The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 10, 1904, Page 15

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. JnAr TErrBLE [iscaL ) B weeks ago, traveling on derground rallway, I met a he was one of the saddest looking men I have seen for years. % him well in the old days re journalists together. I ! n a sympathetic tone how s were going with him. I expected his re nse would be a flood of and that in the end I should have out a fiver. To my astonish- answer was that things were 7 well with him. I did © say to him bluntly, “Then happened to you to make you L a mute at a temperance nera. I said, “And how are all at me?” I thought that if the trouble there he would take the opportu- It brightened him somewhat, the necesssity of replying to the question. It appeared that his wife was in the health. “You remember her,” ued with a smile; “wonderful ts, always cheerful, nothing seems her out, not even—" He ended the sentence abruptly with a2 sigh. His mother-in-law, I learned from further talk with him, had died since I had last met him and had left them a com- fortable little addition to thelr income. aughter was engaged to be married. “It is entirely a love match,” such a dear, ld not have even had he been se, as it is, I am re content.” The nity. hav the Mottle scholar- was go to Cambridge in the mn. health, he told me, ed, and a novel he ure time prom- successes of the as that I spoke had greatly had written k ised to be one of season. Then « “tell me. n which the sym- f as a balm, let me concerned,” he re- be glad to tell you s g does me good, and 2 e I3 always in hopes— : vour own sake, will not t affect me?” I asked. “It 3 4 do with me, is it? d have nothing to do with he answered, “if you are sensible gh to keep out of it. If I tell you, time onward it will be your how, this is what ur other separate ke to be the fifth and alf-dozen of us you are I have > the other five?” from cheerful, into gloomy me. “The talk of but but one thing. Instead of geitlng over it as time goes on, it takes puisession of them more and more. There are men, of course, who would be unaffected by it—who could shake it off. I warn you against it in particular, because, be- cause, in spite of all that is said, I am convinced you have a sense of humor; and that being so, it will lay hold of you. It will plague you night and day. You see what it has made of me. Three months ago a lady inter- viewer described me as of a sunny temperament. If you know your own business you will get out at the next station and take care to avoid me for the next six months.” I wish now I had taken his advice. As it was I allowed my curiosity to take possession of men and begged him to explain. And he did so. "It was just about Christmas time,” he told me. “We were discussing the Drury Lane pantomime—some three or four of us—in the smoking-room of the Devonshire Club, and young Gould said he thought it would prove a mis- take, the introduction of a subject like the fiscal question into the story of ‘Humpty Dumpty.’ The two things, so far as he could see, had nothing to do with one another. He added that he entertained a real regard for Mr. Dan Leno, whom he had once met on a steamboat, but that there were other topics upon which he would prefer to seek a gentleman’s guidance. Nettleship, on the other hand, de- clared that he had no sympathy with the argument that artists should never intrude upon public affairs. The actor was a fellow citizen with the rest of us. He said that, whether one agreed with their conclusions or not, one must admit that the nation owed a debt of gratitude to Mrs. Brown Potter and to Miss Olga Nethersole for giving to it the benefit of their convictions. He had talked with both ladies in pri- vate on the subject and was convinced they knew nearly as much about it as did most people. Burnside, who was one of the party, contended that if sides were to be taken, a pantomime sh surely advocate the free-food cause, see it was a form of enter- tainment supposed to appeal primarily to the tastes of the Little Englander. Then I came into the discussion. The fiscal question, I said, is on everybody’s tongue. Such being the case, it is fit and proper it should be referred to in our annual pantomime, which has come to be regarded as a review of the year’s doings. But it should not have been dealt with from the political standpoint. The proper attitude to have assumed toward it was that of innocent raillery, free from tracé of partianship. OIld Johnson had strolled up and was standing behind us. ‘The very thing I have been trying to get hold of for weeks,” he said, ‘a bright, amusing resume of the whole problem that shall give offense to neither side. You know our paper,’ he continued; ‘we steer clear of politics, but, at the same time, try to keep up to date; it is not always easy. The treatment of uld £+ FABLES FOR The Worst Kind. RS. MATILDA NEUCOIGN e of the most recent r s Before she landed n t onaire class she and the days t to the county fair and R was or e wore w organdie with blue rib- in her calendar mark. Matilda’s 's side was cele- aber of worldly possess. When t and wasn't busy saving it he gave a weak imi- working for a living, e time it was Matilda's the wolf at arm’s occupation was clothes wringer and ne end of a large basket hen it came time to de- »ds In other words, Til- took in