Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 28, 1896, Page 2

THANKSGIVING ON THE WING, It was about noon of Thanksgiving -@ay when the waiter of the diniug-car on the Big Stretch line went through “the train distributing bills of fare and <anmouncing that dinner was now ready. The first passen ger to respond to the ‘Amyitation was a prosperous-looking man in one of the forward cars. He shurried into the dining car, took a seat eoking rearward, polished his glasses ‘Before he poised them on his nose, and then looked intently aft, as if expect- “img some one. Soon two other men entered; the presperous-looking man stopped then sas they were passing him, and said: “Gentlemen, misery loves company, and as we are all away from home on Thanksgiving Day, «more or less mise! tight here?” The later arrivals sized up the speak- er a moment; then one of therft said: “You bet!” while the other remarked: “Itll take a pretty good dinner to keep mé from going on being sorry that Xm not at home.” “Just my fix,” said the prosperous- fooking man. “I’ve never before been away from home on Thanksgiving day. Wve had all sorts of homes and all @orts of dinners, but no matter what ‘they were. they were with the folks, end the folks are what I live for.” “here's no place like home,” sponded the man who had said bet.” The other man said: “Maybe we need a disappointment euce in a while to make us realize what comforts we have, and are not proper- fy thankful enough for.” “Just so,” added the prosperous- eoking man; then he arose suddenly, pat his hand on the shoulder of a tim- %d-looking little man who had entered and seated himself at the inner-corner seat of the last table, and looked as if ble. Won't you sit re- You he telescoped his spinal column so as | to take as little room and seem as in- onspicuous as possible. “{ beg your pardon, six,” said the mprosperous-looking man, “but this isn’t the day when any man away from ihome ought to be alone, if he can help rit. I and two other gentlemen, strang- -ers to me, need a fourth to fill the ta- ‘ble; we would be greatly obliged if you would join us.” “{—ah—1 shall want a mere mouth- ful,” was the reply; “and as you're so kind, only fair for me to say that & am afraid I wouldn’t be very good ompany. I’ve things on my mind that— “My dear sir, so have I—I’d like to <ry this very moment. Misery loves company. Do join us. Eat as little or @s much as you like, and talk or not, @s you please.” The little man looked timidly toward the table where the two other men sat, fooked up the man who had invited him, and then followed him. “Now. gentlemen,” said the prosper- eus-looking man, “none of you know me, and I’m nobody in particular, any- how; hut I want to say, in self-defen: that I've nothing to sell—not to-day, ee checks that I want to cash, and In mot going to suggest a game after dit- mer. Hoping that these remarks will diisarm suspicion, I want to beg of you, as a special favor, that you will fet me be host to-day. The differenc2 will be of little cousequence one way or the other to your pockets or mine; but it will be a great comfort to my heart. As I said before, I never be- fore was away from Lome on Thanks- giving Day. Sometimes there wasn’t much to do with it; I remember one yyear when the best that we could offer the passer-by was parched corn and frested persimmons; but some of them enjoyed it, so it went right to mother's heart, God bless her! Everybody ought to do something for his fellow-creat- ures on a day like this, and what I have asked for will he a great favor to me. You won't refuse, will you? Of course you won't. Don’t make any mistake about me; I'm not purse-proud, and I’m not putting on airs, but the better dinner I can set up to-day the fappier I'll feel, and all of you know that it isn’t often that you can make a fellow fecl happy with so little bother to yourselves.” “You've got a master way of puttin’ things, my friend,” said one of the party. “I call you my friend, because I’ve eaten parched corn an’ persimmons myself, an’ been mighty glad to get ‘em. Ill stand by you, an’ pass the iindness along the next Thanksgivin’ I find myself tohome. Gosh! IfI could ‘be there now!” “So say I for myself,” remarked an- ther. “I believe there is some good reason for all of our disappointments, St does make me wretched to be away @rom home to-day!” “You gentlemen,” said the little man, “have voiced my feelings most accu- tately. Iam so full of trouble-——”’ “A full stomach is a good antidoze, te a certain extent, said the self-ap- geinted host. “Our troubles will wait “Misery Loves Company. Do Join Us.” fer us, but don’t let’ let the dinner wait, or it may get cold. Here, wuit- “_* Tke host ordered four portions of al- most everything on the bill of fare; then he ordered a couple of bottles of the most expensive claret on the list, two bottles of cider, and begged his guests to take whatever else might be vheir customary drink. ‘ ‘The dinncr soon begun to unlock the ‘hearts as well as the tongues of the -quartet, and all began to disclose the epatters which were upperimost in their Vd ‘be