The Telephone=register. (McMinnville, Or.) 1889-1953, May 13, 1887, Image 1

Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page. It is also available as plain text as well as XML.

L _ ■ ■ u
f -j
Jenny Wilson was sitting sewing bv
h» wmdow of the little shabby parlor
that loeked out ou the High street. It
was a dull afternoon in November; the
sky was covered with heavy, drab colored
tin, Rrst few yellow leaves were
rnlnmsre & 'Tinner, clouds;
neys .
falling from the great elm in tlie market
place, and there was u raw chill feeling
“UlB-ilJV. I
1. the air. Jenny was stitching away
diligently. She had set herself a task to
|2 00
. 1 25 finish Ix-fore tea time—a silk gown to
E c0., I »year
MuBths • .................. ..............................
75 mend and alter for the clergyman's wife,
1 months...............................................
who was going to dine tliat evening at
’ system ! Ier
Reyhill place.
as second-cluee matter.
Jenny was not pretty, but she had a
fresh, sweet little face, a large, smiling
I v. v. JOHNSON, M. D. mouth, plea aat gray eyes, and neat,
smooth hair. There was something cheery
NdrthwtiBt corner of Baoond and B streets,
’oniarh a0« LrxviLLE
OREGON. and courageous aliout the little woman.
mi Itefore |
Life was not very smooth to her. She
......the o|J
had to stitch morning, noon and night to
llle tew fgl „ found at his office when not absent on pro- keep her invalid mother, and it was hard
■ ' frw fr-i J i iuLial bualne»8.
work to make both ends meet. But no
one ever heard Jenny complain. She
used to go singing about her work, and
up and down the dark creaking stairs
that led to her mother’s bedroom. Jenny's
fe and effJ
voice was delightful. It did you good to
11 and young
’e hundred!
hear it, it was so clear and sweet and
fresh, like the voice of some lark on dewy
Office over Braly’s Bank.
summer mornings. And it had been very
well trained by the organist, who wil­
lingly devoted his spare hour of nn even­
s. A. YOUNG-, M. D.
ing to teaching the little seamstress to
I ly and sing.
TleMMt oo,
1 Htaüip for tai
The market place looked very empty
a co.;
when Jenny looked out on it every now
•wiiioo, Cal.
‘S Ottice and residence on D street. All calls promptly and again to rest her eyes. But pres 'ntly
Lwrrtni day or night.
she heard the noise cf wheels, and saw
«Wt stori
the Reyhill carriage with Lady Violet
»supplied .1
herself in it, and another lady, Lady j
Eleanor Arden, a frequent visitor to Rey­
hill place, seated by her. Lady Eleanor
was dark and pale, with a lieautiful
mekincholy face an I large sad eyes—
She was
Oflce-Two doors east of Bingham’s furniture eyes that seemed to haunt you.
an heiress. People said that she had
[Uughing gas administered for painless extraction.
cared all her life for Mr. Richard Feyne,
one of Lady Violet's penniless younger
brothers. I .ally Violet, so tho story ran,
would have been very glad to have had
her for a si iter-in-law, aid was always
asking her to Reyhill to meet Mr. Feyne;
hut he never seemed to regard Eleanor in
any other light than that of a mere
friend. Lady Eleanor had had a great
UpStairs in Adams’ Building,
deal of trouble; she had lost both of her
parents and her only brother, and the
wealth that would have been such a
pleasure to many people, seemed to her
only a burden.
To Jenny's astonishment the carriage
stopped before her mother's house, and
5 pa«f«,
the powdered footman rang the bell.
I prepared to fulnisb muflic for all occasiona at reason Jenny ran to open the door.
If li over
able rates. Addi'css
Iona -a
“Does Miss Wilson live here?” tsked
V. .T. H.OWLAJNI», Lady Violet, from the carriage.
• Pried
“My name is Jane Wilson,” answered
oil« for
Business Manager, McMinnville.
how to
Jenny, with a vague hope that Violet had
’ every* I
come to order a dress of her. “I am a
ear, or j
dressmaker. ’ ’
Lady Violet Sprang out of the car­
riage and Lady Eleanor followed her.