washing, and all had been taken in by tion of & r but most of t mother who kept Having 1z on the wrong side of the money herself, that good lady took pains to impress upon her daughter the fact that it was not only ungenteel, bu 0 very inconvenient to support yourself husband h an aduit appetite into the bar- Therefore Tilly determined that she had arrived at years of mat- 1 discretion she would look around for a long while before she settled down in any particular for keeps. The parental roost was preferable to any nest that she had to ain by her own unaided efforts. v it must be known that E long way from being st looking plece of humanity that ever abited a shirt waist. Not only was possessed of the usual number of features and general attri- butes of the or v human being, but these members were distributed over her face and person in such a manner as to secure the best possible results from the standpoint of a stu- dent of the human form divine. It follows as a matter of course that Matilda had the usual number of op- portunities opened to her for entering into the matrimonial state. Some men think that the only way that they can show their appreciation of a hand- some woman is by asking her to mar- ry them. It's something like testify- ing to your enjoyment of the Venus de Milo by tying her to a leg of the kitchen range. Matilda, however, as we have intimated, had her own ideas as to what constitutes a happy home and was determined that mothing short of a three-story brown stone and a nest the won front would do for her. In the course of time and summer boarders Matilda got her eve on a young millionaire, who wore his brain in a Psyche knot and drove a yellow automobile with red trimmings. He had had the good sense to select a father who could make money faster than three ordinary men could spend it, and when the old man died he had his son carefully salted away beyond 8ll fear of want, with a guardian and three trustees sitting on the lid to see that he didn’t throw any of the coin at the little birds—or the cold bottles. To see was to enter into possession with Matilda. There was nothing slow about her. Her intended was temporarily be- yond the reach of his guardians, so 4 QUESTION By - when Matilda told him what she had in store for him the best he could do was to put up a feeble yell for help and trot off for the license and the clergy- man to do the trick. The proper play for Matilda after she had landed the coin, according to the story books, would have been to trans- form herself forthwith into a modern edition of Lady Bountiful and shower riches on all her relatives and buy a clean shirt and a pound of chewing to- bacco for her father on the day of her wedding. If any one here present thinks that that was what Matilda did or should have done, he might as well fold up his ears and go homme, because there is nothing more coming to him. What Matilda actually did was to inform the members of her family that it was all over between them. She sald that she had no particular objection to their continuing to inhabit the same globe, and possibly even the same hemisphere, ' THE MISSION OF THE TOMATO-BISQUE o but she wasn't going to be troubled with them around her back door ask- ing for a suit of clothes or a handout after dinner. The brownstone for hers— but for theirs, it was back to .the woods, and the farther back the better. Having broken the news gently to her family, she started out to increase the amount and rapidity of circulation of the currency of the United States. Her husband, being a rather weak- minded individual, had never had any Bl the subject, on the lines you suggest, is just what we require. I do wish you would write me something.” He is & good, old sort, Johnson; it seemed an easy thing; I sald I would. Since that time I have been thinking how to do it. As a matter of fact, I have not thought of much else. Maybe you can suggest something?” I was feeling in a good working mood, and next morning “Pilson,” said I to myself, “shall have the benefit of this. He does not need anything boisterously funny. A few playfully witty remarks on the subject will be the ideal.” I lit a pipe and sat down to think. At half past twelve, having to write some let- ters before going out to lunch, I dis- missed the fiscal question from my mind. But not for long. It worrled me all the afternoon. I thought, may- be, something would come to me In the evening. I wasted all that evening and I wasted all the followiry morn- ing. Everything has its amusing side, I told myself. Jokes by the hundred are built on sudden death. One turns out comic stories about funerals, about weddings. Hardly a misfortune that can happen to mankind but has pro- duced its comic literature. An Ameri- can friend of mine—W. A. Alden, if I am not committing a breach of confl- dence—once took a contract from the editor of an insurance journal to write four humorous stories. One was to deal with an earthquake, the second with a cyclone, the third with a flood and the fourth with a thunderstorm. And more amusing stories I have never read. What is the matter with this fiscal question? I myself have written lightly on bimetallism. Home Rule we used to be merry over in the eighties. I remember one delightful evening at the Codger's Hall. It would have been more delightful still but for a raw- boned Irishman, who rose