The Cottage Grove sentinel., July 08, 1910, Image 2

IMPATIENCE.
rowth of the
S? <ç^oda Abater
l S
Our life is spent in little things;
Jo little cares our hearts are drown­
ed;
We move, with heavy-laden wings,
In the same narrow round.
We waste on wars and petty strife,
And squander in a thousand ways
The fire that should have been the life
And power of. after days.
We toil.to make an outward show,'
And only now and then, reveal
How far -.the undercurrents flow
Of all we think and feel.
Mining in coves of ancient lore,
Unweaving endless webs of thought,
We do what has been, done of yore.
And so we come to naught.
The spirit longs for wider scope,
And room to let its fountains play
Ere it has lost its love and hope,
Tamed down or worn away.
I wander by the cloister wall
My fancy fretting to be free
As, through the twilight, voices call
From mountain and from sea.
Forgive me if I feel oppressed
By Custom, lord of all and me!
My soul springs upward, seeking rest.
And cries for liberty;
—John Nichol.
HE girl behind the. soda fountain has come
into her own. If it’s a representative of
the other sex who juggles with the fizzy
water, he’s a sovereign and a white jacket
and apron are his robes of state. For soda
water has reached one of the very highest
notches alongside wheat and automobiles
and hash and beer in the scale of life’s necessities. This
Is true all over the broad land from New York as far
west as Reno, Nev., or even farther west to Osekuewe,
Cal. Ice cream soda has been placed upon a marble
pedestal and we are all bowed down in worship—old
men, co-eds, stereotypers, summery girls, middle-aged
ladies and David Belasco. Every day, summer and win­
ter, we shove our nickel over the slab and murmur
humbly tjiat a destiny would be unfulfilled unless we
had a “raspberry phosphate” or a “pistachio royal sun­
dae,” with green trimmings.
And all this means things in cold, comparative fig­
ures that stick in your brain and make you think of
economy and the increased price of living, the poor
children starving in the slums and other disturbing
ithings when you’re going to turn into the corner drug
»or fruit store for one of them banana frappes, the very
latest thing for 15 cents.
•But here’s what the figures show: That ten billions
of nickels are spent every year at soda fountains in
this country, and as there are only a billion nickels in
circulation, it is plain to be seen that each one of them
would have to make ten trips to the soda fountain if
only nickels were used. That the nation’s expenditure
for soda water and carbonated drinks this year is esti­
mated at $500,000,000. It makes it all the more ap­
palling when you think that that is half a billion dol-
ALLOWANCE FOR THE LIVING.
Do we indeed desire the dead
Should still be near us at our side?
Is there ho baseness we would hide
No inner vileness that we dread?
Shall he for whose applause I strove,
I had such reverence for .his blame,
See with clear eyes some hidden
shame
And I be lessened in his love?
I wrong the grave with fears untrue;
Shall love be blamed for want Of
faith?
There must be wisdom with great
Death:
The dead shall look me through and
through.
Be near us when we climb or fall:
Ye watch, like God, the rolling hours
With larger other eyes than ours,
To make allowance for us all.
—Tennyson.
And, Luke, where do you expect
all this to end?” •
“End? I hdpe it never will end. I
don’t see why it should.”
Folding up a little pink note Luke
Clark put on his hat and went to visit
some of his patients.
“How little men know the hearts
of women!” his sister ejaculated as
Luke left the room.
In a luxurious' house in one of the
fashionable residence districts of Phil­
adelphia a dainty creature was re­
clining with a novel in her hands
when a servant brought in a Card.
This was six months after Luke had
taken up his residence in Walton.
“Say I will be down in a moment,”
the girl told the maid.
When the door closed she jumped to
her feet, went to the mirror and
stood admiring herself, before going
down.
In the drawing room stood a young
man with a fine head and clear cut
features. Hearing the rustle of silks
on the stairs, he turned and caught
her hands held out to greet him.
After a sb' ^conversation in which
he told he
y much pleasure her
letters had
\ him since taking up
his resident
it of the world, he
burst forth i
pressions of love. He
lars, which would buy fifty-five Dreadnoughts, and is
three times th'e value of the yearly output of automo­
biles and would pay the debts of all the American
churches four times over and would defray the univer­
sity expenses of half a million students and is more
than double the combined yearly cost of the army and
navy. Wow! The amount of soda water consumed year­
ly is estimated at 479,062,500 gallons, which is dis­
pensed from 120,000 fountains. The average price of a
fountain is $2,000, so you get a total investment of $240,-
000,000.
