The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 11, 1906, Page 15

THE . SAN FRANCISCO = SUN. UNDAY. CALL e large a them was, indeed, & prize, their ing & confirmed widower of long whose fine large farm and ac- ge would be inherited by re—Kate, aged 26, and hed in the last two months Mat been applylng various tests to Geneva end Kate in order to ascertain their re- spective qualifications for the honor he meant to confer upon one of t He had one week asked Geneva to give him her “dough scrapings” for his horse mext time she baked, and the fol- g week, when it was Kate's turn to beking, he had made the The resuit had been had given him & (= paper bag) full of dried “toot™ scrapings, thus betraying her defi- sense of domestic economy in hav- ing sllowsd so much dough to stick to ber blood Gougt cler bowl. Kate, who was spare and ess and unattractive, had manifest- superiority to her sister in the hat, ghe informed him, she never - have no dough scrapings ¢ baked.” taken occasion also to watch their sewing, when on gs, after the milking, the machine but to the d worked the as a each of ther summer even wheeled which she broke it off at es from the machine. her hand, always deftly s possible, thus sav- some two or year. thrifty peo- Mathias was But this pe- commendable exaggerated se s counted w3 than otherwise— ckholter has three good t to say he could more yet” Ell Eben- fond of remarking to his as a spur to the matrimonial h with gratification he g0od to him if he is Geneva once ventured to “So mear as he is with his He is now wonderful keen on i worker and a close er,” approvingly affirmed-her father, t would be a good thing if you t way yourself, Ge- v, and not so giddy headed as what you are stilL” s precipi- left him he discarded donned the three-cornered white cap of the New nites, one of ‘the strictest sects of strange sects—Southeastern 1a was as gre ted as sur- It won't cost near so expensive to dress her as what it would to dress Genevy, who's so wonderful fashionable that way." He regretted, to be sure, that it was not the soft, fair Geneva Instead of the spare and homely Kate that had adopted this inexpensive garb. But it certainly seem- ed that, all the circumstances considered, Providence clearly meant him to marry the more frugal and industrious elder sister. The fact that as a member of the Men- nonite sect Kate could not marry one who was stil “in the world”"—that is, who was not also a New Mennonite— was not a difficulty in Mathias’ way, for he had always meant some time to “glve himself up” and join meeting, and now was surely as propitious a time as any. He would bave to buy new clothes “to say yes” In, and he might as well lay the money out in getting the New Mennonite broad-brimmed hat and plain, clerfcally cut coat which some day he would, at any rate, be obliged to buy if he would be saved; for Mathias was the offspring of New Mennonites, and he knew full well that outside the tenets of this church there was no salvation. 8o before going over to pay his cus-, tomary Saturday evening Ebanshade’s he repalred City, had his beard shaved off and bought himself a New Mennonite outfit. Piously clad in this austere garb he went on Saturday evening across the road to “speak his mind.” He found Kate alone in the kitchen. It was only 6 o'clock, but the custom- ary early supper was over, the room “redd up,” the milking “through,” and the milk “separated,” so Kate was free for the rest of the evening. Mathias told her at once that he had come to “set up” with her; and she took| visit to ElI to Lancaster the hint that he didn't want Geneva or}| her father about. “And now, Kate, tell me how you come,| to give yourseif up?’ he sald. ‘‘Them| plain cloes becomes you something sur-b prising, and I'm wonderful glad you don’t dress fashionable no more.” “Well, Mathias, it was this here way. You knowed Jast week we was to our cousin's funeral, ain’t you did?” Mathias gravely nodded. “Over to East Donegal?” “Well, our cousin he dled from fallin’ sudden out of a cherry tree and broke his neck instant—and, Mathlas," said Katc solemnly, “that was a very loud call to me! So, Mathias, 1 was moved to give myself up. And oh!" she fervently sald, her plain face glowing with an earnest- ness that gave her something better than beauty, but which, it is to be feared, was not appraciated by Mathias, ve been so wonderful