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THE MILLHEIM JOURNAL
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY
R. A. BUMILLER.
Office in the New Journal Building-,
Penn St., near Hart ma it's foundry.
SI.OO PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE,
OR $1.26 IF NOT PAID IN ADVANCE.
Acceptable Corresponicßcc Solicited
Address letters to MILLIIEIM JOURNAL.
B USIXESS C A HJ) S.
J B. STOVER,
iy. JOHN F. IIARTER,
Office opposite the Methodist Church.
MAIN STREET, MILL IIEIM PA.
D. H. MINGLE^
Physician & Surgeon
Glfiice on Main Street.
GEO. L. LEE,
Physician & Surgeon,
Office opposite the Public School House.
Surgeon & Dentist.
Offiee on Penn Street, South of Luth. church
Havinq had many year's of experience.
the public can expect the best icork and
most modern accommodations.
Shop 2 doors west Millheim Banking House.
MAIN STR EET, MILLHEIM, PA.
Q_EORGE L. SPRINGER,
Corner Main & North streets, 2nd floor,
Shaving, Haircutting, Sharapooning,
Dying, &c. done in the most satisfac
Jno.H. Orvis. C. M. Bower. Ellis L.Orvis.
QRVIS, BOWER & ORVIS,
Office in Woodings Building.
D. H. Hastings. W. F. Reeder
TJASTINGS & BEEDER,
Office on Allegheny Street, two doors east of
the office ocnpied by the late firm of Yocum
J C. MEYER,
At the Office f Ex-Judge Hoy.
Practices in all the courts of .Centre county
Special attention to Collections. Consultations
in German or English.
t, A.Beaver. J. W.Gephart.
"g HAVER & GE I'll ART,
Office on Alleghany Street, North of HlghStree
ALLEGHENY ST., BELLEFONTE, PA.
O, G. McMILLEN,
Good Sample Room on First Floor. Free
Buss to and from all trains. Special rates to
witnesses and jurors.
BISHOP STREET, BELLEFONTE, PA.,
House newly refitted aud refurnished. Ev
erything done to make guests comfortable.
Rates moderate. Patrouage respectfully solici
ted. M y
gT. ELMO HOTEL,
W'M. 317 & 319 ARCH ST.,
RATES REDUCED TO $2,00 PER DAY.
The traveling public will still find at this
Hotel the same liberal provision for their com
fort. It is located in the immediate centres of
business and places of amusement and the dif
ferent Rail-Road depots, as well as all parts o t
the city, are easily accessible by Street Cars
constantly passing the doors. It odors special
inducements to those visiting the city for busi
ness or pleasure.
Your patronage respectfully solicited.
Jos. M. Feger. Proorietor.
R. A. BUMILLER, Editor.
(Most Central Hotel In the city.)
CORNER OF MAIN AND JAY STREETS,
LOCK IIAVEN, FA.
Good Sample Rooms for Commercial Travel
ers on flrst floor.
9thSt. South of Chestnut,
One Square South of the New Post
Otliee, one half Squire from Walnut
St. Theatre and in the very business
centre of the city. On the American
and European plans. Good rooms
fiom 50et8 to S3.IH) per day. Remodel
ed and newly furnished.
W PAINE, M. D.,
46-ly Owner & Proprietor.
Watches, Clocks, Jewelry, &c.
All work neatly and promptly Exe
Shop on Main Street,
FAnL TERM BEGINS SEPTEMBER 10, IfSl
Examinations for admission, Seutember 9.
This institution is located in one of the most
beautiful and healthful spots of the entire Alle
gheny region. It is open to students of both
sexes, and offers the following courses of study:
1. A Full Scientific Course of Four Years.
2. A Latin Scientific Course.
3. The following SPECIAL COURSES, of two
years each following the first two years of
the Scientific Course (a) AGRICULTURE ;
(b) NATURAE HISTORY: (c) CHEMIS
TRY AND PHYSICS; (d) CIVIL ENGIN
4. A short SPECIAL COURSE in Agriculture.
5. A short SPECIAL COURSE in Chemistry.
6. A reorganized Course in Mechanicie Arts,
combining shop-work with study.
7. A new Special Course (two years) in Litera
ture and Science, for Young Laities.
8. A Carefully graded Preparatory Course.
9. SPECIAL COUSES are arranged to meet the
wants of individual students.
Military drill is required. Expenses for board
and incidentals very low. Tuition free. y~ung
ladies under charge of a competent lady 1 rinci-
For Catalogues, or other information?dJress
GEO. W. ATHEKTON.LL. D., PiUtsIDKNT
lyr STATE COLLEGE. CENTRE CO., Pa.