And in these days the soda fountain is busy summer
and winter. From. year’s end to year’s end the hiss
and jingle of the soda fountain in Uncle Sam’s domain
never ceases. The time was when for half the year
the fountain was about as idle as the straw hat and the
parasol. Public fancy has changed all that, and now
the dispenser of fizzing sweetness works nearly as hard
in January as in the dog days. Not that he hands out
hot drinks only in blizzards temperature; far from it.
Soda fountain drinks tickle the palates of the count­
less numbers the year round, and thus it happens that
the disher—the handy little tool that soda fountain at­
tendants have for scooping up the cream—-never gets a
vacation.
Besides the direct profits, the soda fountains bring
into the drug stores people who buy medicines, soap,
perfumery, toilet articles, etc. The cost of the fountain
itself is far from representing the entire outlay. While
in a small establishment the druggist finds it econom­
ical to buy his soda and cream, in a large one he makes
it himself, and therefore buys carbonators, freezers,
syrup percolators and other apparatus. Minor acces­
sories, too, must be provided.
told of his poor prospects in Walton
and asked her if she thought she could
share them with him.
“I would not go,” was the startled
reply.
Luke drew back, hurt, stunned, un­
believing.
Edith Lowrie remained fixed in her
resolve. Her eyes were wide open
and her figure was erect. She watched
her lover as he flung himself into a
chair and shaded his eyes with his
hands. She glided to his side, sat on
the arm of his chair and even smooth­
ed his hair with her jeweled fingers.
If he felt her caresses he did not re­
spond or even move.
“My dear, dear friend,” she began.
“What would you do with me? It is
your ideal that you love, not me. You
would soon find that out and then—”
Her hands fell among the folds of
her dress. She crumpled the silk be­
tween her fingers as she spoke.
“These silks, this lace, these jewels,
the pictures, books' the soft carpet be­
neath my feet, all are simple necessi­
ties to me; They are not objects of
my love, but part of my daily life.
Without them I would not be what I
am, nor what you think I am. Think
of me at Walton in an old calico
dress, bungling over my work. Your
sister would be a very queen beside
me, and she as well as you would de­
spise me for my ignorance.”
With a strong effort he drew him­
self from the girl’s embrace and went
from the room as one in a dream. He
said no word of farewell and she made
no effort to detain him. As he. passed
from the house Edith went to the win­
dow and watched his retreating fig­
ure. “Is there no such thing as friend­
ship?” she? asked herself aloud.
A dark, dreary day in November
seven years later the vines on the
young physician’s home in Walton
were dead and covered with show.
The ground was white and flakes fil­
tered through the air. Luke Clark
was dying. From hard work the peo­
ple of the little village said.
A pale little woman, almost a child
in appearance, dressed in deep mourn­
ing, made her way through the house,
much to the alarm of the one servant.
She insisted on seeing the patient and
would not be satisfied until Dr. Clark’s
sister came to see the strange visitor.
With the sister’s consent the little
black figure hurried to the sick cham­
ber. She threw herself on her knees
beside the bed, her hands, bereft of
rings, clasped the hand of the dying
man, involuntarily he opened his eyes.
A faint smile crossed his face.
“Luke, do you know me?” Edith
asked.
“Of course I do,” he answered fee­
bly, “though there is a great change
in both of us.”
“Have you forgiven me?” she asked
with a sob.
“Long ago,” he whispered. “Have
you forgiven yourself?”
“Never!”
“Then do so for my sake. God bless
you, Edith, darling, good-by.”
And then it was all over.—Kansas
City World.
WHITE WAY ON THE FARM.
Witli Only Five Families a Missouri
Village Bas Electric Lights.
Yarrow is- probably the' smallest vil­
lage in Missouri that has an electric
light plant, a Kirksville (Mo..). corre­
spondent of the Kansas' City Star says.
The population of Yarrow consists of
the families of a groceryman, a black­
smith, a miller and two retired farm­
ers. Each family has its home bril­
liantly lighted by electricity.
The electric light plant is owned
and operated by Michael Webber, who
has for twenty years or more run an
old-fashioned water mill at Yarrow.
Mr. Webber is an inventive man and
recently he conceived the idea of at­
taching his water* machinery to a ten-
horse-power dynamo and making elec­
tricity for himself and neighbors. A
dynamo was installed at a nominal
cost and for the first time in the his­
tory of the village of Yarrow elec­
tric lights were turned on recently.
