, ten years before; and after the mysterious disappearance of Jefferson, the younger, three years before, together with his young son Joseph—who • was the eld man's pet and heir \indevawill—matters between father and son were still less pleasant. Ou entering the family room of the hotel the pretended Mr. Blakewell found there present his father, his sis- ter-in-la'w, Mrs, Myra Bl^ke, wife of the lost brother, who had in company with- his son strpng-ely disappeared three years bofore-i-no on*» knew how —and a few personal Mends. '•What luck, Sam?" 6»id the old man, taking Sana's h^nd ^n a <jareles$ way. (TO SB WKAttt*« fcoH A*tt GiftLS. Wlttta'A Cnmpo*ltion-^t;otit*ftt« fttf Evettihff Entertainment* «• Offers heartl In the Toy fclo*Ct— 'The ftifeltt Kind of Hoy— There Was io be cafeTpositiens tff Idajr afternoon hi place of the "pieces," tihd rhe Frost boys were nil bewailing thttt fact, except Willie; but Willie; was quite satisfied with the change. "1 doii't like speaking pieties very well," snld Johnnie Frost, ngod twelve, "but a fellow win leant' u short 0110 and make It. do. I «ui never think, of a thing to write about" "Yes, a very short piece will do for for you," replied Eddie nged ten. "I'd b,e ashamed to say the pieces you do. I Just leanuHl ir beautiful piece, inore than n, column long, and I "won't got to speak It for— no tellin' when. Like as not we will get compositions every Friday MOW. Oh, denr, what win I write about?" "A •hunting story, likely; that's all you think about," said Johnnie, with an air of BUpwlorlty, "Say, John-hie, wfluit will a little follow like Willie write about?" queried Eddie. "He couldn't write a line, but teacher told him to write one 1C It was ever HO short," said JohMtile. Willie- did not seemed to be- troubled about what ho was to \vrlto. 'Willie was only eight, you know, and probably did not realize what n dreadful task writing a composition was; besides that, inunvinti had helped him. This Is what nnuiima nays helped help- od Willie so: . " "Write a little history of everything that happened In one day, say of last Saturday. Just write down tho pleasant, Interesting things that happened that; day, and your composition will probably be nl(3e enough for a Httlq boy of your ago." "Last Saturday was a nice day," thought Willie. "I could write down every single thing we done that day if it was not too hnrd to spell. We went to the woods in the morning for spruce gum, and Johnnie caught n, bird, nnd so wo came home without gum, to put the bird in n. cage. Mother said we'd better wait till after dinner before we Avent after gum, and Eddy didn't wan* us to chew any because. AVO could sell It and get money to buy fish lines, but Johnnie and I did chow some. When we got home tho bird was gone and there, .was no hole, in tho cage Johnnie made, so Johnnie said ho Just 'knew Ned Stieelo had stole his bird. That's all but the chores, nnd chores are not pleasant, so I won't -write about them." All tho week Willie went about with n. pleased, satisfied air. He worked at the composition when flits brothers were busily engaged at the woodpile, so that everything iu it might be a surprise to them. It was a» surprise in every respect, for when Willie read that portion of his composition in which his brother Johnnie accused Ned Steele of stalling his bird, Ned Stecle, who was a larger boy than Johnnie, shook his fist vigorously, and, I am sorry to say, that ou the road home from school Ned Steele- thrashed Johnnie Frost badly. While Johnnie's nose was bleeding and he was smarting from sundry other bruises, the cause of his trouble whimpered, "I never thought, Johnnie," and then Johnnie let his temper have full sway and thrashed little AVillie. Two weeping, frightened boys came Into Mainma Frost's kitchen that night. There .was blood on both of them, but .we must say, In justice to WMlle, that It all came from Johnnie's own wounded nose, "It was all on account of Willie's composition," said Kddie. "I don't suppose he meant any harm. and I'm sorry I whipped him," sobbed Johnnie who wan quite too big to cry. It took some time' to explain matters, and that evening Mamma Frost told Johnnie how wrong it was to accuse a schoolmate of stealing when he had not positive proof that ho had done so. Then Papa Frost showed his boys that' it was quite possible for tho bird to make Its escane from the rude cage which held it. The next Friday the boys bad pieces, but it was some time before Johnnie Frost and Ned Steele were real good friends again, even though Johnnie explained to Ned that he only thought ho was a thief for Just a minute, when he discovered the loss of the bird. Content* for Evening Kiilertuln- ttticli To pass the time pleasantly and generate a little rivalry Is bettor than a con- ttst for an evening eutortalnm yit. Our