toward eleven o'clock and requested to be in- formed if any other speaker was wish- ful to make any more jokes on the subject of ould Ireland, because, if so, the raw-boned gentleman was prepar- ed to save time by waiting and deal- ing with them altogether. But If not, then—so the raw-boned gentleman an- nounced—his intention was to go for the last speaker and the last speaker but two at once and without further warning. No other humorist rising, the raw-boned gentleman proceeded to make good his threat, with the result that the fun degenerated somewhat. Even on the Boer war we used to whisper jokes to one another, in qulet places. In this fiscal question there must be fun. Where Is it? For days I thought of little else. My laundress—as we ~all them In the Tem- ple—noticed my trouble. “Mrs. Wil- kins,” I confessed, “I am trying to think of something Innocently amusing to say on the fiscal question.” “I have heard about it,” she said, “but I don't have much time to read the papers. They want to make us pay more for our food, don't théy?” “For some of it,” I explained. “But then, we shall pay Jess for other things, so that really we shan't be paying more at all “There don’t seem to be much in it, elther way,” was Mrs. Wilkins' opin- jon. “Just so,” I agreed, “that is the advantage of the system. It will cost nobody anything, and result in every- EROME JEé(')M E. body being better oft.” “The pity is,” said Mrs. Wilkins, “that nobedy ever thought of it before.”. “The whola trouble . hitherto,” I explained, “has been the foreigner.” “Ah,” said Mrs. Wilkins, “I never heard much good of him, though they do say the Almighty has a use for almost everything.” “These foreigners,” I continued; “tk Germans and Americans, they d things on us, you knmow.” “W that?" demanded Mrs. Wi s. “What's dump?” “Well, it's dumping. you know. You take things and you dump them down.” “But what things? How do they do it?” “Why, all sorts of things: Pig iron, bacon, door mats— everything. They bring them over here in ships, you understand, and then, If you please, just dump them down upon our shores.” ‘“You d mean surely to tell me that they throw them out and leave them e queried Mrs. Wilkins. “Of course not, I replied; “when I say tiéy dump these things upon our shores, that is a figure of speech. What I mean is they sell them to us.” “But why do we buy them, if we don’t want them?” asked Mrs. Wilkins. “We're not bound to buy them, are we?” “It is their art- fulness,” I explained; “these Germans and Americans—and the others, they are all just as bad as ome an- other—they Insist on selling us these things at less price than they cost to make.” “It seems a bit silly of them, don’t it?" thought Mrs. Wiikins; “I suppose being foreigners, poor things, they al ura t much sense.” “It does seem them, if you look at it In that I admitted; “but what we have go consider is, the injury it is doing “Don’t see how it can do us much harm,” argued Mrs. Wilkins; “seems a bit of luck, so far as we are coneerned. There’s a few more things they'd be welcome to dump round my Way. don’t seem to be putting this thing quite in the right light to you, Mrs. Wilkins,” I confessed; “it Is a long ar- gument, and you might not be able to follow it: but you must take it as a fact now generally admitted, that the cheaper you buy things the sooner your money goes. 1g the forel T to sell us all th s at about half the cost price, he is getting rich every day and we are getting poor as a country, insist on pay- ing at least twenty per cent more for everything we want It is calculated that in a very few years England won't a - 9 ds a bit topsy turv’ suggested Mrs. V “It may sound so,” I answered at I fear there can be no doubt of The board of trade.returns would seem to prove it conclusively.” “Well God be praised, we’'ve found it out In l!.’:‘.‘_' ejaculated Mrs. Wi plously. It is a matter of congratulation,” I agreed; “the diffic y i3 that a good many other people say that far fr ruined, we are doing very wel and are growing richer e “But how can they ‘Wilkins, “when, as you te! trade returns prove just the op- th posite?” “Well, they say the sar Mrs. Wilk! that the Board of Trade returns pr he opposite.” “Well, they e right,” sald Mrs c. “You would be sur- prised, Mrs. Wilkins,™ 1 sald, “how many things can be proved from Board of Trade returns.” But I have not yet thought of that art! for P (Copyright, 1904, by | News and Press Exchange.) THE FOOLISH . By Nicholas Nemo ————— i | fdea of the number of things that you can buy with real money or of the amount of real money that it takes to buy a number of things. Matilda gou!ll make a hundred-dollar bill look like a last summer’s straw hat, and then won- der what had become of it. She didn’t seem to be able to think in sums of less than a hundred, and her idea of a good was governed entirely by what it time cost. Her husband's trustees, guard- lans, conservators and other attend- ants and superintendents had allowed the matrimonial contract to be signed under the delusion that Matilda, having had an early training in economy, would help save her husband's money. Not any saving for her! She politely informed all concerned at the first AJOR BLACKBURN was pos- sessed of a temperament no more irascible than that of the average gentleman of his age. Mcreover, the dignity of that age might have gone