Mrs. Sarah A. Zeigler's
on Penn street, south of race bridge,
Mil lieim, Pa.
Bread, Pies & Cakes
of superior quality can be bought at
any time and in any quantity.
ICE CREAM AND FAN
CY CAKES -
or Weddings, Picnics and other soci A
gatherings promptly made to order.
Call at her place and get your sup
plies at exceedingly low*prices. 34-3 m
THE BEST STOKE!
G. A. HARTER'S
Main St., opposite Bank, Millheim,Pa
—* HBBreftH iIiMBII
Finest Groceries in the
Choice Confectioneries J
F BESH OYSTERS !
Best Tobacco and Cigarsj
COUNTRY PRODUCE TAKEN AT THE
HIGHEST HOME MARKET PRICES!
Call and get Low Prices!
TERMS CASH I
MILLHEIM, PA., THURSDAY, MARCH 26., 1885.
"You will c.we for my child ? You
will not let my little one suffer ?"
My old friend and college chum, John
Harmon said this as he wrung my hand
hard. 1 repeated my promise that in
my own homenest, where there was a
nut set y full of little one'. Susie Har
mon should hold a daughters place.
We were standing upon the warf
waiting for the signal that it was time
for my friend to step aboard an out
going California steamer. He had lost
his wife within the year, and soon af
ter was beggared by a lire that totally
destroyed the cotton mills in which he
had held the position of superinten
dent for ten years. With his home
desolate, his purse eranty, he resolved,
as many a man had done betore him
to seek his fortune in the modern
El Dorado, and dig for gold in her
The only drawback to this scheme
was the difficulty of taking his thtee
year-old daughter, who had been in the
care of hired nurses since her mother
died. I, who shared every thought of
John's mind, talked with my wife, and
found her eagerly willing to take care
of the little one.
"I am sure I loved Mary as well ns
vou loved John," she said, there
is no one can have a stronger claim up
on the child than we have."
So,sure of her cordial welcome in our
nursery, I made John the offer of a
home for his little Dne, and it was ac
cepted as lovingly as it was offered.
This care removed, ray friend hastened
his preparations for departure,and I ac
companied him to New York and saw
The next morning I returned home
to find Susie almost inconsolable, cry
ing perpetually for "papa to come to
My wife was distracted at the failure
to comfort tins childish sorrow, and
our own three children looked on won
"Naughty Susie, who cried and
pried, after mamma told her to be qui
Fortunately, Susie was accustomed
to see me, to snuggle in my arms when
I talked with John, to associate me
with her father, and she allowed me to
comfort her. In time this viol mt grief
wore away, and the child became very
happy in our care. My business, that
of a hardware merchant, being very
prosperous, we did not feel the addi
tional expense of the child's support a
burden ; and a? the years wore by, she
was as dear to us as our own little
But she understood always that she
was not our child, but had a dear fath
er who loved her fondly, and was away
from her only to make a fortune for
her. As soon as she was old enough
she had her father's letter's read to her,
and her first effort at penmanship
where letters to "Papa."
John wrote often for ten years, re
counting his varying success, some
times sending money to buy presents
for Susie. He wa9 winning fortune
slowly, not at the mines, where his
health broke down, but in the employ
of a San Francisco merchant, and some
speculations in real estate.
He was not a rich man, he wrote,
after an absence of ten years, but pros
pering, when he purposed paying us a
visit. He wrote hopefully of seeing his
child, perhaps of taking her home with
him, setting no definite time, but lead
ing us to expect soon to see him. Then
his letteis ceased, and he did not come.
I wrote again and again. Susie wrote.
No answer came to either one or the
other. We did not know the name of
his employer, and after nearly two
years more passed we sadly thought lie
must be dead.
It might have seemed to many un
natural for Susie tJ grieve so deeply as
she did for a father almost unknown to
her in reality, but she was a girl of
most sensitive feelings, with a tender,
loving heart, and we had always kept
her father's name beforo her, striving
to win him a plaoe in her fondest af
fection. That we had succeeded only
too well was shown by her sorrow,
when week after week passed, and
there was no good news from Califor
When we had really lost all hope, it
became Susie's great pleasure to sit be
side me and ask me again and again for
the stories I remembered of her fath
er's boyhood and youth, his college life,
our many excursions, and, above all,
of his marriage and the gentle wife and
mother so early called to heaven.
