Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

"Wait a minute, young feller. Now on the other hand I hears rumors of wars this mornin', and I hears alarmin' talk about this here Monroe docterin'. Ef I uses hair dye and trains down to thirty-eight or forty years of age, I ketches the widder, but I turns into a peart and chipper youth what is liable to be made to fight in this here great war. Ef I gives up the hair dye, the recrutin' sargent salutes these white hairs and passes by, but I am takin' big chances on the widder. She has been to meetin' twicet with a man what has been divorced, and ties his own cree-vat, and this here Monroe docterin' is all what keeps me from pulling out seventy-five cents and makin' a strong play with said dye. What would you do, ef you was me, young feller?"

"I don't think there will be any war soon," said the clerk.

"Jerusalem; I'm glad to hear it! Gimme the biggest bottle of blue-black hair dye fur seventy-five cents that you got. I'm goin' to purpose to that widder before it gets dry, and risk the chances of Monroe takin' water again on this war business."

Something for Baby

This is nothing but a slight jar in the happy holiday music; a minor note struck by the finger of Fate, slipping upon the keys, as anthems of rejoicing and Christmas carols make the Yuletide merry.

The Post man stood yesterday in one of the largest fancy and drygoods stores on Main Street, watching the throng of well-dressed buyers, mostly ladies, who were turning over the stock of Christmas notions and holiday goods.

Presently a little, slim, white-faced girl crept timidly through the crowd to the counter. She was dressed in thin calico, and her shoes were patched and clumsy.

She looked about her with a manner half mournful, half scared.

A clerk saw her and came forward.

"Well, what is it?" he asked rather shortly.

"Please, sir," she answered in a weak voice, "Mamma gave me this dime to get something for baby."

"Something for baby, for a dime? Want to buy baby a Christmas present, eh? Well now, don't you think you had better run around to a toyshop? We don't keep such things here. You want a tin horse, or a ball, or a jumping jack, now don't you?"

"Please, sir, Mamma said I was to come here. Baby isn't with us now. Mamma told me to get--ten--cents--worth--of--crape, sir, if you please."

Some Day

Some day--not now; oh, ask me not again;
Impassioned, low, and deep, with wild regret;
Thy words but fill my heart with haunting pain--
Some day, but oh, my friend--not yet--not yet.

Perchance when time hath wrought some wondrous change,
And fate hath swept her barriers away.
Then, lifted to some higher, freer range.
Thou may'st return and speak again--some day.

Oh, leave me now--do not so coldly turn!
Thou seest my very soul has suffered sore.
Adieu! But, oh, some day thou canst return
And bring that drygoods bill to me once more.

A Green Hand

"I shall never again employ any but experienced salesmen, who thoroughly understand the jewelry business," said a Houston jeweler to a friend yesterday.

"You see, at Christmas time we generally need more help, and sometimes employ people who can sell goods, but are not familiar with the fine points of the business. Now, that young man over there is thoroughly good and polite to everyone, but he has just lost me one of my best customers."

"How was that?" asked the friend.

"A man who always trades with us came in with his wife last week and with her assistance selected a magnificent diamond pin that he had promised her for a Christmas present and told this young man to lay it aside for him till today."

"I see," said the friend, "and he sold it to someone else and disappointed him."

"It's plain you don't know much about married men," said the jeweler. "That idiot of a clerk actually saved the pin for him and he had to buy it."

A Righteous Outburst

He smelled of gin and his whiskers resembled the cylinder of a Swiss music box. He walked into a toy shop on Main Street yesterday and leaned sorrowfully against the counter.

"Anything today?" asked the proprietor coldly.

He wiped an eye with a dingy red handkerchief and said:

"Nothing at all, thank you. I just came inside to shed a tear. I do not like to obtrude my grief upon the passersby. I have a little daughter, sir; five years of age, with curly golden hair. Her name is Lilian. She says to me this morning: 'Papa, will Santa Claus bring me a red wagon for Christmas?' It completely unmanned me, sir, as, alas, I am out of work and penniless. Just think, one little red wagon would bring her happiness, and there are children who have hundreds of red wagons."

"Before you go out," said the proprietor, "which you are going to do in about fifteen seconds, I am willing to inform you that I have a branch store on Trains Street, and was around there yesterday. You came in and made the same talk about your little girl, whom you called Daisy, and I gave you a wagon. It seems you don't remember your little girl's name very well."

The man drew himself up with dignity, and started for the door. When nearly there, he turned and said:

"Her name is Lilian Daisy, sir, and the wagon you gave me had a rickety wheel and some of the paint was scratched off the handle. I have a friend who tends bar on Willow Street, who is keeping it for me till Christmas, but I will feel a flush of shame on your behalf, sir, when Lilian Daisy sees that old, slab-sided, squeaking, secondhand, leftover-from-last-year's-stock wagon. But, sir, when Lilian Daisy kneels at her little bed at night I shall get her to pray for you, and ask Heaven to have mercy on you. Have you one of your business cards handy, so Lilian Daisy can get your name right in her petitions?"

Getting at the Facts

It was late in the afternoon and the day staff was absent. The night editor had just come in, pulled off his coat, vest, collar, and necktie, rolled up his shirtsleeves and eased down his suspenders, and was getting ready for work.