unsuspected by virtue of his boyish face and genial, if somewhat pompous, manner had it not been for the tell-tale appurtenances of a veter- an’s title and a great grown-up son of the modern, broad-shouldered type. But the major was inclined to take it good naturedly. Aspiring to youth- fulness in old age was not one of his hobbles. He was guilty, nevertheless, of two: a pet ideal and a pet aversion. The first was an imaginary picture he had conjured up of an old-time girl who scorned “higher education” and devoted herself to the acquisition of an endless string of housewifely accom- plishments. The second was tomatoes. Utterly unfit to eat! He knew it be- yond hope of conversion. Furthermore, they sickened him unto death—upon his word as a gentleman and soldler! His thoughts were neither of the vis- fonary maid nor the detested vegetable as he strode up and down the aisle of the chilly car. They had been fighting snow and wind since four p. m., and now it was ten, and the drifts plled higher. Something had happened to the steam-pipes, and comfortable warmth was fast becoming a more and more distant memory. Worst of all, they had not yet succeeded in reaching the place where the dinner was taken on; and dinnerless, the major was unhappy. ‘“Where in the world are we, and what are we stopping for this time?” he growled, as a blue-nosed brakeman swung through. “Stopping because we can't go no further,” was the answer. “This here's Graves Station, and we're telegraphing for relief. Let you know directly,” as he disappeared. “Comforting, to say the least. Win- dows so frosted you can’'t see out-- probably nothing to see if you could. How a cup of coffee now would cheer a man’s soul!” The major's dismal reflections were interrupted by a clear, ringing laugh. Irresistibly he stopped by the seat of the fresh-cheeked, tailored girl in the wide hat, who had been variously min- istering to the hungry, cold, tired car- ful. Now she had a youngster in her lap, stifiing his fretting with bites of juley orange. It looked inviting. “I am sorry to say,” came the con- ductor’s voice from the doorway, “that the drifts make it impossible for us to go on. We have sent for the plow to release us, and it can probably get here in two hours. As all trains after 8 o'clock are through expresses, the station is closed for the night; so I am afraid—" A chorus of groans drowned the rest of the announcement. Helplessly and hopelessly they looked at each other. The tailored girl alone, slipping the child from her knees, held a moment’s consultation with the conductor. Then she called cheerily: “I am organizing a foraging expedi- tion. May 1 ask for volunteers, please? Four men, I think—young ones. We'll let the rest of you help when we see what's to be done.” The response was instantaneous. She had to be firm in accepting the four who had reached her first. Like a captain, she managed her crew in un- disputed sway, and before the now interested crowd could grow impa- tient they found themselves filing through hastily shoveled paths into the station’s single building, almost warm already with a huge fire in the stove. “It wasn't a bit hard to get in," warbled the captain, now - playing hostess. “We found quantities of wood, and, if you're all very good and don’t hinder, we may find you something eatable in due time. Now you,” to the flattered major, ‘“keep everybody else amused some way while we get supper.” “That girl is a—a—brick!” he mur- mured, admiringly, and proceeded to obey orders to the best of his ability. The merry cries from the kitchen end of the establishment helped him in his efforts. “Crackers!” caroled the captain en- couragingly. “Half a barreltul. And a can of cream frozen almost solid. I'll have to sweeten some for dessert.” A few moments of laughter and ap- parent investigation. “Now a girl like that,” the major was pondering, unable to keep his jealous glance from wandering. Then a burst of triumph from the kitchen: *“Oh, see what I've found! Cans and cans of them! feast!” Then a period of busy silence and strengthening odors. In less time than the famished trav- elers had dared hope they were ranged before bowls brimming with a steam- ing and savory concoction, the very sight of which increased their faith in a sheltering Providence. “Fall to, fall to!” urged the appar- ently untiring girl, waving a long ladle like a magician's wand. ‘“There are gallons and gallons, and I don’t want to see a motionless spoon ¢ill every drop has vanished.” They needed no second invitation. As the major leaned back after a fourth polishing of his bowl, the girl came up with a platter. “Take this,” she whis- pered, “and gather the biggest sort of a collection to leave in payment for our entertainment.” And the plate grew heavy as he went the rounds, supported by the voice of the girl from her stool pedestal. Now for a By Ruth Santelle , Then came the dish washing (“Is there anything that girl won't think of?”” wondered the major) and a round of lively games, upon which broke the welcoming shriek of the snowplow. And how the winter night was rent with cheer upon cheer for the captain as once again they boarded the train with a fair passage ahead. The major, by force, captured the seat beside her. “We can’t begin to thank you, of course. It was a case of salvation, pure and simple. And that stew—perfectly