Id. We
iny ad-
“We want to hear you sing,” said
Lady Violet, pleasantly. "Will you sing
,i from
to us?”
Corner Third and D streets, McMinnville
Jenny’s little workroom had never
held such grand visitors before. It was
uro. III.
a dingy little parlor, with horsehair chairs
sofa. There were a few prints on
the walls: The lord lieutenant of the
county, holding a roll of papers in his
hand, and with a pillar and a curtain in
The Best Rigs in the City. Orders the background; "The Meeting of Wel­
¡Promptly Attended to Day or Night,
lington and Blucher after Waterloo,” and
a lady simpering at a dove upon her
jenny sat down shyly to the little old
piano, anil began, with a certain tremor
her voice, “Angels ever bright and
fair. ’ ’ The pure notes. like the song of
a lark, rang out through the little room,
growing stronger and clearer as Jenny
gathered courage and went on.
Lady Violet was warm in her praises
A Strictly Temperance Resort.
of Jenny’s singing.
“Wil you come up to Reyhill this
Sw goodffi Church member« to the contrary not- evening, and sing to us?’ ’ she asked.
“We want to have some music; my
brother, Mr. Feyne, is so fond of it.
What would be your terras?” she went
on, hesitatingly, and with a pretty blush
“Oi-pliti iiw' Home” of embarrassment, and then she named a
sum which filled Jenny with delight.
What would it not buy for her invalid
, 0B.
That evening at Reyhill, when the
only first class, and the only parlor-like shop in th»
ladies came into the drawing after din­
dû I
ner, they found Jenny already awaiting
First-class F»rkme» Kmployed!
them, as Lady Violet had directed. She
flat door south of Yamhill Count, Bank Building. 3 had dressed herself in her Sunday black
silk, with a bunch of violets fastening
nd *1
M c M innville , oregon .
her neat muslin fichu, and a silver cross
H. H. WELCH. __ lier only ornament—on black velvet
round bar neck. Lady Eleanor came up
lln U.I.I panel u l».r mv.l-piun, es­ and said a few kind words to her.
pecially in large sizes, is a popular one Eleanor was very gentle, often very si­
with French ladies. The newer bar lent, but when she spoke you could not
but listen, the voice was so sweet,
pins are shorter, with the liar effect choose
and the words themselves never seemed
iirukep by a medallion or other design
in the center of the pin.—Y. Y. ItorlJ- trivial
The drawing room at Reyhill was sepa­
—Millions of washboards are made rated from the dining room by large
ind sold annually in this couhtry. It folding doorsand a heavy brocade cur­
h estimated that not less than 7,200,000 tain. As Eleanor was speaking Jenny
of them are sold every year between saw an absent and preoccupied expression
the Allegheny mountains and the Mis- come over her face, and, following the
direction of Eleanor’s eyes, Jenny saw
Bouri river.
—The Chevalier van Flewyck. of that the curtain had lieen pushed abide
to admit one of tho gentlemen. He
Louvain, has just perfected, after
came up to Lady \ iolet.
thirty-eight years of labor, a machine
“I could wait no longer, he said;
for recording all music extemporized “thev were discussing hounds and horses,
•pon the piano. His invention is and I thought it woul 1 never end. ^ow,
»■irked by means of electricity, and he Violet, when is our music to begmr
Lady Violet intro luced him to Jenny
h:« been assisted in the mechanical de­
tails by M. Kermis, an engineer of as her brother, Mr. Lcyne.