blest since the; It was six months after their marriage that on one drizzling morning in No- vember Kate “flopped,” as she called it, in the midst of her week’s baking; she suddenly felt herself giving way before a moral and physical weakness to the aire neglect and ruin of hér dough. She sank into & chair to “study things out, and if 1t took all day and no dinner TS FHD CROTHES. soul of Kate, acgustomed to abstain from the. unnec: expenditure of a penny, Mathias’ closeness had come to seem a . Her Mennonite principles, h she had thus far in her mar- > been stanch, ha. led her to bear with “a meek and quiet spirit” his ex- traordinary meanncss. But to-day a climax in her feelings had been reached; all of a sudden while kneading her dough she had realized that a turning point had come to her, and that she would not sub- mit another day to being “ground down."” Never before in her life had Kate been called uvon to do such strenuous tnink- ing as that which she did in the next balf hour. With Spartan determinati she resolved that once and for all she Wpuld end this strife with her husband @s to the spending of money. Her own father, when she had kept house for him, had had sufficlent counfidence in her judgment and economy to allow her en- tire freedom in her management with- out guestioning her or demurring. True, with the more heedless Geneva, who now took chief charge, he was less free; but even she was not restricted a hundredth as much as her married sister. Kate wonder¢d what Mathias would Have done with a wife like Geneva, or, rather, what Geneva would have done with a husband like Mathias, who would never let 2 nickel pass through his witefs hands; who refused to buy for her the kitchen utensils which she absolutely re- quired, or a new washboard when th one tore her hands and clothes obliged her to use brown sugar e ly, and would not buy her a sewing ma- chine; who watched what ghe ate and tried to check her appetite; who refused let her burn enough wood and coal to keep herself heaithfully comfortable. “I'll learn him!"” she afliirmed to herself, with a cool quiet in her eyes that was born of her Mennonite abstémiousness and self-control. “Tll just give way and I won't hold out in the faith—I'll dress fashionable agfiin. He told me he has trade ot Haverstick’s store In Lancaster for a har'l of apples or a bushel of pota- toes or whatever—and I'll just go to town and buy some fashionable cloes till the bar'l of whatever is pald for. Then I'll give a party anyhow and Invite fifteen ho Disciplining o BY H-R- MARTIN- and bake a cake and have doughnuts and lemonade. I'll get the lemons and tnings at the store unbeknown, and he'll have to pay for 'em after. I'll act more fash- fonable than what I was already before 1 turned plain. That'll ix him. He will try to turn me plain again, and I'll say I won't never give myself up no more till he passes his promise to give me the handlin’ of so much a week.” Kate's weapon was a mighty one, and she was shrewd enough to know.it. The Menronite rules made it obligatory upon the husband to put her away from him as a wife so long as she remained apos- tate. He must continue to keep and sup- port her, but he dare not hold unneces- sary converse with her, eat at table with her, or sleep at her side, until she repent her of her backsliding and once more come into the fold. Dinner was ready for Mathias, as when at 11 o’clock he came in, bland and amia- ble as usual, but in his customary spirit of obstinacy, and, of course, of meanness, It was when he was having his after- dinner smoke of impossibly cheap tobacco while watching Kate “redd up,” that his geniality expanded to communicativeness. “What do you think I came acrost this morning out here in the north field?”” he said between puffs at his pipe. “A feller a-paintin’ a photygrap of our cow with his horn broke 1 spoke something to him about how if he wanted to pay a little for it, he could draw a photygrap of one of my horned cows, seeln’ he wanted a drawin’ of a picture of a cow: But he sayed he had a preference for the one he doin’. I ast him what he was going to it then when he got it drawed oncet, an’ he says, ‘sell it.! Ach.’ , ‘what'll you get for 3 plcture of a cow with his horn broke,’ and he says ‘one hundred dollars,” he says. ‘Now ‘why, the cow herself ten dollars! Who'd be ve a hundred dollars for r?” He laughed hearty, n’'t know what at. He was now a good conwerser. I says to -him, ‘If you get a hundred dollars for that drawin’, I, think you had ought to pay me for givin you the dare to draw her’ And he ast me how much was it, ana I says ‘webd make it come at 10 cents by the hour.’ So he gimme a quarter. But he aidn’t set no full hour. Har'ly a hal Kate was brushing up abo t the hearth, and she kent her bagk’turnégl to her hus band lest he see héf face of ghame at . his charging the stranger for the privi- lege of drawing a picture of their thin old cow. “You ain’t hittin’ it behind the wood- box,” Mathlas admonished, as he watched her broom. ‘There's dust there.” Kate controlled her impulse to “hit it over his head—knowing full well that such impulses were temptations of the enemy nd plied her broom behind the wood- box. i “Gimme a drink to wrench my mouth out oncet,” he said. 4 She took from a closet a tumbler con- taining about two tablespoonfuls of sour milk, which she poured into a garbage bucket, and then walked over to the dish- pan to wash the glass. Mathias started forward with an exclamation of distress. “Why did you throw that sour milk to aside for?” “It wasn't enough to do nothin' with, and I ain’t got no more tumblers “Why didn't you gimme a drink in a cup then? Don't throw nothin’ aside Lhat can be used. I won’t stand none of that, Kate. Don't you do it again.” Iate washed the glass and handed it to him filled with water. “Do you understamd, Kate?' he per- sisted. “Oh, be surc!” she answered, more Im- patiently than be had ever heard her speak since she had turned plain. He looked at her curiously. “I seen from the barn this morning that some one a whilg to see you. What for Did she mebbe holt you back “Oh, her. from your work some?" Kate turned with an unwonted flush in her face and met his eye. *I ast her to stop and eat dinner. But she said she knowed you'd not make her welcome."” “Why did you ast her to eat here fur?”’ Kate almost slammed her plates into the dishpan and literally dashed her hot water at them. She found herself wish- ing that some of the bolling water would eplash upon Mathias’ placid countenance and scald it into a grimace or a frown. “Don’t you be breakin’ any dishes,” he anxiously warned her. “If you ain’t feel- in' just so good, don't be wastin’ money goin' to no docter, Kate, for it's all blamed foolfshness to be supposin’ they can do you any good. Emmy she was took with such a pain in her shoulder there for a while, and it got so bad that unbeknownst to me she called in Dr. Isen- berger over to New Sanville, and he rubbed her, but it only just moved the pain from her shoulder down to her heart. And I gayed, ‘If that's all you wanted to do, yvou'd better of let that pain where it .’ And after Emmy diled he send me a bill for five dollars! Mathias gasped at the recollection. “‘He ketched me aw- ful. And I had to pay (it too. He wouldn’t hear to me not payin’ it, for all I talked at him for two 'hours. Angd at last he says, ‘I can't listen at you no more; I got a patient up the road a good plece yet, and my time’s up!” Then I says, sarcastic that way, ‘I hope that patient won’t get ketched like what vou've ketched me,’ and I chucked the five at him and went out. But that set- tled me; I ain’t never-mo more goin' to have no doctor runnin’ here. He'd better have left that pain where it was. It spited me something wonderful.” He *‘outened” his pipe and rose to go ot to his work. “Mathias,” sald Kate, “make it so the buggy's ready for me. I'm going to Lan- caster.” Mathias paused with his hand on the NOTED DEVOTEES OF THE WEED ERLIN has recently lost one of her most ardent and methodical devotees of the fragrant weed by the death of Herr Grunn, whose daily allowance of tobacco consisted of six plpes, six cigars and six cigarettes. This amount he never varled, save on his birthday, when it was doubled, and on New Year day, which, on the prin- ciple of starting the year temperately, was kept as a day of total abstinence. Love of tobacco and wisdom often go together. Prince Bismarck was wont to boast that he had in something like fifty years consumed over 100,000 cigars, a number that works out at an average of five a day—no great feat, perhaps, for one who was at one period a ‘“chain” smoker, lighting each cigar from the glowing stump of the one just enjoyed. Edison, the great Inventor, must