Someone knocked timidly outside the door, and the night editor yelled, "Come in."

A handsome young lady with entreating blue eyes and a Psyche knot entered with a rolled manuscript in her hand.

The night editor took it silently and unrolled it. It was a poem and he read it half aloud with a convulsive jaw movement that resulted from his organs of speech being partially engaged with about a quarter of a plug of chewing tobacco. The poem ran thus:

A Requiem

The soft, sweet, solemn dawn stole through
The latticed room's deep gloom;
He lay in pallid, pulseless peace,
Fulfilled his final doom.
Oh, breaking heart of mine--oh, break!
Left lonely here to mourn;
My alter ego, mentor, friend
Thus from me rudely torn.
Within his chamber dead he lies,
And stilled is his sweet lyre;
How long he pored o'er midnight oil.
With grand poetic fire!
Till came the crash, when his bright light
Went out, and all was drear;
And my sad soul was left to wait
In grief and anguish here.

"When did this happen?" asked the night editor.

"I wrote it last night, sir," said the young lady. "Is it good enough to print?"

"Last night! H'm. A little stale, but the other papers didn't get it. Now, miss," continued the night editor, smiling and throwing out his chest, "I'm going to teach you a lesson in the newspaper business. We can use this item, but it's not in proper shape. Just take that chair, and I'll rewrite it for you, showing you how to properly condense a news item in order to secure its insertion."

The young lady seated herself and the night editor knitted his brows and read over the poem two or three times to get the main points. He then wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper and said:

"Now, miss, here is the form in which your item will appear when we print it:

Fatal Accident

"Last evening Mr. Alter Ego of this city was killed by the
explosion of a kerosene lamp while at work in his room.

"Now, you see, miss, the item includes the main facts in the case, and--"

"Sir!" said the young lady indignantly. "There is nothing of the kind intimated in the poem. The lines are imaginary and are intended to express the sorrow of a poet's friend at his untimely demise."

"Why, miss," said the night editor, "it plainly refers to midnight oil, and a crash, and when the light blew up the gent was left for dead in the room."

"You horrid thing," said the young lady, "give me my manuscript. I will bring it back when the literary editor is in."

"I'm sorry," said the night editor as he handed her the roll. "We're short on news tonight, and it would have made a nice little scoop. Don't happen to know of any accidents in your ward: births, runaways, holdups, or breach of promise suits, do you?"

But the slamming of the door was the only answer from the fair poetess.

Just for a Change

The "lullaby boy" to the same old tune,
Who abandons his drum and toys,
For the purpose of dying in early June,
Is the kind the public enjoys.

But, just for a change please sing us a song,
Of the sore-toed boy that's fly,
And freckled, and mean, and ugly, and strong,
And positively will not die.

Too Wise

Here is a man in Houston who keeps quite abreast of the times. He reads the papers, has traveled extensively and is an excellent judge of human nature. He has a natural gift for detecting humbugs and fakirs, and it would be a smooth artist indeed who could impose upon him in any way.

Last night as he was going home, a shady looking man with his hat pulled over his eyes stepped out from a doorway and said:

"Say, gent, here's a fine diamond ring I found in de gutter. I don't want to get into no trouble wid it. Gimme a dollar and take it."

The Houston man smiled as he looked at the flashy ring the man held toward him.

"A very good game, my man," he said, "but the police are hot after you fellows. You had better select your rhinestone customers with better judgment. Good night."

When the man got home he found his wife in tears.

"Oh, John," she said. "I went shopping this afternoon and lost my solitaire diamond ring. Oh, what shall I--"

John turned without a word and rushed back down the street, but the shady-looking man was not to be found.

His wife often wonders why he never scolded her for losing the ring.

A Fatal Error

"What are you looking so glum about?" asked a Houston man as he dropped into a friend's office on Christmas Day.

"Same old fool break of putting a letter in the wrong envelope, and I'm afraid to go home. My wife sent me down a note by the hired man an hour ago, telling me to send her ten dollars, and asking me to meet her here at the office at three o'clock and go shopping with her. At the same time I got a bill for ten dollars from a merchant I owe, asking me to remit. I scribbled off a note to the merchant saying: 'Can't possibly do it. I've got to meet another little thing today that won't be put off.' I made the usual mistake and sent the merchant the ten dollars and my wife the note."

"Can't you go home and explain the mistake to your wife?"

"You don't know her. I've done all I can. I've taken out an accident policy for $10,000 good for two hours, and I expect her here in fifteen minutes. Tell all the boys goodbye for me, and if you meet a lady on the stairs as you go down keep close to the wall."

Prompt

He raised his arm to strike, but lax and slow His arm fell nerveless to his side. He might have struck a mighty ringing blow. A blow that might have been his joy and pride.

But no--his strength at once did fade away, A sudden blow seemed all his soul to fix; He was a workman, working by the day, And heard the whistle blow the hour of six.

The Rake-Off

"Who bids?"

The auctioneer held up a child's rocking-horse, battered and stained. It had belonged to some little member of the man's family whose household property was being sold under the hammer.

He was utterly ruined. He had given up everything in the world to his creditors--house, furniture, horses, stock of goods and lands. He stood among the crowd watching the sale that was scattering his household goods and his heirlooms among a hundred strange hands.