“Miss Wilson is going to sing to us,
— Mamma, what arc yon look-n» Richard." ske said. "Will you and
foi ?” asked Little Mamie Flapjack of Eleanor take her into the hall and settle
b*r mother, the widow Flapjack. “I’m with her wlut the music is to be? 1
fook n» for my wedding ring- I to must go and 'talk pretty,’ “she con­
lontci for it high and low. I woti'dn t tinued, in an undertone to her brother,
it for anyth ng.” *‘I woul ln tboth- glancing at tho other lad es, and pres­
»■ »bout it, mamma. If it comes to the ently we will come in and I“«®”-
The piano stood at one end of the hall,
•mat you can get married again. That s
8 h^‘
•hnt I'm going to d> when I m a and here at night it was
, to sit and listen to music in the dark
Widow.'’— fii.u Si/tiiijt.
and Surgeons,
Physician and Surgeon,
liiery Feed and Sale Stables
------ Ibsiiud------
—IN -
’8 Worn, Lrisois Building. McMinnville. Oregon,
<i >mcr tieside the piano, where he could
watch tlie singer almost unseen himself.
Jenny followed Lady Eleanor into the
hall. Mr. Feyne opened the piano for
her and arranged the music. There was
a kindness and a oourtesv in his manner
which were ,ieculiar to him—a great
gendeness and deference whenever he
addressed a woman. He was by nature
very enthusiastic, and, whatever the en­
thusiasm of the moment might be (and
the one succeeded the other with great
rapidity), it was to hint at the time the
ono great aim and object of his life.
Music was now his passion. A few
weeks ago he knew little about it, and
cared less. Now he could conceive no
greater pleasure than listening to music
all day and every day. Lady Violet had
sung to him until she was hoarse, al­
though her stylo of music was not ac­
cording to his taste. She sang nothing
but modern ballads and little b’rench and
Italian songs, and had attempted in vain
to render classical music to his liking.
Then it was that she had taken counsel
of the organist who had recommended
Jenny to her.
So Jenny sat at the piano and sang ono
song after another to him. Her reper­
tory contained chiefly old balkmls—such as
“My Mother Bids Me Bind My Hair”—
and solos from the oratorios. Mr. Feyne
said very little, but sat in his dark corner
with his eyes fixed on Jenny. It was
only when Lady Eleanor said that she
feared they were tiring Miss Wilsan that
he said in a low voice to Jenny: “Ah, I
forgot that I was selfish; I could listen to'
you forever.”
Lady Violet, who had come into the
hall, rang the Lcll and asked the servant
to show Miss Wilson to the liousekee|>er's
room. "You will want something after
all that singing,” she said, kindly, “and
I have told Mrs. Benson to have some
supper ready for you. ”
Jenny was Ixiwing her way out when
Mr. Feyne made some hasty steps towards
“I cannot thank you enough,” he said,
gently; “you have so much reverence and
religion in the tones of your voice, that
one feels better for listening to you.”
When she was gone the party criticised
her singing.
“It is a pity,” said Mr. Reyhill, “that
she doesn't learn something besides those
old songs and sacred music. It’s all very
well of a Sunday evening to have sacred
music, but one likes a little change of a
week day.”
Mr. Feyne answered a little hotly that
to sing any other kind of music would
spoil Miss Wilson’s voice. “Don’t you
agree with me?” he cried, turning tc
Lady Eleanor, “that her style is perfect.
Any change would be for the worse.”
“She sings charmingly,” replied Lady
Eleanor, a little vaguely. Whereupon
Mr. Feyne returned.
“Ah! I forgot, Lady Eleanor. You
don't care about music. I wonder at it.’
Eleanor grew crimson. ‘ ‘I am learn­
ing to care for it,” she said hesitatingly.
The next day at breakfast Richard
begged bin sister to ask Miss Wilson tc
come up again and sing- Lady Violet was
only too glad to be able to proride some
pleasure for him. She readily acquiesced,
but when she and Lady Eleanor were
sitting together in the little boudoir, she
referred to the subject of Jenny, ar 1
found Eleanor far from responsive. Lady
Violet’s sitting room was a pretty little
room overlooking tho lake and distanl
woods. It was simplv crammed with
knicknacks and pretty little uselesi
things. There were plenty of little tablet
covered with china and silver boxes and
bric-a-brac. There was no such thing
as a reasonably sized table at which
any one could write in comfort.
There was a great enamel box
of French bonbons which was con­
tinually replenished, there were plenty
of magazines and novels, and a
profusion of delicately scented hothoust
flowers. Everybody became hopelessly
idle directly they entered the room, and
they always spent the morning with theii
feet on the fender, carrying on the most
desultory conversation.