hold a superior record. Ten cigars a day are his normal allowance, but when deeply absorbed in work he~finds double that number necessary to stimulate his brain. Even more in a day used that celebrated ready for Mathias yet When he come In{ singer, Marlo, to dispose of; but his day from the barn already.” commenced with dawn and concluded not % sther it Eves to the frugal Pennsvivania Dutch 2 until. slecp overpowering him, the still Mathias' decision as to wh burning Havana slipped from his lips. ‘Without a cigar was Edwin Booth, the tragedian, scarcely ever seen. Even while engaged in his professional duties his beloved weed was present in the wings, ready to be snatched from his dresser's hand for enjoyment during the sometimes exceedingly brief. intervals between his exits and entrances. Twenty-five cigars a day were at one time his usual al- Jowance—an allowance, however, not in- frequently exceeded. To revert to ordinary folk. By a steady average of fourteen cigars a day Willlam Pattison of Michigan managed in twenty years to account™ for 100,000 excellent weeds, a number that drew upon him the expostulation of his friends on the ground that such excess was prejudicial to long life, to which he opposed the fact that Goethe, though he drank 20,000 bottles of wine, lived to be 83. So he smoked on unconcernedly and died at the age of 8. Three years since, at Vienna, there died in his seventy-third ycer a man be- glde whose smoking record that of Will- jam Pattison appears quite Insignificant. From his twenty-zeventh vear he kept an exact account of his consumption of beer and tobacco. In his fifty-fourth year he became a teetotaler, after having drunk 25,786 glasses of ale —a very moderate tally, working out at but three a day. But it s of his immoderate smoking, which he continued till his death, that we have to speak. In forty-five years he smoked no fewer than- 628,713 cigars, or 13,971 a year, giving an average of thirty-eight a day. Out of this gigantic total 43,5% were given him at various times, leaving 585,213, which, although this Austrian devotee at the shrine of “My Lady Nicotine™ never paid more than a {enny for each one, cost nearly £2500. But even this marvelous record . is beaten by that of Mynheer Van Kliaes, known by the nickname of the “‘King of the Smokers.” He was 81 at the time’ of his decease, and sometimes smoked as much as ten pounds of tobacco in a week. How strong with him was the ruling passion in death was shown by his fu- neral. At his express desire he was placed in a coffin lined with the wood of old cigar boxes. At his feet were deposited a packet of tobacco and a bladder of fine Dutch Golden-leaf, while by his side were laid his favorite china-bowled pipe, a box of matches, flint, steel and tinder. Around his grave was gathered a circle of Rot- terdam smokers, each with his pipe, from which, at the words “ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” he shook the ashes on the coffin lid. To each of these mourners the deceased left ten pounds of tobacco and two pipes bearing his arms. " doorknob, mingled surprise and obstinacy in every line of his sleek face. “What fur?” Kate washed her dishes with a vigor that made him shudder with apprehension of their fate. “I'm goin’ to town to buy cloes. I'm goin’ to give way and dress fashionable. That’s what I'm goin’ to do.” Mathias walked to his ch\lr and sank into it. “Jate!” he gasped. been temptin’ you? “Yes. And he's been usin’ you for an instrument.” “Me! I ain't urgin’ vou to dress fash- fonable, Kate!" “But you'ré temptin’ me to cherishin’ a spirit I ain’t learned of the master! And if T can’t obey to the rules I wohn't be no hypocrite—1'll give way open and honest and dress fashicnable! You just make it so the buggy's ready now!"” “It don't suit for the horse to-da “Then I'll get pop’s. And I'll get Genevy to g0 with me to help choose my fashion- able things. And I'll treat her to a plate of ice cteam yet." “Where'll you get the money?” ou've got trade at Haverstick's. I'll buy my things off of him.” “I say, I won't give you the dare, Kate. You haven't the dare.” “% 't askin' you have I the dare. I'm goin’ “But I can’t eat or talk or sit' with you no more if you give up,” he remonstrated, looking white. ““You can turn fashiomable yourself if you want.” “It costs more expensive to live fashion- able.” Kate turned on him again