at home to-day,” said one, “it I suppose we're all | my brother, away off in Yo hadn’t telegraphed to me that one of his wild boys was going to make a run- yaway marriage down here, and he wanted me, for the family’s sake, to stop him if I could.” “That's quecr,” said another of the guests. “I’m on something of the kind myself—not the same case, cf course. One of my wife's sisters, as nice a girl as I ever knew, is teaching school some lifty miles cast of here, and wrote us, a few days ago, tuat she was going to be married. She didn’t seem to know much about the man, and. she’s under age, anyhow, according to law, and my wife isn’t well enough to travel, and she's been lying awake nights to think about it and worry about it. So I've had to neglect my business and come off here on the chance »f persuading the girl that she’s making a mistake, perhaps. I suppose all of you know what sort of a job it is to reason with a very young woman who's got her heart set upon one man in particular. ‘ likely she is to make a fool of herself.” “H’m!” said the host. “Did you ever | notice that when you were out of sorts and felt cross everybody you met seemed in the same condition? Turn up at the bank some morning with a small balance and a big note you want to have discounted, and every man you meet there is in exactly the same fix. Now, ridiculous as it may seem, Ym out this morning on the same sort of a job as you two gentlemen. One of my clerks, a bright ’nough fellow, but not exactly trustworthy, failed to turn up this morning; so did some of my money. I don’t care for the cash; but I heard that he had a girl on the brain, and had been boasting that he would be married within a week to the hansomest girl in the state. I don’t want any girl to take up for life with a criminal, and I do think the fel- low might be pulled into shape if I were to give him some special atten- tion. Hang the hurry of business. It makes a man careless about those he might have the greatest influence over. I suppose, though, there’s nothing won- derful about the coincidence that three of us are on the same kind of jobs. Young people will be fools, especially | when they think they’re in love.” The little timid man said nothing, ‘The more character she’s got the more | would they ever have known of the grocer’s blunder had not the man who ordered the champagne raade an awful | fuss when it was’ too late to make the proper exchange, When three Americans begin to swap stories about anything, no matter what, they are bound to keep it vp, in | spite of any trouble on their minds; they weuian’t stop even if they were marching side by side to the gallows. Even the little minister lost bis timidi- : ty and his serious face, and told of sev- { eral Thanksgiving dinners over which his mouth had watered in advance, but which he was afterward moved to give away to people who had none, while the minister and his family sat | down to cold baked beans az.d sauce of | dried apples--the hated remains of | hated donation parties. He really nad not been quite grateful enough for beans and dried apples, he supposed, for now that the young people seemed to think his days o: pulpit usefulness at an end, there were times when a big bag of beans would sometimes be a handy thing to have in the house. “We have the car all to ourselves,” said the host. “I guess the other peo- ple on the train didn’t get up as early as we this morning; but the car’s loss is our gain., Lei’s haye a sone.” _ So sayin, thé’ host starteu” Aa Lang Syne,” and the others joined in. No one seewed to kn¢w more than the four first lines, but they sang these over several times and seemed to get a lot of good cheer out of them. The little minister, in particular, brightened amazingly; he had been in the slough of despond so long and so deep that to be treated cerdially by three men of good appearance, even though they were strangers, pulled him together in great shape, and set his tongue trat- tling about Thanksgiving festivities in his college days. He told so many good stories, and told them so well, that the other men were content to laugh and listen; and when, finally, he was moved to sing some jolly old col- ; lege songs, and sing them very well, too, the audience was so delighted and ‘ applauded so heartily that they did not | note the stopping of the train. door of the car opened and a man and wonan entered. Both dropped their Here's to Young Fools. but he looked very thoughtful, and he took the smallest mouthfuls of food. “T’ll pull through if I find the girl,” said the prospective brother-in-law, “for when she knows that she’s under age and the marriage won’t be legal according to the laws of this state, she'll have sense enough to halt.’ ’ “You bet I'll pull through if I get hold of the boy,” said the wild youth's uncle. “If I get my haads on him, I'll most everlastingly shake the liver pin out of him.” “I don’t know what a liver pin is,’ yaid the host, “but I should judge that a young man without one would hard- ly feel like taking sny important step in life. Well, sentlemen, fill your glas: here’s to young :fools—may they learn, some day, how much trou- ble they make for tr vse who love them best.” ! All the glasses were, drained, even that of the timid little man, which con- tained only water.At the same time there trickled into it some drops of wa- ter from the timid little man’s eyes. Other drops started from the sane fountains, and the party noticed them; so the little man said: “Genuemen, I have been called to another state to selemnize a marriage. one of the parties to which I know yery well, and what you have been saying troubles my mind sadly. Sup- pose the parties should be any of the couples of whom you have been speak- ing?” “Well. varson,” replied the host, “the law really doesn’t compel you tu marry people whom you shouldn’t marry, “No, sir; but suppose——” There seemed some difficulty about concluding the sentence, so the host re- marked: “Ah, well; let’s hope yours won't be a case of that kind. Gentlemen, fill up your glasses again. ’Tis Thanksgiving day; let’s be as happy as we can, un- der the circumstances. We're alive; there's good cheer before us, and as to trouble, why, hang it! If it weren’t for trouble, none of us would know where to find the best stuff that’s in him. Here's to our dear ones-” ‘Then the host told a story of a day when there seemed an empty table in prospect for him and his wife; and they had agreed to feast on kisses and hope; when, suddenly, they were in- vited out by the man with whom the present host afterward began business life in earnest. So they kept the kisses and hope for a second dessert, to be en- joyed in their little one-room home. This reminded one of the guests of a ‘Thanksgiving dinner he had eaten in the army during the Civil war—a din- ner at which he found the meat spoiled and the bread sour. So he gave his last dime to an old colored woman to bake him a hoe cake, and then had to invite the baker to dine with him, for the cake took the last corn meal she had in the house, and she had nothing else to eat, nor any place at which to buy at short notice. This reminded another guest of a dinner where the bottled cider was really champagne, although no one heads and passed quickly by the up- roarous party; but before they could seat themseives they were startled by the sound of several names, uttered in quick succession: “Jim!” “Millie!” “Barchess!” “Sister Waystar-” The man and woman, both of whom were young, turned pale; the woman looked appealingly; the man sullen, yet defiant. The host arose and said, quickly “Come right here, Barchess, and dine with us. Let bygones be bygones; this is Thanksgiving day, and I’m host. Bring the lady with you. Here, wait- er, clear away this table, and find a couple of chairs or stools somewhere.” Then he. whispered to one of his guests: “Your party, too, evidently?” “Sure enough!” “And mine,” said another. “The couple that I’ve been called w marry!” groaned the little minister. “After what I’ve heard I can’t do it, snd—oh, ob, oh!” The host, again hurrying the waiter, went forward to the couple and said: “Brace up, Barchess; no ore is going to harm you. Won't you do me the honor of introducing your employer to the lady?” The young man mumbled seme words; the host replied, addressing the “I’m delighted to tind one of my clerks in such good company, ma’am. You wou't refuse to dine with me? All of my guests seem to be friends of one or the other of you. Waiter, I'll be the death of you if you don’t bring thove seats!” In the nert few moments there vas a good deal of ice to be broken. and some of it appeared to be pretty thick; but the host rattled off some more sto- ries, just as if nothing had happened, and the little minister, who seemed to be desperate about something. followed suit ,so the young people had to laugh in spite of themselves. Besides, a good dinner is not a bad ice-breaker. The young woman soon became in- fected with the cheerful spirit of the party. None of the men looked as grima as one who had heard their dis- closures would expect; the people for whom they had started to search were before them, so their work was as good us done. What cach would do in conclusion he hardly knew, so he fought for time by telling another story. The young woman, being a schoolteacher, had herself heard some amusing stories ,and told them very well. Besides, it is not every day that a young woman has four middle-aged men regarding her as respectfully and admiringly as if she were a princess. ‘The host got her from story-telliag to conversation, and found she was quite clever, his eyes told him that she was very pretty, and his knowledge of hu- man nature told him that she was good. How did she come to take up with Barchess, a fellow who had just robbed his employer of more than a hundred dollars? Pshaw! Girls had Just as one of the songs ended the | State, | knew the difference by the taste, nor | no sense. A new face, glib tongue, pushing way—the scapegrace had all of these; there were apparaent possi- bilities in him, but they wouldn’t be likely to come out in a man who had been mean enough to steal money with which to be married. 