“I am so glad Richard liked her sing­
ing,” Lady Violet was saying, “for il
will help me to persuade him to stay or
“Yes,” answered Lady Eleanor, e
little drily, “Miss Wilson’s singing may
have that desired effect.”
“Why, Nell, what's the matter? there's
no harm, surely”-----
“No, no,” cried Lady Eleanor, quickly,
“nothing! I feel sure she is a very good
girl, it is only my folly. I thought—1
fancied—oh, never mind. , Don’t let’s
talk any more about it. Let’s see this
new frock of yours. I can’t be sure
whether I should like the silver with the
salmon color.” And her cheeks still re­
mained crimson, though she was ap­
parently occupied with tlie consideration
of Lady Violet’s wardrobe.
So Jenny came up again and again to
Reyhill place, and sang of an evening to
Mr. Feyne. He was always courteous
and kind. There were moments, so
Jenny fancied, when he entirely lost
sight of her personality, suid only identi­
fied her with her music, as one might
think of a bird. He said many things to
her in praise of her voice, but never made
her anv mere compliments. There was.
Jenny felt, a curious relation established
between them. Unconsciously, and with­
out analyzing the feeling, she looked for­
ward eagerly to these evenings. Tlie dim
hall, with its vague Bcent of violets, the
warmth and the luxurious beauty of the
house, after the chilly dinginess of her
home, the sense of easy leisure after the
toiling and moiling all day brought to the
little seamstress an indefinable sense of
pleasure. Had Lady Violet been older
she would have foreseen the danger, but
such an idea never occurred to her. She
was much too busy with her own round
of enjovment. And Mr. Feyne himself,
abeorbeil in the pleasure of tlie music,
and too chivalrous and modest to think
he was inspiring any other feeling the"
tnat or tug merest fnentlslup, where it
was his intention to inspire nothing
warmer, never dreamed of any drawback
to his intimacy with Miss Wilson.
There was a little woman staying at
Reyhill who always liked to have her share
in what was going on. She was a little
old spinster of good family and very small
means, who spent her life in visiting—
going from ono great house to another,
playing when others danced, writing
letters for tho lady of the house, going in
to dinner with tho boro of tho evening,
and performing a thousand little duties of
tho kind in return for the hospitality
offered her. Sho was a toady and a mis­
chief maker, but was so useful that she
was still a welcome guest. Sho had al­
ways an inexhaustible store of confidential
gossip, and could make herself very
agreeable after her own fashion. In per-
son she was very tiny, with black hair,
and bright eyes like shiny beads. She
was very anxious to ingratiate herself
with Lady Eleanor, to whom she had
hitherto paid court in vain, and she saw
at a glance the present position of niTairs.
“Tliat foolish Richard Feyne,” she said
to herself, “will get himself into a scrape
by and by, and will lose all his chances
with Lady Eleanor (a good £7,000 a year,
and that beautiful old place in Hamp­
shire). lie doesn’t see what he’s doing,
and a friendly word in season will pu*
things straight, and make Eleanor my
friend for life. ’ ’
So, after luncheon one day, she sidled
up to Richard, and asked him to come
into the hall to see some art needlework
she was doing for his sister. When they
were alone she began to her unsuspect­
ing companion:
“I dare say you think me very meddle­
some, Mr. Feyne?”
As a matter of fact, Richard had never
thought of her nt all. and now lie looked
at her startled and utterly unprepared for
what was coming.
“I have known you so long, she con­
tinued, "that I must give you a warning.
1 know you don’t see the thing as others
do. but you really mustn’t spend every
evening listening to that musical little
dressmaker. l‘eo[de uro beginning to
talk,” she went on, inventing on the
spur of the moment, “and you don’t
know what you have put into her silly
little head—sho will expect you to marry
her; and she is head and ears in love. I
assure you. if she conics up like this,
night after night, to sing to you. there
will be all kinds of stories. No one re­
spectable would employ her as dress­
maker if she sets her cap at gentlemen!”