with vigor- ous decision. ‘‘Mathias, nt you listen at me. You pass me your mise you'tl gimme $7 a week to bfly what I need for the housekeepin’ and myself and I'll not give way. You don't pass me that promise and I'll run you in debt and give a party and whatever!” Mathias stared at her blankly. His Emmy had never turned upon him by word or look. How should this vigor- ous woman be met and put down? He would have to ponder the matter heavily. Slowly he rose and went again to the door. “I ain't hitchin’ up for you. You stay home and tend to your work.” Kate resumed her dishwashing, and gave him no articulate answer; the set of her jaw was answer enough. He went out to his farm to go on with his day's work, but his soul was he#vy within him. Kate meant what she had said. His conviction of that was deep and unwavering. How tien, was he go- ing to escape the inevitable anguish of unlooked-for expenditure? Mechanically he sawed his wood as he bent to the ter- rible problem. Should Kate turn fashion- able, life would not be worth living ¥f he could net, by the rules of his faith, eat with her, sleep with her, converse with her. And what & t saving of expense it was to havg her “dress plain” and live the abstemious life of the New Mennonites. Would it not, in the long run, be more econ: 10 accede to her demands for an allowance and thus keep her within the true fold? But seven dollars a week! He groaned aloud at the thought of letting her han- dle his money and spend it as she wished, without his supervision. »” “Has the Enemy P2 4 2 Y Z What could he do? How sscape from these awful alternatives? Was there no way out by which he might keep both his money and his wife? His troubled thoughts were broken in upon by & sound which made his heart rise up In his throat—the sound of car- riage wheels across the road. He hast- ened to the fence to see his wife and her sister seated In their father’s buggy, driv- ing out of the barnyard to the pike. Throwing open his front gate he ran over to them and seized the horse’s bridle. “Kate!” he gasped, “what are you going to do?” “I'm goin’ to town to buy out your trade at Haverstick’s in fashionable cloes,” she grimly made answer, and the eyes of her sister Geneva gleamed with the double satisfaction of seeing her brother-in-law defled and the prospect of a shepping excursion. “You ain’t goin’ to de it to go, Kate!"™ pleaded Mathias. “You dargsent give way. You're got to stand firm like what T'm doin’ and serve the Lord.” “It's easy for you to stand firm—the enemy aln’t temptin’ you still, like what he’s temptin' me through you as an in- strument. I'm goin’ to town, and I'm goin’ to get me and Genevy Iice cream and run a bill on you.” “I'll have to tell the brethren to come and reason with you, Kate.” “It won't ¢o no good. My mind's mads up, Mathias.” “I'll buy you seme of them kitchen things you want, Kate—I'll get you a new washboard and some tumblers and what- ever.” “Will you gimme what I sayed—by the week?"” “How much was it you sayed you want- ed mo to leave you have? Was it two doi- lars? “No, it wasn't. It was seven. And I want a washwoman. Pop gets Genevy one since I ain’t there to help her, and you can afford it just as good as what he can. And I want a telyphome, Mathias!™ she boldly demanded, while Geneva's bosom swelled with the excitement of the occasion—"The country people’s getting telyphomes wherever they can handy, and Pop says he'll pay half and use our'n if we have cne. You pass me your promise you'll gimme them things and I won't give way. You don’t pass me no promise and I'll cost you just as expensive as whatever I can.™ Mathias being of German, not English extraction, was able to recognize his own defeat. His face was white with misery as he looked up into the resolute counte- nance of his wife. “Think of what the brethren and sis- ters'll think of you if you give way, Kate!” he out forth as a last feebie Tem: tranee. “J ain’t a carin’! The enemy made me feel that wonderful reckless, Mathias, I'll wear my fashionable cloes to mselh" next Sunday!” Mathias’ hand dropped from the horse’'s bridle. “Kate,” he said feebly, “I pass my promise. You needn't go to Haverstiek’s.” The hardened lines in Kate's face re- laxed and she looked at her husband kindly. “All right, Mathias, She turned the horse's head, not toward town, but down the road, where lived the ‘washwoman.