The Lampasas Daily Leader. (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 8, No. 2252, Ed. 1 Monday, June 12, 1911 Page: 3 of 4
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ohri Henry
MAKES A
HOLIDAY
By GEORGE V. HOBART
I was beginning to hatch a dark
and devilish plot, and in the morning,
bright and early, I had Barney Doolin
at work painting our automobile the
exact colors of the machine owned by
the Hon. William Gray, who had the
temerity to run against Uncle Peter
for mayor.
This was Saturday, and since early
morning a score of boys roamed all
ever town, distributing 10,000 cards
whereon was printed “Bunch’s Advice
to Society”—a canard of my own de-
vising to queer Bunch with the So-
ciety push.
The cards made an awful hit. Nine
citizens out of every ten didn’t know
whether it was straight goods or a
Josh, but after reading the card over
for the second time nearly everybody
concluded that the strenuous cam-
paign had overcrowded Bunch’s men-
tal seating capacity and that he had
jone dippy.
When the afternoon paper, the
Ruraldene Palladium, made its appear-
ance, it contained a paid get-back
from Bunch on the first page, and it
was surely a dizzy dish of words.
This is what he had in the after-
aoon paper:
“Voters and citizens of Ruraldene:
There is in our midst an ardent sup-
porter and adherent of the Hon. Peter
.Grant who spends most of his time
besmirching the fair name of the Com-
muter. This man is the author of a
literary stab in the Suburbanite’s
back, a copy of which has recently
-come into our possession and which is
published herewith to prove its au-
thor’s villainy, and to warn the voters
who may well ask ‘If Peter Grant’s
henchman belittles the Commuter in
this cruel manner what will Mayor
Grant do to them?’ We give space
to this cruel slanderer’s effusion that
*our citizen Commuters may be on
♦heir guard hereafter:
“THE COMMUTER.”
(By John Henry.)
“Mirabel! ”
“Yes, dear,” answered the Commu-
ter’s wife.
“The Suburbanite pins his faith to
•a railroad schedule only to find that
somebody pinches the pin!”
“Yes, Claudius,” the wife answered.
“Mirabel! the Commuter’s life is a
moving one and full of cinders!”
“Yes, Claudius!”
“Mirabel!”
Commuter Goosedipper paused and
shook the family growler slowly from
side to side.
“Yes, Claudius,” the faithful wife re-
sponded.
“It is now a little less than daylight
on Monday morning,” he said; “and I
must leave Insomniahurst and go
forth to the great city where I get my
wages.”
Goosedipper sighed and squeezed
the pitcher.
“And today the Chokeup and Crawl-
along R. R. takes off fourteen more
trains!” he gasped.
“Claudius!” the wife exclaimed, pale
from one end of her face to the other.
“Today I must go forth on a train
which will look no more upon In-
somniahurst until many bitter years
have faded into the elsewhere,” he
muttered all foam-bedecked into the
pitcher.
“And must I lose you so soon?” said
the good wife, bursting into tears.
“It is the will of Fate,” he said.
“The years will be long between us,”
she said, sobbing with her voice.
“Yes, but I will telegraph you
money once in a while,” he whispered,
restraining the impulse to cross his
fingers.
“Oh! the awful suburban railroad
system,” she shuddered, “separating
the wife from the husband and the
father from the children he can never
linow in their infancy!”
“Teach the children not to forget
me while I am away at the oflSce,”
said Goosedipper, eagerly.
"I will, Claudius, if I have to do It
with a shawl strap,” said the loving
wife.
Then Goosedipper arose.
“Let me look around the old home
•once again before I go away to duty
on the 7:09 accommodation, which
runs eagerly like a rabbit, hither and
thither, and no where in particular!"
Together with hi3 wife, hand in
hand, followed by the cat and the lit-
tle Goosedippers, the brave Commuter
took a parting walk ajmong his house-
hold.
And when his emotion overcame
, him and he stepped not unkindly but
heavily withal upon the cat the scene
was too pitiful for words.
It was a touching sight to see them.
Then with a sob Goosedipper grab-
bed his lunchbox and was gone.
“I caught a train many years ago
but we had to change cars at Salt
Lake City, so I came home by the
way of Bangor, Maine,” was the only
explanation the Commuter made.
“Don’t apologize, Claudius,” said
the loving wife. “I knew you would
be home some day if you had to wait
for the Panama Canal to get finished.”
Such is the simple faith of the Com-
muters.
“Where is Spartacus?” said Goose-
dipper. “When I left you he was our
oldest son. I hope no change has
happened to him, Mirabel? The day
before I went on the 7:09 train little
Spartacus put on his first knickerbock-
er pants. Where is he?