On his arm leaned a woman heavily veiled. "Who bids?"

The auctioneer held the rocking-horse high that it might be seen. Childish hands had torn away the scanty mane; the bridle was twisted and worn by tender little fingers. The crowd was still.

The woman under the heavy veil sobbed and stretched out her hands.

"No, no, no!" she cried.

The man was white with emotion. The little form that once so merrily rode the old rockinghouse had drifted away into the world years ago. This was the only relic left of his happy infancy.

The auctioneer, with a queer moisture in his eyes, handed the rocking-horse to the man without a word. He seized it with eager hands, and he and the veiled woman hurried away.

The crowd murmured with sympathy.

The man and the woman went into an empty room and set the rocking-horse down. He took out his knife, ripped open the front of the horse, and took out a roll of bills. He counted them and said: "It's a cold day when I fail without a rake-off. Eight thousand five hundred dollars, but that auctioneer came very near busting up the game."

The Telegram

Scene: Telegraph office in Houston.

[Enter handsome black velour cape, trimmed with jet and braid, with Tibetan fur collar, all enclosing lovely young lady.]

Young lady Oh, I want to send a telegram at once, if you please. Give me about six blanks, please. [Writes about ten minutes.] How much will this amount to, please?

Clerk [counting words] Sixteen dollars and ninety-five cents, ma'am.

Young lady Goodness gracious! I've only thirty cents with me. [Suspiciously.] How is it you charge so much, when the post-office only requires two cents?

Clerk We claim to deliver messages quicker than the post-office, ma'am. You can send ten words to Waco for twenty-five cents.

Young lady Give me another blank, please: I guess that will be enough. [After five minutes' hard work she produces the following: "Ring was awfully lovely. Come down as soon as you can. Mamie."]

Clerk This contains eleven words. That will be thirty cents.

Young lady Oh, gracious! I wanted that nickel to buy gum with.

Clerk Let's see. You might strike out, "awfully," and that will make it all right.

Young lady Indeed I shan't. You ought to see that ring. I'll give you the thirty cents.

Clerk To whom is this to be sent?

Young lady It seems to me you are rather inquisitive, sir.

Clerk [wearily] I assure you there is no personal interest expressed in the question. We have to know the name and address in order to send the message.

Young lady Oh, yes. I didn't think of that. [She writes the name and address, pays the thirty cents and departs. Twenty minutes later she returns, out of breath.]

Young lady Oh, I forgot something. Have you sent it off yet?

Clerk Yes, ten minutes ago.

Young lady Oh, I'm so sorry. It isn't the way I wanted it at all. Can't you telegraph and have it changed for me?

Clerk Is it anything important?

Young lady Yes: I wanted to underscore the words "awfully lovely." Will you have that attended to at once?

Clerk Certainly, and we have some real nice violet extract; would you like a few drops on your telegram?

Young lady Oh, yes: so kind of you. I expect to send all my telegrams through your office, you have been so accommodating. Good morning.

An Opportunity Declined

A farmer who lives about four miles from Houston noticed a stranger in his front yard one afternoon last week acting in a rather unusual manner. He wore a pair of duck trousers stuffed in his boots, and had a nose the color of Elgin pressed brick. In his hand he held a sharpened stake about two feet long, which he would stick into the ground, and after sighting over it at various objects would pull it up and go through the same performance at another place.

The farmer went out in the yard and inquired what he wanted.

"Wait just a minute," said the stranger, squinting his eye over the stick at the chicken house. "Now, that's it to a _T_. You see, I'm one of de odnance corps of engineers what's runnin' de line of the new railroad from Columbus, Ohio, to Houston. See? De other fellers is over de hill wid de transit and de baggage. Dere's over a million dollars in de company. See? Dey sent me on ahead to locate a place for a big passenger depot, to cost $27,000. De foundation will commence right by your chicken house. Say, I gives you a pointer. You charge 'em high for dis land. Dey'll stand fifty thousand. 'Cause why? 'Cause dey's got de money and dey's got to build de depot right where I says. See? I've got to go on into Houston to record a deed for a right of way, and I never thought to get fifty cents from de treasurer. He's a little man with light pants. You might let me have de fifty cents and when de boys comes along in de mornin' tell 'em what you did, and any one of 'em' hand you a dollar. You might ask 'em fifty-five thousand, if you--"

"You throw that stick over the fence, and get the axe and cut up exactly half a cord of that wood, stove length, and I'll give you a quarter and your supper," said the farmer. "Does the proposition strike you favorably?"

"And are you goin' to t'row away de opportunity of havin' dat depot built right here, and sellin' out--"

"Yes, I need the ground for my chicken coop."

"You refuse to take $50,000 for de ground, den?"

"I do. Are you going to chop that wood, or shall I whistle for Tige?"

"Gimme dat axe, mister, and show me dat wood, and tell de missus to bake an extra pan of biscuits for supper. When dat Columbus and Houston grand trunk railway runs up against your front fence you'll be sorry you didn't take up dat offer. And tell her to fill up the molasses pitcher, too, and not to mind about putting the dish of cooking butter on de table. See?"