She dearly loved those talks, and no
memories were more precious than my
description of her father's pain in part
ing from her, and his desire to win
money in California only for her.
Time softened Susie's grief, and at
eighteen she was one of the sweetest,
most winning girls I ever saw. With
out being a wonder of erudition she
was well educated, had a fair musical
A TAPER FOR TJSK HOME CIRCLE
talent and a sweet,weU-cultivated voice
She was tall and graceful, and when
she was Introduced to society with Jo
anna, my handsome, brunnette daugh
ter, both be came popular.
Albert and Will, my boys, were old
er than the girls ; Albeit in business
with me, and Will at college, the win
ter when Joanna and Susie made their
It would take me quite too long to
tell of the pleasure of the young folks
during this winter, but Joanna was
won from us bv a Cuban gentleman,
and Susie became, if possible dearer
Spring had come, when one evening
Albert came into my library, where I
was plodding over a book,haying work
ed busily all day. He fnssod about the
books in a nervous way, quite unlike
his usuai quiet manner and finally
♦'Father, vou have often said Susie is
as dear to you as oue of your own chil
I looked up amazed at this opening
"Well ?" I asked.
"Will you make her your daughter
in iact by giving her to me for a
Dear ! dear ! To think I bad been
so blind. Susie bad in truth become
so much one of our children that 1 was
as much astouished as if Albert had
fallen in love with Joanna.
But I soon found, when Susie's blush
ing face was hidden upon my breast,
that she, too, had given away her
heart, and I was only too well pleased
that uo stranger bad won the precious
In September they were married,
my son and the child of our adoption,
and I gave them a house next our own
for a home, having old-fashioned ideas
about 9uch matters, and believing it is
better for voung married people to live
by themselves and assume housekeep
The new home was a gem of neat
ness under Susie's dainty fingers, and
the spirit of perfect love kept it ever
bright. Having been brother and sis
ter for so many years, Albert aud Susie
thoroughly understood eacli other's
dispositions and I have never known
domestic happiness more perfect than
Susie's first child, named for her
father, John Harmon, was two years
old, when the mail brought me a letter
in an unknown band from Cincinnati.
I opened it, and upon a large >heet of
paper found written, in a scrawling,
uneven hand, three lines :
"DEAR SIR : Will you come to me
H t 4S M streit without letting
Susie know. JOHN HARMON."
At first I believed it was a hoax,
John had written a bold, clerk-like
hand,clear as print. This was a scrawl,
struggling all over the paper, uneven
as the first penmanship of a little child.
But the more I pondered over the
matter the more I was inclined to obey
the summons. So, pleading business,
saying nothing of the letter to any one,
I left home by the night train for Cin
No. 47 M street I found to be
a boarding house for the poorest class
es, and in a shabby room, half furnish
ed, 1 found an aged worn man, per
fectly blind, who rose to greet me, sob
"Fied, I knew you would come.".
"Why, old friend," I said,when sur
prise a"d emotion would let me speak,
"how is tnis t We thought you were
"Does Susi M nk so ?"
"Yes.. We all gave you up."
"Do not nndeceive her, Fred. I
meant to come home to her rich, able
to gratify every desire of her girlish
heart. Do not let her know that only
a blind, sick wreck is left for her to
call father. Tell me of her, Fred. Is
she well V Is she happy ?"
"She is both, John—a happy wife
"Married 1 My little Susie ?"
"Married to Albert, my son,of whom
you may judge when I tell you folks
say he is his father oyer again."
'•I would ask no more for my child,"
Then, in answer to my anxious ques
tions, he told me the story of the years
of silence. He was preparing to pay
us his promised visit when a great fire
bioke out in San Francisco, that ruin
ed his employer for the time.and swept
away a row of building uninsured, in
which John had invested all his sav
ings. Worst of all, in trying to save
the books of the firm, John was injured
on the head by a falling beam, and lay
for months in a hospital. When he so
far recovered as to be discharged, his
mind was still impaired, a< d he could
not perform the duties of clerk or su
perintendent, while his health was too
feeble for manual labor.
"I struggled for daily bread alone,
Fred," he told me, "and when I re
ceived your loving letters, and dear Su
sie's, I would not write, hoping to
send better tidings if I waited for a
turn of fortune's wheel. It never
came, Fred. I left California three
years ago, and came here, where I was
promised tiie place of foreman in a
great pork-packing house. I saved a
little money and was hoping lor bet
ter times when my health failed again,
and this time with It ray eye-sight. I
Imped against hope, spending my sav
ings to have the best advice, and not
until I was pronounced incurable
would I write to you. I want you to
take me to an asylum, Fred ; and, as I
must be a pauper patient, I must go to
my own town. You will take me,
"I will take you to an asylum. John,"
"And Susie ? You will keep ray se
cret. You will not disturb Susie's
"I will not trouble Susie's happi
ness," I said.