deliclous! If I might ask you to ac- cept my card—" As she took the bit of pasteboard she started and flushed; then, with a flut- tering apology, was off to adjust the wraps of an old lady who was trying to get a nap. And when at the first stop she left the train, escorted by a bodyguard six or eight strong, with a musical “Good-by, everybody—and bon voyage!” over her shoulder, the major felt that his advances had not been warmly received. ‘During the two days which the major and his son, who had gone ahead, spent over the business which had called them from home the younger man found his patience tried by the inces- sant allusions to “the girl who saved our lives.” “A girl like that, Warren, would make a wife worth having! Capable to the last degree! None of your esthetic- ethics about her. What you can see in that college creation you're so deter- mined to—" : A “If you please, father, remember that I am engaged to marry Miss Berkeley, and cannot countenance slighting re- marks even from you. If you would only consent to see her you would not feel so, I know.” ‘““Well, well, never mind! But a girl like that I would welcome as a daugh- ter,” was the regretful response. 3 On the return trip, by daylight, the major grew visibly excited as they neared the town where the gifl had stopped. “I'll watch closely, Warren. If she should happen to be at the train I could point her out.” “Ye—es,” drawled Warren, absent- ly; then he started forward as the train pulled In. “Marcia! Why, what in the world—?" But his father was peering through the window. “By Jove, there she is! And she’s—no—yes—she's getting on! Don't be excited, Warren, if you can help it.” And the major turned to see his dignified son dashing down the alsle: then he held his breath as he saw him warmly greet the angel of the mid- night feast. “Father, this is Miss Berkeley— Marcia,” began Warren, persuasively; when, to his surprise, the maiden said: “I have met your father before, though Major Blackburn did not at the time know me.” Father and son gazed from each other to the girl. Comprehension dawned simultaneously. Then the major put out both hands, with laughter in his eyes. “But, Marcia,” questioned Warren, as they seated themselves, “I don't understand yet. Why are you away from the university?” “Three days' leave of absence for ex- perimental sociology."” “Marcia,” said the major, admira- tion and wonder controlling his voice, “that stew! I didn't know college girls ever did such things.” “My tomato-bisque?” she laughed. *“I am famous for that in my chafing dish, and found just the right things.” “Tomato!"” gasped the Major, sinking back weakly. “That wasn't tomato? I—I—guess I never tried any before. It was very nice.” {Copyright, 1904, by Ruth Santella.) -+ chance that she had served her time at the savings bank game; If it was true, as she had heard, that money talked, she was determined to hear it speak up good and loud re she dled. In justification of Matilda it can only be said that if money does talk for ordinary people it stood omn fts hind legs and f: y yelled for her. If one of her neighbors gave a thou- sand-dollar luncheon, Matilda counter- ed with a dinner party where each guest walked off with a gold-mounted tooth brush as a souvenir. When she went to the theater nothing would do for her but a whole tler of boxes, with special attendants to serve champagne between the acts. She could give the whole millionaire class points en the best way to keep your money from getting rusty and what she didn’t know about the number of things that could be and were done to her hus- band’s bank account wasn't really worth any one’s troubls to find out. Some of the dames whose fore- fathers had walked over in advance of the Mayflower and were waiting on Plymouth Rock with a brass band and an address of welcome were inclined to think that Mrs. Neucoign was dreadfully vulgar, doncheknaw, and were for giving her the marble heart and the chilly mitt and the other com- modities dispensed in polite society for the purpose of showing you how much below the average you are—in income. That was where they were foolish— not knowing Matilda. When she heard that a bunch of Daughters of the Revolution were after her with their tomahawks she simply laid her- self out to make them look like a lot of circult chasers. If one of the bunch gave a dinner Matilda was right after her the next night with a spread that made the dame’s look like a free lunch; as a result Matilda’s affair got half a column, while the dame's was let down for half a stick. Every time they tried to cross her bows she blanketed them and sent them off on the other tack looking for a fresh breeze. Matilda never had any trouble raising the wind whenever she wanted it. The general outcome was that even the people whose ancestors had been hanged by Oliver Cromwell had to ad- mit that while Matilda might not be able to put up a family tree that would cast much of a shade, yet whea it came to delivering the goods sh had all the rest of them up their tre and yelling for help. She has settled down to a steady pace now and is al- most as uninteresting as though she had been rich all her life. Her career is a standing proof of the important fact that bullio like lots of other childish diseases, is a whole lot worse ‘when it is contracted late in life. (Copyright, 1904, by Albert Britt.)