Correcting a Great Injustice

Something has been recently disclosed that will fill every chivalrous man in the country with contrition. For a long time men have supposed that the habit of wearing tall hats at the theater by the ladies was nothing more than a lack of consideration on their part for the unfortunate individuals who were so unlucky as to get a seat behind them.

It now appears that the supposition did the fair sex a great injustice. A noted female physician has exposed an affliction that the female sex has long suffered with, and have succeeded up to this time in keeping a profound secret. Their habit of wearing hats in places of public entertainment is the result of a necessity, and relieves them of the charge of selfish disregard of the convenience of others, which has been so often brought against them.

It appears that ladies who are past thirty-five years of age are peculiarly sensitive to the effect of a bright light striking upon their heads from above. The skull of a woman is quite different from that of a man, especially on the top, and at the age of thirty-five, the texture of the skull at this place becomes very light. Rays of light--especially electric light--have a peculiarly penetrating and disturbing effect upon the cerebral nerves.

Strange to say, this infirmity is never felt by a young woman, but as soon as she passes the heyday of youth, it is at once perceptible. The fact is generally known to women, and discussed among themselves, but they have jealously guarded the secret, even from their nearest male relatives and friends. The lady physician who recently exposed the matter in a scientific journal is the first of her sex to make it known to the public.

If anyone will take the trouble to make a test of the statement, its truth will be unquestionably proven. Engage a woman of middle age in conversation beneath a well-lighted chandelier, and in a few moments she will grow uneasy, and very soon the pain inflicted by the light will cause her to move away from under its source. On young and healthy girls the rays of light have no perceptible effect. So, when we see a lady at a theater wearing a tall and cumbersome hat, we should reflect that she is more than thirty-five years old, and is simply protecting herself from an affliction that advancing years have brought upon her. Whenever we observe one wearing small and unobtrusive headgear we know that she is still young and charming, and can yet sit beneath the rays of penetrating light without inconvenience.

No man who has had occasion to rail against woman's supposed indifference to the public comfort in this respect, will hesitate to express sincere regret that he has so misunderstood them. It is characteristic of Americans to respect the infirmities of age, especially among the fair sex, and when the facts here narrated have been generally known, pity and toleration will take the place of censure. Henceforth a tall hat, with nodding feathers and clustering flowers and trimming, will not be regarded with aversion when we see it between us and the stage, but with respect, since we are assured that its wearer is no longer young, but is already on the down hill of life, and is forced to take the precaution that advancing years render necessary to infirm women.

A Startling Demonstration

What a terrible state of affairs it would be if we could read each other's minds! It is safe to say that if such were the case, most of us would be afraid to think above a whisper.

As an illustration, a case might be cited that occurred in Houston. Some months ago a very charming young lady came to this city giving exhibitions in mind reading, and proved herself to be marvelously gifted in that respect. She easily read the thoughts of the audience, finding many articles hidden by simply holding the hand of the person secreting them, and read sentences written on little slips of paper by some at a considerable distance from her.

A young man in Houston fell in love with her, and married her after a short courtship. They went to housekeeping and for a time were as happy as mortals can be.

One evening they were sitting on the porch of their residence holding each other's hands, and wrapt in the close communion of mutual love, when she suddenly rose and knocked him down the steps with a large flowerpot. He arose astonished, with a big bump on his head, and asked her, if it were not too much trouble, to explain.

"You can't fool me," she said with flashing eyes. "You were thinking of a redheaded girl named Maud with a gold plug in her front tooth and a light pink waist and a black silk skirt on Rusk Avenue, standing under a cedar bush chewing gum at twenty minutes to eight with your arm around her waist and calling her 'sweetness,' while she fooled with your watch chain and said: 'Oh, George, give me a chance to breathe,' and her mother was calling her to supper. Don't you dare to deny it. Now, when you can get your mind on something better than that, you can come in the house and not before."

Then the door slammed and George and the broken flowerpot were alone.

Leap Year Advice

Spinsters must be up and doing: 1896 will be the only leap year for the next eight years. Once in every four years the wise men who made the calendar insert an extra day so that the average year will not be so short. Once in every hundred years this extra day is omitted, and a leap year is also dropped. The year 1900 will not be a leap year. Unmarried ladies who yearn for matrimonial chains, and have been left standing in the comer by fickle man must get to work. If they fail in landing their prize during 1896 they will have to wait eight years more before they can propose again. Therefore they should work early and late during the present year.

The following communication pertaining to the subject was received yesterday.

Houston, Texas, January 1, 1896.
The Houston Post.

Gentlemen: This being leap year I
arose this morning at daybreak, resolved to utilize every
moment of the time possible. Four years ago, I wrote and
received some very valuable advice from you in regard to the
exercise of the privileges of my sex (female) during the leap
year season. I followed your advice strictly, and in the year
1892 proposed marriage to twenty-seven different men. I am
still single, but am not to blame for that. I was engaged to
three men in 1892, and, but for the unforeseen bad luck, would
certainly have married at least one of them. Two of them
committed suicide the day before the wedding and the other got
his hat and walking cane and went to Patagonia. I see in the
papers that the year 1900 will not be a leap year, and I
realize that for the next twelve months I have got to carry on
a red hot aggressive campaign, as eight more years will
decidedly weaken my chances. Any suggestions you may make that
will aid me will be appreciated. I enclose my photo. I am
nearly thirty-six, and sleep on my left side.