The color roso in Richard's face to tlie
roots of his hair. For one moment he
was too angry to speak, and tho foolish
woman, taking his silence for a sign of
consent, went on archly: “You are
throwing away all your chances with
Lady Eleanor. Yes, yes; I know she's
been in love with you ever since she was
a child in the schoolroom; but you can't
expect this kind of thing to last forever,
and one day she will get tired refusing all
tne great people who propose to her.”
By this time Richard had recovered his
voice. “All that you have said to me is
utterly false and untrue!” he cried, his
voice trembling with anger. “Neither
Miss Wilson nor myself have ever enter­
tained for a moment the ideas you have
been good enough to impute to us. And
if jieople have talked, they have simply
done so because they are malicious and
coarse minded. ’ ’
Tho little woman was now frightened
at what sho had done. “I’m sure I only
spoke because I wished to spare Lady
Eleanor pain; anybody could see that she
cares for you.”
Richard was beginning to deny this
story too, when suddenly he stopped.
Something within him told him that tliis
at least was true, though he had never
before known it.
The silly woman rambled on incohe­
rently, trying to excuse herself for med-
dling. “Of course, it was ruining the
girl and I felt sorry for her—Miss Wilson,
I mean. A girl's character is so quickly
questioned, and then what remains? I
couldn't bear to think of it!”
“Do you mean to say,” Richard de­
manded, furious, "that Miss Wilson’s
reputation has suffered in the slightest
degree, or that she has been lowered in
the eyes of the world, by my fault?”
Ilis opponent prevaricated, hesitated,
and then finally agreed that it was so.
She was so terrified that she scarcely
knew what she w:is saying, and her one
idea was to e-cajie from Ricliard, who,
erect before her, his handsome face still
handsomer with passion, and his angry
eyes fixed upon her, was ready, so she
declared, “to kill her!”
“There is only one remedy,” Mr.
Feyne said, slowly; “I must ask Mias
Wilson to be my wife. That is, it ap­
pears to me, the only way to put every­
thing straight;” and he strode out of the
room, leaving the wretched creature to
recover her senses. Without asking any­
body’s advice, without pausing to consid­
er, lie proceeded to act on his blind im­
pulse. It was a pouring wet day; the
rain had been steadily falling all day and
the ground was sodden and the trees
dripping with moisture. Hie landscape
looked blurred and blotted, and the only
sound in the air was the regular, rhyth­
mic sob of the rain. Richard passed before
the hall windows, wrapped in the black
Spanish cloak that lady Violet used to
call his "conspirator’s cloak.” Ho heard
a tap on the glass, and turned round to
see Lady Eleanor, who smiled and waved
her liand to him. “I wish you joy of
your wet walk!” she cried laugh­
ingly. Ricliard moved hastily away;
a stuMen consciousness seized him
that this really was the woman he
loved. He hail never realized it liefore;
new it was too late. He hurried down
to the little town and rang the bell at
Jenny's house. The little apprentice
showed him up into the parlor, where
presently Jenny, with a flushed and
startled face, made lier appearance. He
went up to her, regardless of liis dripping
cioax mat was maxing puuaics on tne
threadbare carpet, and Ix'giiM earnestly:
“I am afraid. Miss Wilson, that you
havo been annoyed by these abominable
reports and scandalous stories." Ho
paused, taking Jenny's blushes for a con­
firmation of his words. “I am deeply
grieved,” he went on, “that any one
should havo dared to make my name the
source of any discomfort to you, but if
you wish these stories can be silenced at
once. I havo come to ask you to be my
It seemed to Jenny as if the room
reeled with her. For ono moment, and
for one moment only, she hesitated. He
continued in a faltering voice: “I am
poor, as you know, but I would endeavor
to make you happy if you could be con-
tent with tho little that I can offer.”