“That was many years ago,” sighed
the wife. “When Spartacus grew old
enough to learn the schedule of the
trains he swore never to leave home
until the railroads made some ar-
rangement to get him back again, and
so he is now a hermit.”
“A hermit?” inquired Goosedipper;
“what is a hermit?”
“A hermit,” answered the wife; “a
hermit is a Commuter who loves his
home too well to commute.”
“And little Augustus Appius, where
is he?” inquired the husband after a
while.
“Little Augustus Appius has grown
up and developed the brain of a deep
thinker,” said the wife. “With ten
years more study he will be able to
think deep enough to invent a subur-
ban train that will have the sense and
the courage to keep on going till
it reaches the place it started for.”
“Yes, Claudius,” continued the wife,
Gray had imported 219 Dago floaters,
and had opened a night school in hts
barn where Bunch Jefferson was
teaching the Guineas enough English
to get by the challengers on election
day.
I think that sent them to the rock
pile.
Saturday night we had our final
parade with the fireworks finish, and
it was a lallapalootza!
First came the Silver Cornet Band,
in the new uniforms Uncle Peter had
bought for them, and the way they
blew Sousa across lots and showered
the community with rag-time was a
caution.
Then followed the “John Henry
Home Guards,” 250 strong, marching
with cape-mackintoshes, plug hats and
canes. We were immense, with the
exception of three or four dubs who
had borrowed top-pieces too small
for their braineries, and who had to
break ranks every five minutes to
coax their lids away from the street-
car tracks. -r~
We carried transparencies reading
as follows:
PETER GRANT WILL MAKE
GOODI BOOST HIM IN.
WHO IG PETER GRANT’S
OPPONENT?
A PIECE OF CHEESE!
VOTE FOR THE REAL RINA-
KABOO!
PROGRESSIVE PETER!
WILL WE PASS BILL GRAY
THE ICE-PITCHER?
O, MAYBE!
GEORGE WASHINGTON AND
PETER GRANT
NEVER TOLD A LIE!
DID OLD BILL GRAY?
ASK ME!
REMEMBER THE MONROE
DOCTRINE AND VOTE
FOR PETER GRANT!
Next came the “Peter Grant Zou-
aves,” consisting of Conrad Puffen-
lotz, four assistant hop-beaters from
the brewery, and thirty-six school
boys, not one of whom would have a
vote coming to him for at least twelve
years.
But the Zouave make-up was a hot
favorite with Uncle Peter. He was
out to have a splotch of color in that
parade no matter what the cost, and
he got his wish.
Following the Zouaves came the
“Martha Grant League of Helping
An Even Game
BY JOANNA SINGLE
(Copyright, ign, by Associated Literary Press.)
“The John Henry
“our little Appius is a scientist. Every
time he reads about a new idea he sits
down and invents it! He is now
working on a useless pole for the
wireless telegraph.”
The husband went out on a thunder
strike.
“My, my, my!” said Goosedipper.
“I go away on the Chokeup & Crawl-
along R. R., and before I get back
my children grow up and get famous.
Such is the suburban railroad system!
Where is little Gladiolus? When I
left she was the youngest. I hope she
did not change her mind during my
absence?”
“No,” said the wife, “but she has
grown up to be a car-shy girl!”
“Car-shy?” echoed her husband.
“Yes,” responded the wife; “once
when she was just a little child I
thought I heard the shriek of a loco-
motive, and I fainted with surprise.
Ever since that moment she throws a
fit when anybody mentions a railroad
train because she doesn’t believe
there is such a thing in the world.”
Bunch fell down on his scheme of
revenge, because the only man who
reads the local afternoon paper in Ru-
raldene had to go to New York on
business that day.
Uncle Peter spent hour after hour
in the library, arranging and rear-
ranging the oratorical brickbats with
which he intended to demolish Uncle
William’s citadel at the joint debate
that was to bo pulled off Monday night.
In the meantime the town was
seething with anticipation, and all
kinds of rumors were flying about.
The Gray faction started the story
that Uncle Peter had suddenly declin-
ed to meet his opponent in joint de-
bate, so it was up to me to start an-
other story to the effect that old Bill
Home Guards.”
Hands,” consisting of Conrad’s wife,
the lady friends of the four hopbeat-
ers, Hank, the gardener’s wife, and
enough of Hank’s children to make
that portion of the parade look like
the recess hour in a public school.
Lizzie Joyce, our cook, had been led
to believe by some unscrupulous per-
son that the Hon. William Gray, if
elected, would introduce the Irish
eviction gag into Ruraldene. So the
parade for Lizzie, and she marched
among the Helping Hands with the
freckled parasol in one fist and in
the other a transparency evidently
edited by Barney Doolin, which read:
My Chice For Mayor
Is Pete grant
the ladles Pet an pride!