Faithfully yours,
Bettie Louis M---

This is an awful subject to speak lightly upon, and the few words of advice we propose giving are sincere and well weighed.

Your photograph shows that whatever you do must be done quickly. A good way for a lady of your age and cut of collar bones to open New Year would be with prayer and massage. It may be a defect in the retouching of your photo, but still, it would not be amiss to take a good Turkish bath and then go over low places with plaster of Paris applied with a common case knife with gentle downward motion, breathing as usual, and dry in the sun, turning over frequently two or three hours before eating. You should not waste any time in selecting a man. Try the milkman first, as he generally comes before it is very light.

As the milkman will no doubt refuse you, be prepared to give the postman a shock. Do not be too abrupt in proposing, as a rude shock of this nature will often cause a timid man to stampede, causing great loss of confidence and bric-a-brac.

After getting a victim to stand, speak gently to him until he ceases to quiver in his limbs and roll his eyes. Do not pat his chest, or rub his nose, as men will sometimes kick at this treatment. Bear in mind the fact that 1900 is not leap year, and keep between him and the door.

Approach the subject gradually, allowing him no time to pray and remove the cigars from his vest pocket. If he should shudder and turn pale, turn the conversation upon progressive euchre, Braun's egotism, or some other light subject, until a handkerchief applied to his neck will not come off wet. If possible, get him to seat himself, and then, grasping both lapels of his coat, breathe heavily upon him, and speak of your lonely life.

At this stage he will mutter incoherently, answer at random, and try to climb up the chimney. When his pulse gets to 195, and he begins to babble of green fields and shows only the whites of his eyes, strike him on the point of the chin, propose, chloroform him, and telephone for a minister.

After Supper

Mr. Sharp: "My darling, it seems to me that every year that passes over your head but brings out some new charm, some hidden beauty, some added grace. There is a look in your eyes tonight that is as charming and girllike as when I first met you. What a blessing it is when two hearts can grow but fonder as time flies. You are scarcely less beautiful now than when--"

Mrs. Sharp: "I had forgotten it was lodge night, Robert. Don't be out much after twelve, if you can help it."

His Only Opportunity

Last week "The Rainmakers" gave two performances in Houston. At the night performance a prominent local politician occupied one of the front seats, as near to the stage as possible. He carried in his hand a glossy silk hat, and he seemed to be in a state of anxious suspense, fidgeting about in his chair, and holding his hat in both hands straight before him. A friend who occupied a seat directly behind, leaned over and asked the cause of his agitation.

"I'll tell you, Bill," said the politician in a confidential whisper, "just how it is. I've been in politics now for ten years, and I've been bemoaned and abused and cussed out, and called so many hard names that I thought I'd like to be addressed in a decent manner once more before I die, and this is about the only opportunity I shall have. There is a sleight-of-hand performance between two of the acts in this show, and the professor is going to step down to the front and say: 'Will some gentleman kindly loan me a hat?' Then I'm going to stand up and give him mine, and it'll make me feel good for a week. I haven't been called a gentleman in so long. I expect I'll whoop right out hard when he takes the hat. Excuse me now. I've got to be ready and get my hat in first. I see one of the city councilmen over there with an old derby in his hand, and I'll bet he's up to the same game."

Getting Acquainted

His coat was rusty and his hat out of style, but his nose glasses, secured by a black cord, lent him a distinguished air, and his manner was jaunty and assured. He stepped into a new Houston grocery yesterday, and greeted the proprietor cordially.

"I'll have to introduce myself," he said. "My name is ----, and I live next door to the house you have just moved in. Saw you at church Sunday. Our minister also observed you, and after church he says, 'Brother ----, you must really find out who that intelligent-looking stranger is who listened so attentively today.' How did you like the sermon?"

"Very well," said the grocer as he picked some funny-looking currants with wings out of a jar.

"Yes, he is a very eloquent and pious man. You have not been in business long in Houston, have you?"

"Three weeks," said the grocer, as he removed the cheese knife from the box to the shelf behind him.

"Our people," said the rusty-looking man, "are whole-souled and hospitable. There is no welcome too warm for them to extend to a newcomer, and the members of our church in particular are especially friendly toward anyone who drops in to worship with us. You have a nice stock of goods."

"So, so," said the grocer, turning his back and gazing up at a supply of canned California fruits.

"Only last week now I had quite an altercation with the tradesman I deal with for sending me inferior goods. You have some nice hams, I suppose, and such staples as coffee and sugar?"

"Yep," said the grocer.

"My wife was over to see your wife this morning, and enjoyed her visit very much. What time does your delivery wagon pass up our street?"

"Say," said the grocer. "I bought out an old stock of groceries here, and put in a lot of new ones. I see your name on the old books charged with $87.10 balance on account. Did you want something more today?"

"No, sir," said the rusty man, drawing himself up and glaring through his glasses. "I merely called in from a sense of Christian duty to extend you a welcome, but I see you are not the man I took you to be. I don't want any of your groceries. I can see the mites in that cheese from the other side of the street, and my wife says your wife is wearing an underskirt made out of an old tablecloth. Several of our congregation were speaking of your smelling of toddy in church, and snoring during the prayers. My wife will return that cup of lard she borrowed at your house this morning just as quick as my last order comes up from the store where we trade. Good morning, sir."