Yet as hour later I was writing to
Susie, and I delayed our departure
from Cincinnati till an answer came.
It was the answer I expected from the
tender loving heart, but I said nothing
of it to John.
Caring tenderly for his comfort, I
took him on his way homeward. It
was evening when we reached the rail
way depot of our own town, and as we
had been long cramped in the car-seats,
I proposed to walk home.
"Is it not too far off ?" John asked.
"I thought the asylum was a long way
"Oh, the whole place is changed
from the little village you left !" I an
swered ; "We have a great town here
now, and your asylum is not very far
He let me lead him then, willingly
enough, and we were not long in reach
ing Susie's home. She was alone in the
cheerful sitting-room as we entered,
but obeyed my motion for silence, as I
placed Johu in a great arm-chair, after
removing his hat and coat. He looked
wretchedly old and worn, and his
clothes were shabby, yet Susie's soft
eyes, misty with tears, had only love in
their expression as she waited permis
sion to speak.
"John," I said to him, "if I had
found you in a pleasant home, happy
and prosperous, and I had known that
Susie was poor, sick and blind, would
it have Deen a kindly act for me to hide
her misfortune from you, and passing
by your home, to have placed her in
the care of charitable strangers V"
"Fred, you would never have done
that 1" he said, much agitated.
"Never !" 1 answered. "You are
right. But you, John, ask me to take
from Susie the happiness of knowing a
father's love, the sweet duty of caring
for a father's affliction."
"No, no Fred, I only ask you to put
no burden upon her young life, to
throw no cloud over her happiness. I
am old aud feeble ; I shall trouble no
"And when you die, vou would de
prive your only child of the satisfact
ion of ministering to your wants—take
from her her father's blessing."
He turned his sightless eyes toward
me, his whole face working convulsive
♦'Where is she, Fred ? You would
not talk so if you did not know my
child still loves her father."
"I am here, father," Susie said ; and
I stole softly away, as John clasped his
child in his arms. Albert was in the
dining-room with Johnnie, and I was
chatting still with him, when I heard
John calling :
"Fred 1 Fred 1"
I hurried to the room to find him
struggling to rise, Susie vainly trying
to calm him.
"I want my child !" he cried, de
liriously, "you promised me my
I saw at a glance that the agitation
of the evening had brought back the
wandering mind, of which he had told
me. Albert and I released Susie, who
left us quickly.
Some finer instinct than we posses
sed guided her, for she returned with
Johnnie, and whispering him to be very
good and kiss grandpapa, she put him
in her father's arms. In a second his
excitement was gone, and he fondled
the curly head, while Johnnie obedient
ly pressed his lips upon the withered
cheek. So, in a little time, thev fell
1 asleep, Johnnie nestled in the feeble
arms, and the withered fac> drooping
upon the golden curls. We watched
them silently, till we saw a shadow
pass over John's face, and a change
settled there that comes but once in
Gently Albert lifted the sleeping
child, and canied him to the nursery,
while Susie and I sat Uside the arm
"Uncle Fred," she whispered, "Al
bert will go for a doctor. But may I
waken him '< Let him speak to me
once more 1"
Even as she spoke John opened his
eyes. All the wild look was gone from
them as lie groped a moment till Susie
put her bauds in his. Then a heaven
ly smile came upon the wasted lips,and
he said softly, tenderly :
"Susie, my own little child, Susie."
And with the name on his lips
John's spirit went to seek an eternal
asylum, iu which there will be no more
poverty, pain or blindness.
Terms, SI,OO per Year, in Advance.
A Terrible Adventure.
4 1 have had such an adventure,' ex
claimed Mrs. Badger as she flounced in
to the sitting room, sank into an easy
chair and gasped for breath.
1 What is the matter, my dear 9' in.
quired Mr. Badger a* he laid down his
newspaper to listen.
'That is a nice way to si>eak to a wo
man after she lias just seen a sight, that
curdled her blood Oh, my !' exclaim
ed the worthy lady as she covered her
pink face with her terra cotta gloves,
totally oblivious for the moment of the
fact that the two colors formed a very
inharmonious contrast. 'I can see it
before me now. I don't believe I will
ever forget it, ever.'