It certainly was a tart collection of
enthusiastic pave pounders that
marched through Ruraldene that even-
ing and "Whooped it up for the Hon.
Peter Grant.
The Candidate, with his wife and
niece and friends, reviewed the parade
from the “Peter Grant headquarters”
-in town. TIuKL after marching around
the Hon. William Gray’s villa three
times', with the fismd playing “Your
Neck Is a Good Plafe To Get It, Mr.
Man!” we planted/our transparencies
deep in the grassy lawn owned by the
furious Uncle William, and with Gabe
Malone’s bull dog to watch them we
left them there for the entertainment
and enlightenment of the Opposition
while we adjourned to the little River-
side Park for the fireworks display..
With the exception of a roman can-
dle that sailed into Conrad Puffen-
lotz, and after knocking at his dining-
room door insisted upon doing its
turn inside his Zouave jacket, the fire-
works were shot off successfully, and
the day wound up in a blaze of glory
(Copyright by G. W. Dillingham do.)
Mary, like the other flowers, was
out in the early morning exploring the
greenness of the grounds of her
friend’s house. She had come the
evening before and was new to the
surroundings. At a turn in a winding
path she met a fair-headed young man
in white flannels, who could not re-
move his hat because he wore none,
but who bowed charmingly. She an-
swered in kind, looking at him grave-
ly.
“I know you are Miss Mary Sum-
ner,” he said.
“And I know you are Frederick Den-
ton!” She held out a pretty hand,
which he took while he murmured how
glad he was, but she interrupted:
“But you aren’t glad, you know!
You expect to be bored beyond meas-
ure—and you didn’t want to come be-
cause you knew I was to be here, but
you couldn't refuse your sister’s par-
ty! Am I not right?”
Her charming dark face was flushed
and sparkling, and she seemed to
speak in a hurried, soft breath. He all
but stared.
“What makes you say that? Won’t
you tell me?”
“Play fair!” she begged. “You know
perfectly well what our families are
up to—don’t you?’ It was his turn to
flush, but he laughed.
“I wish they had minded their busi-
ness, but you are right. Of course we
are expected dutifully to—fall in love.
Of course I don’t have to! It’s all over
—the first glance did it. Now if you
could—”
She shook her head.
“Don’t be polite,” she laughed, her
brown eyes mocking him. “It’s horrid
to be planned for. Let’s make them
suffer. We both have spirit enough
not to be captured by the machina-
tions of my mother and your sister.
I’m glad you’re—really so—nice. You
might not have been—charming.
You’ve been talked into my ears until
I nearly hated you—and I knew you
must have felt the same about me.”
“I never doubted that you were all
they said,” he admitted, “only as you
say—let’s make them uncomfortable.
But let’s be good friends in secret.
Will-you?”
She nodded, and they sat down upon
a rustic seat to talk it over gaily,
while birds sang and the fulness of
late May bloomed about them.
“Let’s be stiff and distant, and al-
most rude and indifferent before the
others.”
When Denton appeared where the
others were all seated at the informal
breakfast, Mrs. Rawson introduced
him to Mary—he knew all the others
—and she looked at him an instant,
gave a polite, distant little bow, and
went on with her talking to Mamie
Rosseter.
Denton, on his part, had been for-
mally courteous. Neither had said one
friendly word, though their families
had for ten years been most intimate.
The hostess was astonished beyond
measure, but too clever to show a
sign. But what did they mean? She
watched them all' day when they were
within range. Neither went near the
other voluntarily, and if any chance
brought them together, they passed a
few most formal remarks. She tried
seating them next each other at din-
ner—each talked to the neighbor on
the other side. This went on for
nearly a week, and the good lady was
in despair. Finally she spoke to her
brother about it.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mat-
tie. I’m never discourteous to a lady.
Do you want me to gush? What, in
short, do you want?”
She was si1o”'v<»d. and made haste to
retreat, inwardly discomfited.
“I didn’t mean you were rude, only I
depended on you to help amuse her—
she’s the only strar-""- Of course
you’re never rude—I just thought as
her family and ours" are so intimate,
we ought to be unusually nice to her!”
“Well, I think you’re mistaken—she
seems vastly amused—always in the
thick of things. By the way, where
does Molly Fairly keep herself morn-
ings? Hasn’t she grown stunning?
She was an ugly enough little girl—
I like her quiet manner, don’t you?”