The grocer softly whispered, "There Won't Anybody Play with Me," and whittled a little lead out of one of his weights, in an absentminded way.

Answers to Inquiries

Dear Editor: I want to ask a question in arithmetic. I am a school boy and am anxious to know the solution. If my pa, who keeps a grocery on Milam Street, sells four cans of tomatoes for twenty-five cents, and twenty-two pounds of sugar, and one can of extra evaporated apples and three cans of superior California plums, for only--

There! There! little boy; that will do. Tell your pa to come around and see the advertising manager, who is quite an arithmetician, and will doubtless work the sum for you at the usual rates.

City Perils

Jeremiah Q. Dilworthy lives away up on San Jacinto Street. He walks home every night. On January first, he promised his wife he would not take another drink in a year. He forgot his promise and on Tuesday night we met some of the boys, and when he started home about nine o'clock he was feeling a trifle careless.

Mr. Dilworthy was an old resident of Houston, and on rainy nights he always walked in the middle of the street, which is well paved.

Alas! if Mr. Dilworthy had only remembered the promise made his wife!

He started out all right, and just as he was walking up San Jacinto Street he staggered over to one side of the street.

A policeman standing on the comer heard a loud yell of despair, and turning, saw a man throw up his arms and then disappear from sight. Before the policeman could call someone who could swim the man had gone for the third and last time.

Mr. Jeremiah Q. Dilworthy had fallen into the sidewalk.

Hush Money

He was a great practical joker, and never lost a chance to get a good one on somebody. A few days ago he stopped a friend on Main Street and said, confidentially:

"I never would have believed it, but I believe it my duty to make it known. Mr. ----, the alderman for our ward, has been taking hush money."

"Impossible!" said his friend.

"I tell you, it's true, for I overheard the conversation and actually saw it handed over to him, and he took the money and put it in his pocket."

Then he went on without explaining any further, and the thing got talked around considerably for a day or two.

He forgot all about it until one day he met the alderman and suffered from the encounter to the extent of two black eyes and a coat split up the back.

And then he had to go all round and explain that what he meant was that he had seen the alderman's wife give him a dime to buy some paregoric for the baby.

Relieved

A Houston gentleman who is worth somewhere up in the hundreds of thousands and lives on eleven dollars a week, was sitting in his private office a few days ago, when a desperate looking man entered and closed the door carefully behind him. The man had an evil, villainous-looking face, and in his hand he held with the utmost care an oblong, square-shaped package. "What do you want?" asked the capitalist.

"I must have money," hissed the stranger. "I am starving while you are rolling in wealth. Do you see this little package? Do you know what it contains?"

The wealthy citizen sprang from his desk in horror, pale with fright.

"No, no," he gasped. "You would not be so cruel, so heartless."

"This package," continued the desperate man, "contains enough dynamite, if let fall upon the floor, to hurl this building into a shapeless mass of ruins."

"Is that all?" said the capitalist, sinking into his chair and picking up his newspaper with a sigh of relief. "You don't know how much you frightened me. I thought it was a gold brick."

No Time to Lose

A young Houston mother rushed into die house the other day in the utmost excitement, calling out to her mother to put an iron on the fire as quick as possible.

"What is the matter?" asked the old lady.

"A dog has just bitten Tommy, and I am afraid it was mad. Oh, hurry up, mother; be as quick as you can!"

"Are you going to try to cauterize the wound?"

"No--I've got to iron that blue skirt before I can wear it to go after the doctor. Do be in a hurry."

A Villainous Trick

When it becomes necessary for an actor to write a letter during the performance of a play, it is a custom to read the words aloud as he writes them. It is necessary to do this in order that the audience may be apprised of its contents, otherwise the clearness of the plot might be obscured. The writing of a letter upon the stage, therefore, generally has an important bearing upon the situation being presented, and of course the writer is forced to read aloud what he writes for the benefit of the audience. During the production of "Monbars" in Houston some days ago, the gentleman who assumed the character of the heavy villain took advantage of a situation of this description in a most cowardly manner.

In the last act, Mantell, as Monbars, writes a letter of vital importance, and, as customary, reads the lines aloud as he writes them. The villain hides behind the curtains of a couch and listens in fiendish glee to the contents of the letter as imparted by Mr. Mantell in strict confidence to the audience. He then uses the information obtained in this underhanded manner to further his own devilish designs.

Mr. Mantell ought not to allow this. A man who is a member of his own company, and who, no doubt is drawing a good salary, should be above taking a mean advantage of a mere stage technicality.

A Forced March

The young man is a-walking with his girl
Hear him swear
That he loves her and adores her.
And he woos her, and, of course, her
Little foolish heart doth force her;
She's half crazy and her thoughts are in a whirl.

The young man is a-walking with his girl.
(Hear him swear.)
She is two months old and screaming,
While around the room he's steaming,
And her ma is in bed dreaming;
He's half crazy and his thoughts are in a whirl.

Book Reviews

_Unabridged Dictionary by Noah Webster_, L. L. D. F. R. S. X. Y. Z.