Then Jenny turned her honest eyes
towards him and looked him full in the
face. “I liavo heard no slanderous re-
ports, sir,” she said, with simple dignity;
“and even had I heard them I could put
an end to them. You have done me too
much honor. I could never really suit
you. You ought to marry a lady; and,”
dropping her voice almost to a whisper,
“you don’t love me, sir; and I couldn’t
marry any one who didn’t. I can’t thank
you enough. I shall remember your
goodness to my dying day; but you must
excuse me, sir, and ono day you will be
glad for what I have done.”
Tlie tears unbidden rose to her eyes,
but, courageous to the end, she made him
a little curtsey that bail, he felt, a world of
grace and dignity in it, and left the room.
So the matter ended. But three months
after, when Mr. Feyne and his bride were
spending their honeymoon in Hampshire,
they went for a long ride over the downs,
and Richard told Eleanor the whole
story. She gave a cry of» surprise, and
then, putting her hand softly on his arm,
"Ah, Richard,” she said, “don’t you see,
sho loved you too well to do you any
harm, and it was because she loved you
that she refused you?”—Annie Fellowes,
i.i Leisure Hour.
Beautiful Bermuda.
Everything is bright, every outline is
sharp, every house like a house made of
enow, roof and all. scarlet and yellow
flowers in masses, ti ees so full of birds
that it seems as if every leaf were a bird,
yet not a bird to be seen—they are only
heard; the whole beautiful island res­
onant like a bell. Such is Bermuda.—
Bermuda Letter.
Another Word Needed.
Tlie government ought to oiler a re­
ward for anybody who will invent a word
that will pleasantly, picturesquely, agree­
ably deline a happy evening among
friends. “Social” is one of the most
horrible words in the language, used as a
noun. “Party” means anything or
nothing. It is absolutely unexpressive.
“A good time” comes in for a big drunk,
or a picnic, or a funeral, even, for there
are people who enjoy, really enjoy, fune­
rals. “A dinner party” seems to stop
with the eating. Now if there is a time
when people are unsociable, it is at a
big dinner party. If you are fond of
eating, conversation’s a nuisance, and
you can't get up any reasonable discus-
sion that will not lie broken by the
You’ve either to devote yourself to the
menu or to your neighbor. If she’s
pretty, you don't eat your dinner; if the
dinner's good it requires a perfect self
abnegation to pay any attention to her.
A dinner party is neither one thing nor
the other. But lifter dinner! Well, that’s
different. “Soiree” is an ulxnninable
word. The man that coined it should
have been killed. Now, what can you
call a happy, merry evening? You can't
call it anything short and nice and pleas­
ant. People talk about “spending the
evening” just as if they hail to put in
the time somehow, and that was all they
wanted to do. "Calling” suggests a
straightbacked chair, your hat in your
hand and the hostess in discomfort, wish­
ing you'd go. And there's only one
word in the English language that means
comfort, anil peace, and happiness, and
enjoyment, and that word is "Home.”—
San Francisco Chronicle “Undertones.”
Woman's Work In Early Time».
Prior to the American revolution every
colonial farm house and every black­
smith's shop was a manufactory. For
everything was literally manufactured:
that is, made by hand. The bl.u'ksmith
hammered out axes, hoes, spades, plow­
shears. scythes and nails. A tailoress
went from house to house to make up
the winter clothing, and was followed by
the shoemaker. The farmer prepared
the leather from skins which hail laid in
the vat for a year, and Ills wife made
ready the cloth. Spinning wheels buzzed
from morning till night. Skeins of woolen
and linen yarn hung on the walls of
every house. Seated on the l<x>m seat,
the best woman of the family plied shut­
tles anil treadles, weaving blankets,
sheets, table cloths, towels, bed curtains,
window curtains, flannels yind cloth for
garments. Every woman in the house­
hold manufactured something. The aged
grandmother spun flax with the little
wheel; the youngest daughter carded
wool, and the oldest, if the men were
busy, hatcheled flax. It was hand work
that did it, and every liand did what it
could l.-st do.