grandparents realized this when they had their spelling matches, and at apple peelings and corn luiskln^s strove to see who could get tho biggest pile. A grandchild of the spelling match Is a 'geographical pronunciation contest.' For this two 'captains' are selected, who 'choose up,' one person being left who acts as leader.' When all are ready the loader pronounces sonic lettsr from the alphabet— auy letter he may happen to think of— and at once commences audibly to slowly count five. Before he has finished, the captain, previously agreed upon, must pronounce some geographical name commencing with tbe letter mentioned. Falling to do this he must take his scat. The leader pronounces another letter and counts as before, and the captain on the other side must respond before the time is up— and so on, alternating down each line. The last ouo iiowu is declared the victor. Another contest which calls for some work and rapid thinking Is to correctly transpose the missplacod letters of words. For each guest prepare tv list of fifteen or twenty wordK-^jiames of (Unv* era, noted mew, countries, or are goofl— with the letters yf transposed, ancj aftey lists a.R4 pencils for thft Tins one A'drlwltil" rlrnlSfif afttl gives nn MulTfyo* artists to 1 fckJll. , v J3*aSteii,to th-> Wall large sneers of taper. Which Hatti teen divided ifitd ntlfft-> beipd sections, ttfid theft distribute lit- tlr slips of paper, uprtlt each of Which is Written the number and the flume of sottfe 1 animal. As each nlitnbe? Is Willed the holder 1 fs to take the tfwyoli nflclj Ih the correspondingly numbered spnee, draw, afc. Well hs he cail, the nnhlmal assigned him. • After nil the spades nre filled the judges Will decide. What each drawing is eupttosed to represent* and the sheet containing these 'artistic efforts la awarded the artist whose drawing Is pronounced the best.—E. lj. fortune, iu Chicago Inter-Ocelli. Ovorhcnrrt In the Tor ClOHfet. "ilelgho!" said tho wax doll, Wearily. "I'm awfully tired. 1 snt though two dolls' tests this afternoon, and then stood on my head in the corner for one niortnl hour. I don't know which Is Btuplder-^-ten, or standing on one's head." "They're both hnrd Work," said tho rubber doll. "But think of me. The baby left lue In the bath-tub this morn-. Ing, nnd I was under water for forty minutes. I never got such n soaking in iny life. I'm afraid I've caught cold. Doesn't my whistle sound a little hoarse V" "It Is sort of squeaky," put In tho hooplej "but I'd rather be squeaky In my voice than rilsszy. I was going round and round for an hour .nd n half steady this morning; and the worst pv.rt of my work is that tho more I attend to my duties the more tho children hit me with a stick." "I'm very sorry to have to lilt you," said tho stick. "It hurts mo just as much as It does you." "I know, my dear," returned the hoople. "You are as gentle with mo as you can be. I suppose I ought to be glad you are not made of hard wood, like tho bat." "Yes, Indeed, you ought," cried the base ball. "I'm nearly dead being hit In the head by that old bat." "I miss you as often as I can," said tho bat. r ' :'• • ' ' "That's true enough," said the ball, "but I think It's pretty uard on me just the same. The only picture I get Is in stinging Bobble's bauds when ho catches me. I hit his palms so hard and hot yesterday ho had to drop mo. He thought I was a bee." "Well Isn't there ever going to be any rest for us?" asked the wax doll. "Seems to me we ought to have a vacation." "You'll get it." said tho old rag baby up on the shelf. ."Walt until after next Christmas, and you'll have just as much rest as 1'iii getting, and you won't like It much. Molllo. 1 used to play with mo all the time, but last Christmas When you came I was tossed up hero, and here I've been ever since." "Why don't you complain?" asked the rubber doll. "Yes—and get given away!" returned the rag baby.. "I might 'be worse v ofl! than I am." "So might wo all of us," put In the base ball. "I'm satisfied with thlrgs as they arc. Let's be happy as we are." "That's what I say," said the singing doll, "nnd'If tho rubber band will uc- eompnny rue, I'll warble you all to sleep." And the rubber band good naturedly agreeing, the singing doll did as she promised, and very shortly tho toys were all snoring away as contentedly as can be.—Harper's Young People. DlHcovcrcrt. There were many queer characters In Ballautyne's printing house in Edinburgh, and one of them declared that he knew who wrote the Waverly novels, "almost us soon as the muster," Mr. James Bullantyne. "I had just begun a new sheet of 'Guy Manuerlng,'" he would say, "one night awhile after twelve, and all tho compositors hud left, when In comes Mr. Ballantyne himself, with a letter in his hand and a lot o' types. " 'I am going to make a small alter, ntlon, Sandy,' said ho. 