•Compose yourself, my dear, andftell
me all about it.'
4 That is th* way with you men/ re
sponded Mrs. Badger as she removed
her hands from her face and began un
buttoning her gloves. 'You have no
feeling. You don't know what senti
ment is. If you had passed through
what I have to-day the first intimation
I would have of it would be au unusual
odor about your breath. You would
go into a saloon just as if nothing had
happened and talk the matter over with
a friend, and by the time you got home
you would forget all about it. Compose
myself, indeed, I know I shan't recover
from the shock for six weeks, if ever I
Here the excited matron paused to
allow her husband an opportunity to
interrupt her again, but that individu
al wisely refrained advan
tage of it.
'When I got through my work this
noon—you know we had company for
lunch ? Mrs. Simpson and her daught
er were here. How I detest that wo
man 1 I know she came here on pur
pose to make mean remarks about our
new silverware. By the way, Isaac,
that silverware is wearing very badly.
The plating has been rubbed off in three
places on our coffee-pot already. That
comes of bu/ing your table ware at a
tea store. I always knew you were no
judge of such things. The next time
perhaps you will let me buy stuff for
my own house. But you always think
you know so much about some things.
No one can teach you anything. If you
would take your wife's advice once or
twice a year, instead of that miserable
Jim Wilson's, it would be better for
you—and me, too. I suppose now you
will go and tell that odious man just
what I have said. That is the way you
always do. You know you do. The
last I told you tha truth about
him you went right off and repeated it
*o him like a little, leaky schoolboy.
You needn't try and deny it, for Mrs.
Wilson came over here the next day and
made the most scandalous statements
about you I ever heard, and I know
she onlydid it to get even. Oh,if I was
only a man I'd show you some things
that you ought to know.'
Here Mrs. Badger stopped for breath
and glanced across the lire place at her
unfortunate husband in away that
would have chilled the marrow in the
bones of a less experienced Benedict.
'Well, my dear,' suggested Mr. Bad
ger, with a faint sigh, 'as you were a
bout to say, Mrs. Simpson called.'
'That's right,' snapped Mrs. Badger,
viciously. 'That's right. Since you
were down town and saw the terrible
sight, suppose you finish the story.
That's right. Go ahead and tell me all
about it. I'm impatient to hear.'
'I didn't intend to interrupt you, my
dear,' responded Mr. Badger, wearily.
'Don't 'my dear' me,sir Please don't
Well, since you don't know anything a
bout it and are wil'ing to listen to me
relate it I will continue. Mrs. Simp
son and her freckled-face Miss Simpson
came to lunch. We had pickled salmon,
hot biscuits—you know what delicious
biscuits Mary makes ? It is the only
good thing about the baggage. She
does everything else terribly.
three saucers this morning while she
was trying to listen to what I was say
ing to you about Jennie Parsons while
we were in the pantry. I thinkl shall
discharge her. She is too careless for
any use, but then she is cheap and
i knows our ways, and Heaven knows
i what I should do with a new girl, but I
suppose you would be glad to have a
change—you don't haveaoyof the work
tojdo. You men are so selfish. I wish
I was a man.'
'So do I, my dear,' observed Mr. Bad
ger. 'Then I might possibly hear the
end of this story some time this year.'
'That's right, Mr. Badger; when you
can't treat me cruelly and neglect me,
abuse me. That's the way with you
men. 1 liaye a good mind not to tell
the story at all now, just for spite.'
At this moment Mr. Badger picked
up his newspaper and resumed his read
'As I was saying,' continued Mrs.
Badger, after five minutes of silence,
which seemed to her like a month,
'when Mrs. Simpson and Miss Simpson
left the house I Dut on my cloak and
hat and started down to buy some gro
ceries that I asked you to order several
days ago,but which you forgot as usual.
You always forget such things until
you sit down to the table to eat and
■rwwp—mmmm W— —^■ ■ 'tJT—
n subscribers order the discontinuation of
newspapers tin? publisher* inky continue to
send than until all arresraces are paid.
J f stitnertbeni refuse or tthptrei to take their
newspapers front the offleeto-w liw-h they ape sent
thhyare held responsible tnrtii they have settled
Ute bills and ordered them discontinued.
If subscriber* move-toother places without In
forininx the publisher, and the newspapers are
sent to the former place, they are responsible.
ADV ERTDBDJO BATBS.