1f the men most interested for family reasons, didn’t prevent the match, the host would, he told himself, even if he had to call in the police. Still, the girl's feelings were to be considered—the host kad daughters of his own, and he couldn’t bear to see a girl cry. The young man seemed to have something on his mind ,despite his long and lond laughter over every sto- ry. Evidently his employer had riissed the money; he certainly had missed bis clerk. He had the reputation of being a good-hearted man; he wasn’t show- ing any anger; probably he was going to overlook everything in consideration of the company in which he found tke young man. At any rate, the runaway had sent from the stolen money rail- way fares and a good fee to the min- ister whose church the girl had at- tended while teaching school a few weeks in his town; the minister was on the train, according to appointment. ‘The young man would risk it. “Dominie,” he said suddenly, “we're in the next state now, and there are more witnesses present than the law requires. What's to prevent the cere- mony's taking place at once—right here?” “Next state?’ said the host. “What is the matter with our own'state?” “Millie is under age,” explained the girl’s brother-in-law. “In the state which we have now en- tered,’ said the minister, “there is no restriction as to the age of a woman desiring to be married, and a minister from anywhere can perform the cere- mony. Sister Waystar seems to have done me the kindness of wishing me (I have been her pastor for a brief period) to officiate, and I gladly con- sented, but—’ “There’s no impediment, then, is there?” asked the would-be husband. “Jim,” said the young man’s uncle, “you know this is not fair to your father and mother.” “What have they to do with it. I of age?” “Yes, but—” Then the uncle’s face began to grow black. What? One of his own family, practically, running away with a girl as pretty and nice as the girl before him, and doing it on stolen money? The host did not look or act as if he intended to have him arrested, but the story would come out some way unless the stolen money were made good. If he, the uncle, had the amount in his pocket he would not mind losing it to save the family’s rep- utation, but a man like the host, who could spend money so freely on strangers as he had done in the last two or three hours, had probably lost a great lot. So he continued: “Besides, you've gone and—”’ x “Millie,” said another of the guests, “you are one of the best and sweetest girls that ever lived, but your sister is down sick with worry about you. She knows that every girl is going to get married some day, but do you think it is the fair thing to make misery for the folks who love you best? You're welcome to marry from our house whenever you like ,and nobody’ll be gladder than your sister to see you make a good match and find a man that you can love, but from what—” “Excuse me for interrupting,” said the host, “but as there’s been some talk made about the advisability of this marriage, perhaps I may ask a question of the happy man that is to be. Barchess, I’ve always treated you as fairly as I knew how to do, and I wish you everything good in the world, but—what are you going to live on after you are married?” The young man tried to put on a bold face, but when his eye met his em- ployer’s it shifted. He tried to get it right, but somehow it missed the mark every time. “Don’t be bashful,” said the host. “It’s no disgrace to be poor. All of us have been there; we've been swapping yarns about it for an hour or more. Out with it, my boy; how much money have you, and—and—and—where did you get it?” “We don’t need any money,” said the young woman so confidently and sweetly that all the men but her lover looked at her in admiring wonder. “You see, we're going to be married so that there won't ever be any possibil- ity of any one else ever getting either of us. As soon as the ceremony is over I’m going back to my school and say nothing about it; I’m sure it’s no one’s business but ours. James is going back to work—going to a new place, Ain’t ‘not far from me, so we can see each other often. He is going to write his family all about me, and send them my picture, and when he gets a little ahead he is going to send money to his mother to come out and see me, and he’s sure she'll like me, and if that’s so we won't be afraid to tell them all about it.” “You couldn’t love your sister well enough to be so careful about her feel- ings, I suppose?’ said the girl’s broth- er-in-law. The girl looked surprised, thoughtful, hurt; then she began to cry. The young man noted this, and said quick- ly: “Come, Dominie, a bargain is a bargain. I’ve done the fair thing by you, and—where has that preacher gone?” Every one looked around; the little minister had arisen from his seat a mo- ment before, but he had been so quiet and inconspicuous in his movements that no one had missed him. The host looked about, and found the little man lying down on a seat in the front of the car, and wringing his hands. “Will nothing ever go right?’ ‘he asked. “That wedding fee came as a godsend—a miracle. There was noth- ing in the house to eat, let alone for Thanksgiving, and the children were suffering for comfortable raiment. I supposed the call was only what it purported to be—a marriage to be sol- emnized, a late parishioner of mine be- ing one of the parties. After what I have heard I cannot tie that woman to that man—and I cannot retain the fee.” “Why not?” “Because the money is morally his until the ceremony is performed.” “My friend,’ said the host, “after what you have heard how can you say the money is his?” » “What is that?’ asked the little man, raising himself rapidly. “Think a moment. He must have sent you considerable money, the rail- way fares being included. He had no money of his own forty-eight hours ago, and the fact that he stole a lot of mine shows that he had no other source ‘ of income. The money he sent you] nadn’t enough money to pay the min- was mine; I here and now make you a free gift of it, so you owe him nothing. } Now can you see your way clear te do your duty as a man and as Christian minister?” “Yes, yes; oh, yes.” “Then come and do it.” ‘The couple rejoined the remainder of ister.’ - “I was going to have a Thanksgiving day worth remembering,” said the youth.” “Well, by thunder!” exclaimed his uncle, “If I was in your shoes I'd think Ira got one!” “I’ve got one of that kind,” said the the party, and the host said pleasantly: | girl’s brother-in-law, “and it’s all the “I’ve found him, Barchess. Here he is.” The young man looked severely at the minister for a fraction of a second, but he met a look which made him quail. “What is the matter, James?” asked better because I didn’t expect it.” “Just what I was about to observe,” said the host. “[’ve got to be thankful for that I didn’t expect,” said the girl, “for, real- ly, I wasn’t in any hurry to get mar- ried. I was willing only because the girl. The young man did not an-! James seemed in haste. Besides, the swer, so the girl looked inquiringly at the other faces before her. Three of them were grim and non-committal, but the host said: “Mightn’t it be well, ma’am, to re- consider the subject*for a moment or Look Me Sqpare in the Eye. two? You are young and pretty and good, and I hope to heaven there's a long and happy life before you---I’'ve got daughters myself, a little older, a little younger than you, so you may be sure I mean what I say. You're too much of a woman, I’m sure, to hurt the feelings of your own sister, and still more to make your husband less thought of by his own parents, because really, a mother-in-law is a good thing to have in the family sometimes. I’ve been there, and I know. If you love Barchess, you'll keep on loving him, because you’re made that way. If Barchess is the man he professes to be, and as good a judge of women as he seems to be, he’ll continue to love you; if he don’t—I’ll break his neck.” The young man looked ugly and ad- vanced a step toward the host, who continued, calmly: “Besides, he can’t go at present to live near you, where he can see you often. It is really necessary that he go back with me” “For what?” asked the girl. “You heard her question, Barchess. Perhaps you would rather answer yourself.” There was no reply, so the host went on: “I need his help on some accounts. He won’t have to work overhard, and I shan’t give him the slightest trouble of any sort if he shows himself will- ing, and after all is clear he won't find a better friend than I when be wants to marry. Perhaps, ma’am, you'll ask him if that might not be the better way?” The young man was locking furtive- ly at his host; his hands were behind his back, as if there were handcuffs on them. The girl looked at him and ap- peared not to understand his manner; ! she looked at the others in succession, but all were looking at Barchess. “James,” she said.” all these gentle- men seem very kindly-dispcsed toward us. business affairs, but—what do you say?” The young man said nothing. The young girl turned appealirgly to the minister, who said: “Dear Sister Waystar, I cannot mar- ry you here, not if you were to ask me on your bended knees.’ ’ “And,” added the girl’s brother-in- law, “you can’t be married to anyone else in this state, for you can’t get out of this car while I am in it.” “Tut, tut. No threats,’ said the host. “I think Barchess and I under- stand each other, eh, Barchess? You really think you have been too hasty, ; considering the way you have left your accounts, don’t you? Considering, al- so, that I wish you well, and would do almost anything rather than make so estimable a young woman unhappy, and will do all in my power to make of you a most desirable match? It all de- pends upon you.’ ’” The young man still looked furtively at his late employer, who lost patience, took the young man by the shoulders, and exclaimed: “Hang you, do you doubt my word? Look me square in the eye. My e never flinches, I1’d have you know; neither does my word. In the circuin- stances, ain’t I giving you the chance of your life?” The young man looked toward the girl, who said: “Do it, James.” ‘Then he gave a despairing, appealing look toward the place where he had seen the minister a moment before, but that small person had made still less of himself visible by dropping upon his knees in the corner of a seat and burying his face in his hands. Then the young man looked toward the host, saw an extended hand, grasped it, and broke down. “There, there,” said the host, kindly. “Not to be married the day one expects to be is, indeed, a great disappoint- ment. I went through it myself, for I I don’t know erything about your j } poor fellow was so modest that he thought he hadn’t a real friend in the world but me; now I find that he has several that any young man ought to | be proud of, and I’m sure that’s some- ; thing to be specially thankful for.” ‘The little minister did not say any- thing aloud, and his eyes were closed; | but his lips moved rapidly, end contin- ued to do so until the next station was reached, and the party left the train to take one bound homeward. When he reached his house he made haste to tell his wife everything that happened, and his wife began to weep, so her husband, like a sympathetic soul, wept with her. He took his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his eyes, and with it came a wad of son-ething that felt like linen, but was far, far greener. When he had counted it he said: “Maria, that man didn’t look like a raven, but he’s seen to the feeding of some of the Lord's servants for tho next three months, at the very least.” —Chicago Inter Ocean. PNEUMATIC DUST BROOMS. Hundreds of Yards of Carpet Are Cleaned of Dust in a Few Minutes. Even the good old-fashioned broom and the noiseless carpet-sweeper are giving away before modern inventions. The poor old broom is being crowded ‘back into its corner by the all-prevail- ing pneumatic devices. Is the time coming when the average housekeeper will have an air-compressing machine in the basement for furnishing power that will clean her carpets in place of the professional carpet-cleaner? Such a device is already in use in a number of railroad yards of Chicago for cleaning railway coaches. A representative of the ‘“Times- Herald” visited the Santa Fe yards recently, and saw the operation of the new pneumatic broom sweeping clean. Trainmen were at work cleaning sleeping cars which had just returned from California. Several hundred yards from the cars was the power house, in which was the powerful engine for compressing the air which does broom service. Through long underground pipes of perhaps 11-2 or 2 inches in diameter the compressed air was carried to the tracks. Here a rubber hose was attached to the con- nection, and at the end of this hose was a long-handled nozzle. The nozzle consisted of an iron pipe a little larger and about the same length as a broom handle. One end of this pipe was in- serted into the rubber ‘hose, and upon the other end was a broad brass ar- rangement which reminded one of the mouth of a catfish more than any- thing else. The end of the brass fixture was almost a foot in width, and across the face or end there was a narrow slit running from one side to { the other, not more than 1-82d of an jinch in width. Through this long | narrow aperture comes the compressed | air at about the rate of 75 cubic feet !a minute. ‘The car cleaner grasps the iron pipe {in his hands much as a housekeeper | does her carpet sweeper and prepares | for work. The carpets from the cars | are thrown down face up on the plat- | form, on the side of the track, and the pneumatic instrument is pushed ek and forth over the nap with the brass j end immediately upon the carpet or just above it. The air rushing against the carpet with tremendous velocity ‘blows the dust and dirt out in a cloud like the smoke from a locomotive. ‘The rapidity with which the work is done is another astonishing feature. Enough carpet to cover an ordinary sized room is cleaned so thoroughly that no more dust could be beaten out with a stick. For cleaning the unholstery of the seats in the cars a smaller brass noz- ale, only two or three inches in width, is used, but the operation is ctherwise the same as that used for the carpets. The system is used only for cleaning the carpets and upholstery, as it is manifestly not practicable for sweep- ing the floors. Should it be used for taking the dust and dirt from the bot- tom of the cars it would only blow everything into the air and would not take out the heavier particles which are always to be swept from the floor. What little dust falls back upon the upholstery is very little and can be easily removed with the ordinary feather duster. < The pneumatic system for cleaning the carpets and upholstery has been in use in railroad yards in Chicago for several months. It has been found to clean the carpet and upholstery more perfectly than anything else, does it with a vast saving of time and wears out the goods less than any other method. ‘These three things eut a re- markable figure in cleaning the enor- mous number of cars that are reno- vated every day in Chicago. No one knows who is the inventor and no one has ever claimed the eredit—Chicago ‘Times-Herald. TIMELY HUMOR. i) .