'Unlock the form, will you? I'll not keep you mauy minutes." "Well, I did as I was bidden, and Mr. Balluutyue looked at the letter, and altered throe lines on one page and one line in another. " 'That wijl do now, Sandy, I think,' were his words, and off ho wo.-it, never thinking he had left the letter lying on my bank, I hod barely time to get a glimpse at It when he came back, but I kciit tho hand weel and the signature, and It was 'Walter Scott.' I had a great long ballant (ballad) In Sir Walter's aiu hand o* write at hauie, so that I was nae stranger to 't. So yo;i see, gentlemen, I kent the grand secret when It was a secret. 1 ' Too AmbltlonM, Many people who talk with simplicity and correctness become at once unnatural and awkward when they take up the pen. So it was with Johnny Bates. In the reading lesson there was a reference to some one who had "contracted a cpld," and the teacher called attention to the word "contracted." To "contract a cold," he explained, ''meant nothing more than to catch cold." That af tenioon Johnny had to write a composition, and like- a sensible boy, chose for his subject an account of a fishing excursion. On the whole, U was a pretty creditable performance for a boy of Johnny's age, but tho toucher was obliged to laugh when ho came to tills sentence; "I fished half an hour, and contracted live perches uud ouo horn-pout," l>o AnlmiilH J'oye Fan? There seouas ua reason to doubt-it Monkeys aw full of frolic for Its own sake, and enjoy themselves inost of all when playing mischievous jokes. " ~ ' ' fterfoj-iftejl it ; A Gf««i d66H,*t. a- '[Vft. Witdftdbert-fWs «|^Mtt fa fo'Hft*bt6 enough place % Oai^Biji Jft£» Ii ^46j& wtitt^tf "If 1 *** ^-"****-"^frl^ti Sunday, it we Duly nau sotnetnit] ffeadj •< . . Mouldy Mike—1 had & chaface steal a Sunday paper half aa hi "Why didft't yer?" ' , ,v; "Caffyltk 1 it Was tbd mfieli , IID WOrk. t _ Ji _^__ A Mesa liuyeott. **', first Podtmit Citteett—Why had »!„ Skinflint refused to fun fof sheriff« Second Cttteen—No mOniav in It atty;< more. The fees have dropped to flt»tli**t !»&• ' , X "It paid Well Otic6.<" 11 "Yes, but the tramps got tttad iJ8**)J cause he didn't treat them well enough, |.J and have boycotted the town." '•, A* Orank'8 Fate. IViend—That old crank WhHahatr, ''#f who always refused to ha>6 a doctor, v "f> died last night, ' v| Dr. Doseia—I know It, I knew it ^ would happen, I prophesied forty s years ,ago that he would die some into. -w. A Fortunate Selection. Mother—What are all these sense* .ess trinkets for? ^ Pretty Daughter—They are for the ,' grab-bag at the church fair. ! V f« "Mercy! There is not one thing that r,' any human being could want's -'^ "Yes, isn't it fortunate? Everybody v $ who draws a prize will put it back in " '\ tho bag." A Reatoimblo Kenfion. Prisoner—Ef ye plasse, y'r annor, 01 wud loik to widdraw me plea of "noi guilty," an' put in a plea of "guilty." Judge—Then why didn't you plead "guilty" In the first placo and saveall. this trouble? Prisoner—Sure, y'r auner, Ol had not heard the ivldence. If They K«irp Growing. Housekeeper (Greater Chicago, 1894) —Johnny! ' Johnny—Yes, ma. ( Housekeeper—Step over into Greater New York and get me a half a pound' of green tea, there's a good boy. A Western Job. Lawyer—On what do you base your opinion that the defendant is naturally of a peaceab'ln disposition? Witness—tWall, he lived for •• two, years alongside of a family with tew children, an' he never shot any of 'em. lIuBliiosg UeproRMan. First Boy—How's business? Second Boy—Poor. Only sold ono stamp this^vcek, and I didn't get anything for that but three marbles. Never saw times so hard. V4£ 'M •-'M , The Shearing Habit. f Hostess—Mozart, you know, lived in poverty, died in want and was buried in the potter's field. How do you account for taat? ' Prof. Thumpkowaki—I fear me he vent too often to dose barper shops. Fat's toad.' . Mike—Hello, Pat!' Phajt-be ye work-in' at now? Pat (with a hod of bricks on his shoulder—Kape away from furninst thot ladder. O'im carry in' knock-out drops. Bin DlagnoBlH. She—I have got four new wrinkles in my face since I married you. He—Too bad! I presume it qomes from worrying over milliners' bills' which I can't pay. An Excuse. Teacher—Why were you not school yesterday? Boy—Mamma was away, <and --* wasn't anybody at home to'teli j»e come. Not Alarmed. Struggling Artist— fa the rates pay I would soon starve to death. Dealer-—Yell, ven you are dot, I _ zell your blotsures vat I haf at a goo* profit at Mr. Rlohfellq— What a peachy cow* plexion MJb Beauti hasl Rival Belle— You do her an injustice, really, Mn Richfello, Her face isn»fc so very fussy —except on her upper 1}^ doort MB » Diploma. ' Miss Rural-*- Young home again. v»

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