We find on our table quite an exhaustive treatise on various subjects, written in Mr. Webster's well-known, lucid, and piquant style. There is not a dull line between the covers of the book. The range of subjects is wide, and the treatment light and easy without being flippant. A valuable feature of the work is the arranging of the articles in alphabetical order, thus facilitating the finding of any particular word desired. Mr. Webster's vocabulary is large, and he always uses the right word in the right place. Mr. Webster's work is thorough and we predict that he will be heard from again.

_Houston's City Directory_, by Morrison and Fourmy.

This new book has the decided merit of being non-sensational. In these days of erratic and ultra-imaginative literature of the modern morbid self-analytical school it is a relief to peruse a book with so little straining after effect, so well balanced, and so pure in sentiment. It is a book that a man can place in the hands of the most innocent member of his family with the utmost confidence. Its material is healthy, and its literary style excellent, as it adheres to the methods used with such thrilling effect by Mr. Webster in his famous dictionary, viz: alphabetical arrangement.

We venture to assert that no one can carefully and conscientiously read this little volume without being a better man, or lady, as circumstances over which they have no control may indicate.

A Conditional Pardon

The runaway couple had just returned, and she knelt at the old man's feet and begged forgiveness.

"Yes, forgive us," cried the newly wedded husband. "Forgive me for taking her away from you, but see, I have brought her back."

"Yes," said the old man, his voice trembling with emotion, "you have brought her back. You have brought her back. Bat that is not all, lad; you have brought her back, but you have also brought the part of her that eats provisions. I will forgive you for fifty dollars per month, lights and washing extra."

* * * * *

It is but justice to the Pension Bureau at Washington to state that they have not yet granted the pension claimed by a man who was wounded in the late unpleasantness by the accidental discharge of his duty.

* * * * *

A careful inquiry has revealed the fact that Samson was the first man who rushed the growler.

Better blow your own horn than one you haven't paid for.

If your rye offend you, buy a better quality.

Inconsistency

Call a pretty girl a witch
And she'll do her best to charm you.
Tell an old maid she's a witch,
And she certainly will harm you.
Thus you see how hard it is to please them all.

Call a pretty maiden "Puss,"
And she'll archly smile upon you.
Call an ancient one a "cat,"
She will grab an axe and run you.
The same name will not fit them all, at all.

If you call your girl a "mouse,"
She will think it cute and pretty.
If unto an aged spinster
You say "rats," you have our pity.
Thus you see you need not try to please them all.

* * * * *

"In a lighthouse by the sea" is what the opera company sang to a forty-dollar audience in Galveston.

* * * * *

"Yes," said the tramp as he accepted the dime and made for the lunch counter, "I always hollers when I'm hit and I always hits a man when I'm holler."

Bill Nye

Bill Nye, who recently laid down his pen for all time, was a unique figure in the field of humor. His best work probably more nearly represented American humor than that of any other writer. Mr. Nye had a sense of ludicrous that was keen and judicious. His humor was peculiarly American in that it depended upon sharp and unexpected contrasts, and the bringing of opposites into unlooked-for comparison for its effect. Again, he had the true essence of kindliness, without which humor is stripped of its greatest component part.

Bill Nye's jokes never had a sting. They played like summer lightning around the horizon of life, illuminating and spreading bright, if transitory, pictures upon the sky, but they were as harmless as the smile of a child. The brain of the man conceived the swift darts that he threw, but his great manly heart broke off their points.

He knew human nature as a scholar knows his book, and the knowledge did not embitter him. He saw all the goodness in frailty, and his clear eyes penetrated the frailty of goodness.

His was the child's heart, the scholar's knowledge, and the philosopher's view of life. He might have won laurels in other fields, for he was a careful reasoner, and a close observer, but he showed his greatness in putting aside cold and fruitless discussions that have wearied the world long ago, and set himself the task of arousing bubbling laughter instead of consuming doubt.

The world has been better for him, and when that can be said of a man, the tears that drop upon his grave are more potent than the loud huzzas that follow the requiem of the greatest conqueror or the most successful statesman.

The kindliest thoughts and the sincerest prayers follow the great humanitarian--for such he was into the great beyond, and such solace as the hearty condolement of a million people can bring to the bereaved loved ones of Bill Nye, is theirs.

To a Portrait

She might have been some princess fair,
From Nile's banks where lotus blooms;
Or one of Pharaoh's daughters there
Asleep amid long molded tombs.

Or fairy princess sweet and proud,
Or gipsy queen with regal smiles;
Helen of Troy, or Guinevere,
Or Vivien with her witching smile.

Or Zozo's Queen, or Lily Clay,
Or Mrs. Langtry; or a maid
Of fashion, who, in costume scant,
Her charms is wont to have arrayed.

But none of these she is--not e'en,
Andromeda chained on the rocks.
I found her lovely, lone, and lorn
A chromo on a cracker box.

A Guarded Secret

It is time to call a halt upon the persistent spreaders of the alleged joke that a woman can not keep a secret. No baser ingratitude has been shown by man toward the fair sex than the promulgation of this false report. Whenever a would-be humorous man makes use of this antiquated chestnut which his fellow men feel in duty bound to applaud, the face of the woman takes on a strange, inscrutable, pitying smile that few men ever read.