Mr. Webber says he expects to put
in a larger dynamo and to light the
entire southwest corner of Adair coun­
ty. He says further that the Chariton
river' as a source of water power
should be developed, as- it has great
possibilities for Kirksville and other
towns near the stream; He is inter­
ested in a project to put a $100,000
dam across . the Chariton west of
Kirksville and^ to install a modern
power plant.
The- dam that now furnishes power
for his mill is only seven feet high
and was built in 1849. For years it
furnished the. power for an old-fash­
ioned under shot water wheel, but
more recently he has installed two
wheels of comparatively late pattern
which now give him approximately
seventy-five horse-power, which is suf­
ficient for grinding corn and buck­
wheat and running the dynamo for his
light plant
A lot of valuable time is wasted on
explanations and apologia
We stood together by the hawthorn
hedge, in the gathering twilight, dear,
patient John and I.
He took my hands in his, and look­
ing into my face; with that honest look
which John’s eyes always wore, he
said, “I am not angry with you Kitty,
but I want to know just what your in­
tentions are. Shall it be I, whom you
have always known, and who have al­
ways loved you so long, or that city­
dude of who you know nothing except
What he chooses to tell you? How do
you know but that he is a thorough­
going rascal?”
“For shame, John,” I exclaimed, in­
dignantly. “It is not like you to be so
unjust. What harm do you know of
Mr. Thorne?”
“What good do you know of him,
child? But I’ll speak no more of his
merits or demerits. Kitty, do you
really love him, or are you si»mply in­
fatuated with his handsome face and
winning manners?”
John ceased and waited for, me to
speak; but I maintained a stubborn
silence.
“Kitty, I ask you again, which shall
it be?”:
He spoke in an authoritative tone
whiqh aroused my anger. He had ac-
cusep me of being simply infatuated,
and then had almost commanded me to
tell him if his accusations were not
true: He should have seen that I was
not a »mere child to be ordered about
at his .will. He was not yet my lord
and master, even if we had been en­
gaged three years. So with all the dig­
nity I could possibly command I an­
swered: “Yes, I do really love him.
I like you, John, and always shall, but
I love him.”
“Oh, Kitty, dp you really mean it?”
“Yes,” I said, “I really mean it.”
I looked into the brown eyes, over
which a »mist had gathered, and a
wave of sorrow and pity passed over
my heart, bringing a like mist before
my own vision.
“Oh, John, I am so sorry for you,”
I said and held out »my hands.
“Never mind, Kitty. Perhaps I’ll
forget sometime. Of bourse I think of
your happiness first.”
He stooped and pressed a kiss upon
my forehead, then with a trembling
“good-bye, Kitty,” he turned and left
me alone by the hawthorn hedge’ I
watched him until he passed out of
sight, then the tears rolled down my
cheeks and I involuntarily exclaimed:
“Poor John! I am so sorry for him.”
I was still crying when I heard, com­
ing rapidly toward me, a musical voice
that I well knew, singing “Kathleen
Mavourneen.”'
Soon he stood by my side; my hand­
some lover, and was learning from me
the story of my tears.
“And you did it all for me, Kath­
leen? Let me see no more tears dim­
ming your' eyes, Mavourneen, for you
shall never regret what you have done
to-night.”
Then he talked to me of a life to
which I was a comparative stranger.
And I, listening to him, forgot John
and my pity for him, and was the hap­
piest of creatures. It was growing late
when I left him, and, going to the
house, I stole softly upstairs to my
own room.
' I sat down by the window and, look­
ing out over the meadow lands, bathed
in the soft moonlight, I thought it all.
over.
How fortunate I considered myself
in being wooed and won by a wealthy
man of the world.
Across the meadow, away down the
creek, was the house of the Weston’s.
A light was still burning and seeing
that I thought again of John and our
broken engagement.
“He is so plain,” I told myself.
“Only a poor lawyer, with his own
way to make In the world, and I could
never be happy in so living. I want
something different.”
Then I took from a box on the table
a ring which John had given me three
years before.
“Dear John, he is so good,” I mur­
mured, and a tear fell down on the
golden band and lay there, sparkling
in the moonlight
I went to sleep that night with a
strange, sad feeling in my heart, and a
tear in my eye, all because of my sor­
row for John.
_ne next morning brought the or­
deal that I dreaded; telling my unde
the whole story of the broken engage­
ment.