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One inch makes a square. Admlrtlstratorsg
and Executors' Notices *2.50. Transient adver
tisements and locals 10 cent* uer line for ttrst
insertion and 5 cents per line for each nddltion
then vou storm and raise a row because
you don't find tbe articles all cooked
and ready for you in silvercolored dish
es. I got in a red car and started dawn
town. The car didn't stop for me at
first. I had to walk to the other
side of the street and walk through a
pool of water, but I don't suppose it
would make any difference to you if I
had drowned. After wading nearly up
to my boot tops I| finally got into the
car and there wasn't any seat for me.
The car was crowded with men and wo
men. There wasn't a gentleman there.
It's a pity the street car oompanies
don't run cattle cars for those brutes
who sit down and pretend to read news
papers while ladies stand TJiere
was one putty-faced dude wno wasn't
reading. He didn't dare look me in tbe
face. He fumbled around in his pock
ets and pulled out a newspaper, and
when I looked at him he began reading
it upside down. Some meift would do
anything rather than stand up and let
a lady sit down. Then tbe brute of a
conductor asked me if I didn't have
small change when I gave him a fiye
dollar bill. Of course I had, but I
wouldn't give it to him after he had in
sulted me before the car fall of people,
not that I cared for them, though.
Then he looked at the bill suspiciously,
and carried it out on the platform and
asked the driver if it was good. He
then went through the car and asked
every man if he had change. None had
any, of course.and he had to give it
back to me. I hope he had to pay my
fare himself, just because he was such
a selfish brute. But he was like all you
'At Twenty-third street a woman got
in the car with that lovely dress pat
tern I saw on Broadway last fall and
wanted you to buy for me, but yon said
it was too expensive. She had it made
over, and it was perfectly beautiful. I
know it didn't cost her over SSO, and it
was worth twice that much. You will
see how much it costs when I get my
new dress next month. Drese goods
are twice as high now, but you always
think you know so much about such
'I got out at Fourteenth street and
was walking past that new building on
Sixth avenue. You know which one I
mean ? It has such lovely windows.
They are plate glass and reach clear a*
cross the store, and are filled with the
greatest bargains I ever saw. I know
some of the lace that they have marked
down to 62i cents didn't cost one cent
less than/JO cents. Well,right oyer the
top of the building there is a scaffold
and there were some men working on
it. They had of bricks and a
whole dry goods box full of mortar. I
met Mr.Jones there—that pleasant-fac
ed gentleman who comes here and talks
so beautifully about Paris and the lat
est fashions. He had his charming lit
tle pug dog with him, and the momeat
he saw me he bowed and that dear little
doggie barked. You know the last"
time he came here I gave him your slip
pers to play with. He is such a cute
little fellow. He nearly choked to death,
you remember,on the heel ot one of th#
slippers. But you can buy a new pair
for $2, and you know I never liked£hat
pair anj way. You bought them With
out consulting me. He said he was
coming up to see us to-night.'
'Who ?' interrupted Mr. Badger, as
he started from his chair. 'Jones or
his dog ?'
'Mr. Jones, of couise; you don't sup
pose I would talk to a pug dog,do you?'
'Well, my dear,'continued Mr. Bad
ger, as h buttoned up his coat,'/I shall
have to be out this evening. I have a
business meeting to attend to. lam
sorry I can't stay at home to anjcy the
the society of Mr. Jones and the Jones
pug, but I can't neglect business, you
know. I must go right off. 1 haven't
a moment to spare.'
4 You needn't run away to avoid meet
ing Mr. Jones. He won't be here.'
'But you just said he was coming.'
'So I did, but he wou't. While we
were talking a whole bucketful of biicks
fell off the scaffold and struck him on
the hea<? before my eyes aud flattened
him out like a pancake.'
'Oh !' shuddered Mr. Badger, 'that
was horrible. No wonder you were
shocked. I wonder whether he leaves
a widow and a family. He really wasn't
such a bad fellow after all.'
'Leave a widow ? What do you
mean ? How could he marry ?*
'I dou't see any reason why Mr.Jones
'Mr. Jones? He wasn't hurt. It was
the dog that was crushed.'
'Oh,' replied Mr. Badger, as he seat
ed himself again and picked up the
newspaper. 'ls that the terrible aoven
ture you had ?'
'Well, isn't that adventure enough ?
I was so weak I had do order a carriage
to take me home, and that cost $4; and
you will have to go without meat for
your breakfast to-morrow morning un
less you order it yourself to-night, and,
Mr. Badger, let ine say that the next
time 1 tell you a story you will under
stand it at once.'
'I doubt it,' replied Mr. Badger, as
his wife flounced out of the room to
change her dress for dinner.
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