The women, whose
•‘work was never done,” not only carded,
spun and wove, hut they milked the cows,
made butter, bread and cheese, soap and
candles, cooked the food, did tlie wash­
ing. and it, harvest raked hay, pulled
flax and dug pitatoes. Tho neighbor
who hapfwned in for an afternoon's gos­
sip brought her work. The mother
patched or knitted as she rested by the
fireside, or quartered apples for the
children to ■■»tring” and hang
_ in the
morning in festoons on the sunny out­
side walls. All were busy, alwaji» busy.
—Youth's Companion.
Golden Age of the Baseballist.
. <A
A reception given in honor of Mickey, th.
short stop, who was lately purchased for
$5,000 by the Boston Greens.—Judge.
A Burglar who was cn Trial for having
broken into a house pleaded in extenuation
that he spent at least three hours of his valu­
able time and did not secure anything in re­
“That is an Injustice which shall lie reme­
died,” replied his Honor. “1’11 reward you
with live years’ free board and hxlgings.”
moral :
Even a Burglar will get his dues before an
Honest Court.
A Wolf one day Discovered a Qoat in the
loft of master’s l>arn, where he could not
be got at, and he, therefore, smilingly an­
“1 beg pardon for having disturbed you,
but I caiqe to say that I have lately reformed.
Come down and let’s talk it over.”
“Not this eve!” replied the Goat, as be
chewed away at an old pair of overalls.
“Then you distrust me/”
“Oh, no, no! I’m simply waiting for a
Lamb to come along and test the stability of
your reformation.”
Few rascals reform except to their own
profit.—Detroit Free Press.
Au Outlaw Indeed.
A woman who keeps a Ixiarding house on
Larned street called at jiolice headquarters
yesterday to complain that a gentleman
boarder had skipped her house, leaving u bill
“He owes me about $40 and I want him
caught,” she added.
“What kind of a person was he/” asked the
“Well, the day before he went away he
offered to marry me to settle the bill. You
can judge what cheek he has.”
“And you refused/”
“Yes—no no, I didn’t!” she exclaimed as
she blushed clear hack to her ears. “It was
all settled that we should I m » married, and
that’s one reason why 1’11 pursue him to the
ends of the earth. A man who’ll jump a
board bill and a marriage engagement, too,
is an outlaw who should lie locked up.”—De­
troit Free Press.
1*1 hi . I ut loll Phllonopliy.
De bigger <lat yon w-e <1« »moke
De lew. <le Are will lie.
Anil de leaateat kind o' 'poHsuiri
Climb» de biggest kind o’ tree.
De darky at the ole camp ground
Wl»> kin louden! »Ing and »hout
Is agwine to rob some hen roast
Afore de week is out.
—Quoted by Senator Vanoe.
“Isn’t it your opinion that we shall have an
early spring/” he asked of a Grand River
avenue grocer.
“I shouldn't like to prodi t,” was the reply.
“Afraid of making a mistake, chi’’
“Yes. I’ve got a Jot of old debtors on my
books, and have predicted a dozen times over
that this one or that one would call around
Saturday night and settle, but I’ve been left
every time.”
“Ila! ha!” laughed the other in a forced
way. and as he walked off he muttered to
“If he thinks he can bulb lose that four
dollars out of me in any such way as that lie’s
mistaken. I'll pay when I get ready, spring
or no spring.”—Detroit Free I‘row.
He lln«lit't Aliy.
A huckster from the market yesterday
halted a farmer on Grand. River avenue
“Hey, are you loaded with produce?”
“Humph!” sneered the farmer as he pulled
up. “We don’t grow any of that stuff out
our way.”
“What <lo you grow/”
’•Well, we dabble more or less in pro-juice,
and I’ve got a load of it here.”
‘•That’s given me a hint,” said a fwitato
peddler, who had fttoppeu his vehicle to make
a dicker. “I’ve been calling it ‘proud yuse’
for the last dozen years. and what must the
critics have thought of me/”—Detroit Free
The French Prenlden’t Salary.
M? Grevjr receive« oh provident of th«
French republic a yearly salary of $240,-
000. braides tho following allowance«*
$20.000 for heating and lighting, wrvantd
and washing, $60,000 for his entertain-
menu and journey« and $25,000 fur the
inamb nance uf 1*1» game preserves.