I went Into the dining room with a
quickly beating heart, and soon told it
all to the dear, kind uncle who had
been both father and mother to me
since my parents* death when I was
but' a wee brown-haired lass.
He did not scold, as I had supposed
and rather hoped that he would do,
but kindly asked, ‘‘Do you really love
the - gentleman, Kitty?”
“Yes, uncle.”
“And you are sure that he loves
you?”
‘Yes, I am sure,” I answered, think­
ing of how he had said to me so often
“Kathleen Mavourneen.”
“Very well,” he answered, “but I
am very sorry for John Weston. He’s
so good and true, but your happiness
must be considered first.”
That was just what John had said.
Why did they not scold me? I could
bear that so much better than this un­
merited kindness.
So it was all settled, and I was at
liberty to b,e supremely happy.
I wandered aimlessly around the
house and grounds, thoroughly miser­
able, for I had made my uncle and
John unhappy, and persons can never
be happy, when bringing sorrow to
those who love them best
In the afternoon I put on my hat
and strolled down the hawthorn-lined
lane to a rustic seat where I had often
encountered Mr. Thorne. I sat down
on the bench, and tried to think solely
of him for whom I had given up my
best of old friends. But thoughts of
John would intrude, and I was unable
to keep them back. How. very sympa­
thetic I was! The gay dancing of the
sunbeams o’er the waving green mead­
ows, and the singing of the birds in
the hawthorn branches overhead,
brought to me such a sense of calm
and quiet, that I fell asleep. I was
awakened from my slumber by the
sound of voices on the other side of
the hedge, and, listening a moment, I
recognized one of them as the voice of
Mr. Thorne.
“How in the name of all that is won­
derful did you happen to come to this,
little village, Fred?”
“I came to see you, Jack, old boy.
Are you not flattered?”
“Well, yes. rather: but I never knew
erything. I , want to see you. Meet mo
by the hawthorns hedge at 6 o’clock,”
The letter was sent, and I waited im­
patiently for the appointed hour.
At length I stood by John again in
the hawthorne-lined lane, but this time
I was humility personified.
“Can you forgive me, John?” I
asked.
He answered “Yes,” and then, when
I had told him all, we made our plans.
When, later on, Mr. Thorne came to
his Kathleen Mavourneen, I told him
that I had been seriously thinking
about what I had decided upon the
previous evening, and that I feared it
was an unwise decision.
Never was such complete surprise
depicted on any countenance. He de­
manded the cause of my disloyalty, as
he termed it, and when I told him that
I had never really loved him, but had
been merely trifling with him, he left
me vowing that I was the most heart­
less of creatures.
He went away from the village next
day, and we soon after heard of his
marriage to Miss Wade and her thou­
sands.
He never knew that I had overheard
his conversation with his friend, and
firmly believed that it was an instance
of. the biter bitten.
That evening we stood together
again in the moonlight, dear, patient
John and I. Again he took my hands
in his, and again he asked me, “whifch
shall it be, Kitty, which shall it be?”
“You, John, you!” I answered, and
the sorrow seemed' all rolled away
from my heart. Again that night a
tear fell on the. plain gold band which
was in its old place on .my finger. But
this time it was a tear of joy, for now
John was happy, I told myself. How
careless I was of my own happiness.
Well, well, that happened years
ago, and to-night as I am writing,
John looks up from his paper and
asks, “What are you .writing, Kitty?”
“The story of how I loved you,” I
answer.
He smiles and says, “Well write for
the benefit of your masculine readers
that they must /never tell a woman
‘she must,’ when asking her to decide
the question, ‘which shall it be?”’—<
Chicago Ledger.
TRAPS FOR THE TONGUE.
Syllables
Whose
Similar
Sound
Makes Them Hard to Enunciate.
HASTENED TO THE
HOUSE
AND WBOTE.
before, that you cared so much for
me.”
“Well, the tact is, we’ve been hear­
ing strange reports about you, lately,
and I came here to investigate. Of
course they are not true?”
“H’m! Can tell you more definitely
when I hear what they are.”
“In the . first place,, they say that
you’ve been flirting. But you would
not do that.”
“Certainly not.”
Both men laughed, and the one call­
ed Ned, continued:
“You see, we heard that ypu were
more reckless in regard to your flirta­
tions this summer than ever before.
So I, as a true friend, venture to ad^
vise you to return to Miss Lillian
Wade. She has heard it all, and so
often, that she cannot help but believe
it, and consequently, flirts desperately.