The truth is that it is only woman who can keep a secret. Only a divine intelligence can understand the marvelous power with which ninety-nine married women out of a hundred successfully hide from the rest of the world the secret that they have bound themselves to something unworthy of the pure and sacrificing love they have given them. She may whisper to her neighbor that Mrs. Jones has turned her old silk dress twice, but if she has in her breast anything affecting one she loves, the gods themselves could not drag it from her.

Weak man looks into the wine cup and behold, he babbles his innermost thoughts to any gaping bystander; woman can babble of the weather, and gaze with infantine eyes into the orbs of the wiliest diplomat, while holding easily in her breast the heaviest secrets of state.

Adam was the original blab; the first telltale, and we are not proud of him. With the dreamy, appealing eyes of Eve upon him--she who was created for his comfort and pleasure--even as she stood by his side, loving and fresh and fair as a spring moon, the wretched cad said, "The woman gave me and I did eat." This reprehensible act in our distinguished forefather can not be excused by any gentleman who knows what is due to a lady.

Adam's conduct would have caused his name to be stricken from the list of every decent club in the country. And since that day, woman has stood by man, faithful, true, and ready to give up all for his sake. She hides his puny peccadilloes from the world, she glosses over his wretched misdemeanors, and she keeps silent when a word would pierce his inflated greatness and leave him a shriveled and shrunken rag.

And man says that woman can not keep a secret!

Let him be thankful that she can, or his littleness would be proclaimed from the housetops.

A Pastel

Above all hangs the dreadful night.

He pleads with her.

His hand is on her arm.

They stand in the cold, solemn night, gazing into a brilliantly lighted room. His face is white and terror-stricken. Hers is willful, defiant, and white with the surging impulse of destiny.

Ten miles away on the Harrisburg road a draggle-tailed rooster crows, but the woman does not falter.

He pleads with her.

She shakes off his hand with a gesture of loathing, and takes a step forward toward the lighted room.

He pleads with her.

Crystal flakes of moonlight quiver on the trees above; star dust flecks the illimitable rim of the Ineligible. The whicheverness of the Absolute reigns preeminent.

Sin is below; peace above.

The whip of the north wind trails a keen lash upon them. Carriages sweep by. Frost creeps upon the stones, lies crustily along parapets, spangles and throws back in arctic scintillation the moon's challenging rays.

He pleads with her.

At last she turns, conquered.

He has refused to treat to oysters.

Jim

Thanks, young man; I'll sit awhile,
And rest while Betsy trades a bit.
We've druv 'bout twenty mile to-day;
I'm real tired. Just think of it!

"Me a-restin' on this here bench
'Mongst all these trees and flowers and sich;
A park! You say? It's a nice place
To drive your team and stop and hitch.

"Farm? Yes, we've got a good one;
Two hundred acres as fine as you'll see,
We're purty well fixed as to worldly things,
We've worked hard for it, Betsy and me.

"But there's one thing keeps me mighty sad,
We can't get over it, night or day.
Never an hour we don't think of Jim--
Ten years now, since he went away.

"Dead?--No; just got mad and left.
Never a word have we heard from him;
Ten years of waitin', hopin', and prayin'
Jest fur one more sight of Jim.

"Jest about your height, young man;
Slender and straight as a stalk of corn;
Good as gold, though quick to get angry--
But, then he was mine and Betsy's first-born.

"I think if I could git hold of Jim's hand,
And kinder explain the words I said,
He'd know his old dad's heart would ever
Be just the same--but I guess Jim's dead.

"Or he never--what's that you say, sir?
You Jim!--My God!--it can't be true!
Come to my heart, boy--closer, closer--
Can it be Jim--oh, can it be you?

"Run quick and call your mother!
She's in the store--come quick again;
I'll wait here for you. . . .
. . . Here! Police! Police!
That young feller's got my watch and chain!"

Board and Ancestors

The snake reporter of the Post was wending his way homeward last night when he was approached by a very gaunt, hungry-looking man with wild eyes and an emaciated face.

"Can you tell me, sir," he inquired, "where I can find in Houston a family of lowborn scrubs?"

"I don't exactly understand," said the reporter.

"Let me tell you how it is," said the emaciated man. "I came to Houston a month ago, and I hunted up a boarding house, as I can not afford to live at a hotel. I found a nice, aristocratic-looking place that suited me, and went inside. The landlady came in the parlor and she was a very stately lady with a Roman nose. I asked the price of board, and she said: 'Eighty dollars per month.' I fell against the door jamb with a dull thud, and she said:

"'You seem surprised, sah. You will please remember that I am the widow of Governah Riddle of Virginia. My family is very highly connected; give you board as a favah; I never consider money an equivalent to advantage of my society. Will you have a room with a door in it?'

"'I'll call again,' I said, and got out of the house, somehow, and went to another fine, three-storied house, with a sign 'Board and Rooms' on it.

"The next lady I saw had gray curls, and a soft gazelle-like eye. She was a cousin of General Mahone of Virginia and wanted $16 per week for a little back room with a pink motto and a picture of the battle of Chancellorsville in it.

"I went to some more boarding houses.