Mrs. Rawson deftly got away from
the subject. Could Fred take a fancy
to Molly? SI%3 was dangerously at-
tractive and poor, but had been asked
because of th& hostess’ obligations to
the girl’s mother. Later in the day,
Mrs. Dawson wrote Mrs. Sumner,
among other things, the folloVng
plaint:
“—My dear, they simply don’t see
each other! Have we managed to
overdo things? Mary never tlooked
more utterly charming, but she’s icy,
and I could shake Fred—he doesn’t
make the first effort to be more than
vaguely polite. I’ve thought I caught
one or two knowing looks pass be-
tween them, but I must have imagined
it I ought to tell you that Mary is
flirting in a refined but constant waf
with Percy Kaylor—I wish I hadn’t
asked him. And Fred does nothing
but moon and watch the mail bag. nl* *
gets a daily letter addressed in A
woman’s hand from Kenosha, some
western place. What shall I do? And
—I don’t want to tell you this, but it’*
my duty—the other night when Edith
was in Mary's room and they were
chatting and hair-brushing, Edith saw
that Mary had a slender chain around
her neck with a solitaire ring hanging
from it. She seemed unaware that
Edith had seen it. Of course Edith
told me—she’s a dear child and I
bade her say nothing to anyone else.
Supposing you come on for a few-
days? I told Mary I should ask you.
Mrs. Sumner came on with exceed-
ing dispatch. She dared not question,
her daughter, but could discover no
chain, no ring, and no change in the
girl, save that, if anything, she was
prettier, sweeter, more dutiful. She
had even taken to rising early for the
walks her mother hcl so long wished
her to take, and came to breakfast
glowing and happy.
Meantime, in the morning’s dewy
freshnes, Mary and Frederick Denton,
were having beautiful meetings. He
told her how he had a man friend out
west send him a letter addressed by
a stenographer on lady-like envelopes
filled with circulars. She gleefully
told him about the $5 fake diamond,
and how Edith’s eyes had biflged
while she, Mary, brushed her hair
and looked innocent.
But a time came when, without
either knowing why, a sort of restraint
fell upon them. The young man re-
doubled his efforts to be interesting,
wondering meanwhile if she were not
tiring of his company. One morning
she was late, another, too tired to
walk, a little languid and silent A
few happy mornings would ensue, and
then the constraint again. He thought
of asking if he were demanding too
much of her, but fearc I she would
think he were tired of it himself. It
became uncomfortable, and both were
less frank. But, in public, they were
still just on the polite side of being
disagreeable to each other. Mary s
mother casually asked her why she
disliked Fred Denton. The girl looked
at her, wide-eyed.
“Whatever put that into your dear
head? He seems very nice, I’m sure.”
Coming down to the porch a little
later her mother found her in a gale
of merriment over something Percy
Kaylor was saying. And, with a queer
look in his eyes, Frederick Denton
watched her. What did the look mean?
And Mary’s gayety seemed somehow
not quite spontaneous.
A few mornings later Mary did not
go into the garden at all, and said at
breakfast that she had a headache.
She was pale. All day Frederick
watched for her, but had only a word
alone.
“I’m sorry you were not well, ho
said. . „
“It was nothing—It soon passed,
she answered.
“I missed you,” he said, but she was
already moving away from him.
He went angrily away by himself,
and with his pipe in his mouth he lay
flat on the grass in a distant spot and
discovered what ailed him. Of course
he had loved her from the first mo-
ment, and had been a fool, and had
lost her! He should have openly
wooed her from the first second—of
course it was Kaylor! Men like that
always fascinate a girl just out of
school! He hated himself vigorously.
Frederick was up at dawn the next
day and out with a last hope. Surely
she’ would come this last time! He
waited in the usual place, but she did
not appear. It seemed impossible. He
searched his memory for any word or.
look that might have offended her.
And, looking vaguely about, he saw at
some distance beneath the trees of a
little wood, a gleanv of blue dress. In
an instant he was almost running to-
wards it. It must be she—it was! But
she was walking swiftly away from
him. He called to her, and she
stopped. „ ... „
“I don’t blame you for hating me,
he gravely said, “but why hurt me
more than you must? You know I
love you—Mary. Why can’t you at
least be kind—as you were until a lit-
tle while ago? Does it amuse you to
_hurt?” Then he saw that tears were
running down her cheeks, and that
she held out both hands to him.
After a long time he held her off the
better to see her.
“j couldn’t come any more—I
couldn’t bear it after I—found that I
did—care—and thought you still
wanted Alice Shaw! I couldnt’ trust
myself not to let you see—how I felt!”
He stopped her in the most effective
way in the world—it is impossible to
explain during a kiss, which also doea
away with oceans of explaining*
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Vernor, J. E. The Lampasas Daily Leader. (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 8, No. 2252, Ed. 1 Monday, June 12, 1911, newspaper, June 12, 1911; Lampasas, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth910857/m1/3/: accessed June 13, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Lampasas Public Library.