I had an idea that you ought to return
and effect a reconciliation as soon as
possible. You could not afford to lose
her thousands.”
“By Jove! is it really as bad as
that?”
“It realy is, or I should not be to­
day in this poky little village giving
you such good advice. But tell me
about your innocent amusement, is
she a beauty?”
“Indeed she is. Oh, It’s been de­
lightful. Do you know, Ned, that were
I not wholly heartless I should have
fallen in love with Kathleen Mavour-
een, as I call her. She loves me, too.
Had a lover before I came, and last
night, when he asked her which it
should be, she told him that she liked
him, but that she adored your humble
servant.”
“Well, Jack, you have not been lazy
I see. Will she make you any trou­
ble when you go away?”
“Oh, no; I’ve been too cautious for
that. To-night I’ll tell her about it.
She .may cry awhile, but she’ll soon
get over it.”
The two walked off down the creek
and their voices soon died away in the
distance.
I arose from the bench with
clenched hands. and burning cheeks-
Oh, it was terrible, that I, Kitty Ross,
should be so wronged.
“I must have revenge!” I said, “but
how, and in what way?”
With my head bowed on my hands,
I thought and thought, but could find
no way out of my difficulty. Suddenly
a bright idea came to me. I would
ask John to help me. At first a feel­
ing of shame forbade my seeking his
aid, but that soon passed away.
John had always been my friend,
and I knew that he would not fail me
now. I hastened to the house and
wrote:
“Dear John—I am so sorry about ev­
Few of us resent those tongue-trip­
ping personages, Peter Piper picking
peppers, Oliver Opdyke opening oys­
ters, or the twister who twlsteth un­
twisting the twine; they have filled
too many awkward moments and
bridged too many social chasms in our
youth. Very different are the feelings
of a public speaker who is caught in a
lingual trap of his- own setting. '
It is told of a distinguished professor
of history that in an address before a
woman’s club on “Obscure Heroes of
the French Revolution” he had reached
the point where one of them, nobly re­
solved to essay the rescue of a friend
doomed to the guillotine, sought a part­
ing interview with his sweetheart be­
fore making the almost hopeless at­
tempt. The professor had a moving
voice, and whs eloquent; the assembly
of women, many of them already near
tears, hung breathless upon his words.
“Biddy diddy,” said he, pathetically;
then coughed slightly and went back:
“Hiddy biddy—” Something was
eviently amiss. He tried again:
“Biddy hiddy diddy oo.”
By this time the ladies looked puz­
zled and the orator desperate. Draw-
inga long breath and speaking with
painful deliberation, he at length con­
quered the elusive syllables, and said:
“Did he bid adieu?’’
A speaker in the interest of foreign
missions had, not long ago, a similar
experience. He had related the conver­
sion of two natives in a savage island,
and after narrating the acts by which
they signalized -their abandonment of
their old religion, he tried to conclude
a sentence with the words, “thus total­
ly repudiating their two tutelary dei­
ties.”
It was a simple enough phrase to the
understanding; it proved otherwise to
the tongue. Two, tutelary and totally
togetner were quite too much for him.
“Thus tutelly repudiating their toe
toe----- ” he began, confidently, when
a titter in the audience checked him,
and threw him into such confusion
that his second effort only made mat­
ters worse.
“Thus tutelary perudiating their tee-
totallary deities,” he blundered; and
the laughter increased. With the per­
spiration starting on his forehead, he
dashed once more wildly at the obsta­
cle, but failed to clear it:
“Thus teetelly terupiatlng their too-
too-too-toot-----
“Toot! toot! toot!” cried a voice in
the gallery. “Three warning whistles
and now she comes!”
“She came” indeed/* as the burst of
hilarity, under cover of which the
speaker had time to collect himself,
subsided; and he was enabled intel­
ligibly to repudiate those two tutelary
deities at last.
«One to Make Ready/’
Buckskin clothing was, in the early
days of the Western country, almost
universal, among the frontiersmen at
least. When the railroad first went
through Idaho, an old trapper came
down out of the mountains, and was
standing on the platform of a little
station.
His buckskin trousers, soaked and
stretched by the rain and the »melting
snow of the winter, and then dried and
shrunk by the August son,- bagged
most wonderfully at the knees. A
“tenderfoot,” who stood near by, ob­
served him with Interest for several
minutes. Then he walked over to him
and inquired.
“Well, if you’re going to Jump, why
don’t you jum,^
/