Bellefonte, Pa., May 10, 1912.
i
THE OLD-TIME PEOPLE.
One of the old-time people, that is enough for
me;
One of the old-time people, such as you rarely
see.
Plain and simple and honest,
Doing his best to live
By the rule of the daily getting,
By the love of the daily give.
One of the old-time people, never a bit for show;
One of the old-time people, helping the world to
RO.
Kindly, sweet and contented,
Happy and sane and bright;
One of the old-time brothers
Of sweetness and of light.
One of the old-time people, sure of his road, you
One of the old-time people, a few of them left us
vet,
Broad and tender and pleasant.
Modest and all the while
Lighting the road they travel
With the sunlight of a smile.
One of the old-time people, one of the old-time
boys;
Happy With simple notions, run in the simple
joys.
Singing a bit and praying,
Loving the dew, the dust;
Leading us all with the saying
Of love as it leads to trust.—Baltimore Sun.
DIBLEY’S RECKONING.
[By John Charleton.}
Laurence Dibley looked ruefully at
the flat punctured tire of his automo
bile and then around at the thickly
wooded section in which he was
stranded.
The road ran through tall woods and
all along its length it was perfect for
motoring; Laurence had never been
on the Cross highway before and he
had been an ardent admirer of the
quaint little villages and picturesque
houses scattered through this
New England country. Once in a
while he came upon the river and
crossed it through echoing covered
bridges. He had just passed through
the wood when a tire burst beyond all
repair. Laurence slipped it off and
applied the emergency tire he had
carried and had barely gone another
hundred yards when a rear tire ex-
ploded loudly, ruinously.
“Talk about disasters at sea!”
grumbled Laurence as he pushed the
light roadster into an open space
among the trees beside the road and
gathered branches of autumn leaves
to heap over it until it was quite hid-
den under October foliage. “If ever
a mariner was marooned at sea—this
landlubber is wrecked on dry land! I
wonder how many miles from civiliza-
tion I am?”
He pulled out his road map and
studies it closely. “Four miles to a
repair shop—whew!” ie pocketed
the map and tucked his long dust
coat into a locker with his heavy fur
coat, and with cap tilted on the back
of his head set forth tp tramp the
four miles into the next village, Mel-
ton.
At last he emerged from the woods
into a more open country and there,
temptingly on his right hand lay a
long, low, white-painted farm house
whose great square chimneys denoted
hospitality as well as did the roomy
front porch furnished with comfort-
able chairs and tables. Laurence could
see large barns in the distance and
on rolling meadows in the background
were dotted a dozen cows.
“That looks like glasses of butter-
milk and hunks of cold Johnny cgke,”
murmured Laurence wistfully looking
backward as he passed the place.
A quaint signboard swinging from a
tall elm tree near the gate arrested
his attention and sent his feet speed-
ing in the opposite direction and up
the path to the inviting front porch.
“Refreshments Served to Travelers,”
it stated plainly.
Laurence lifed the polished brass
knocker and made known his pres-
ence there.
Light footsteps sounded and there
was the click of high heeled shoes
on bare polished floors and the door
swung open revealing a girl clothed
in a chine blue pinafore that envelop-
er her from neck to heels.
a pretty girl—nay a beautiful girl,
with a mist of fine dark hair breaking
into tendrils around her rose-tinted
face and with delicately arched black
brows above large hazel eyes. There
was a dab of flour en her nose of
which she appeared unconscious. She
looked inquiringly at Laurence, for so
absorbed was he in contemplating the
charming vision of her that he quite
forgot his errand.
He whipped off his cap and stuffed
it in his pocket. “Good afternoon—I
—er have had a breakdown with my
car back here in the woods and 1 am
on my way to Melton for a mechanic.
I happened to be mighty hungry and
I saw your signboard-—so I came right
in. Is that right?”
“Certainly,” said the girl gravely.
“If you will ¢it down in the porch 1
will bring you whatever you wish. It
is so warm and sunny out there peo- |
ple geem to prefer it, but if you'd
rather we have a room inside.”
“Out here by all means,” protested
Laurence dropping gratefully into a
comfortable rocking chair. “I dream-
ed of buttermilk and cold Johnny
cake,” he smiled.
“Your dream will be realized, only
the Johnny cake is hot from the
oven—I have just made it.” She
flashed out and in the door again
leaving in his hand a small card on
which was set forth a list of viands
served at Elm Farm. The handwrit-
ing was angular and the ink was of
old-fashioned violet hue,
Laurence ate his hot Johnny cake
tnd drank glass after glass of cold
buttermiik in addition to various oth-
She was !
beautiful girl in the blue pinafore. She
went about the business of serving
him with a quiet gravity that charmed
him. He could have remained hours
and would willingly have eaten up
and down the bill of fare several
grave inquiry of her eyes.
thought with chagrin as she carried
the empty dishes away. “I never ate
so much in all my life at one time,
and I'd do it all over again just for
the privilege of watching her trip in
and out!” He summed up the cast of
his meal and asked the girl if it was
correct.
smiled.
hand into a pocket for his wallet. He
went through one pocket after an-
other with growing embarressment,
finally fishing up a solitary dime.
“J—1 must have lost my wallet,”
he stammered awkwardly, before the
concern in her eyes. He was con-
scious then that his clothes were
dusty and that bis hair must be un-
tidy. What if she thought him an im-
i postar? He blushed deepiy.
“I'm glad ycu've got grice to blush,
young man,” rasped a shrill voice anl
| behind the girl appeared the sharp
| features of a middle-aged woman clad
{in a violet print dress and white
(apron. “That's an old story—you're
, not the first impostor I've ¢poked for
and waited upon only to have ferve
me such a trick! I'd be esham>d—"
“Miss Malvina!” protested the girl
| with a shocked look at Laurence. “I'm
sure this gentleman must have lost
his money—pray, give him a chance
to explain,”
Laurence turned a grateful look
upon her and then addressed Miss
Malvina. “I am sorry, madam,” he
said a little stifily, “but appearances
certeinly are against me; my auto-
mobile broke down in the woods back
yonder and now that I come to think
of it I must have placed my wallet in
my dust coat and the dust coat is in
a locker in the car! If yeu care to
send somebody with me as a guaran-
tee of my return 1 will go back after
it, and return to pay my reckoning!"
“Fiddlesticks!” sniffed Miss Mal-
vina. “There isn't a soul to send
along with you now. Here I am with-
out a mite of help around the place
today—everybody gone off to the
comty fair at Melton. If Miss Fairly
hadn't put on her big apron and come
down and helped me I don't know
what I'd have done—it ain't right eith-
er, her being a boarder and up here
for a rest! You can set right down
here, young man, until my brother
Samuel comes back from the fair—I
reckon he'll walk back with you after
your pocketbook!"
“Miss Malvina!” cried the girl
again, and this time she was quite in-
dignant. “I will pay you the money
because i am sure this gentleman will
return—there!” She flashed in and
out of the house, returning witha sil-
ver mesh purse, from which she took
some money and paid Laurence Dib-
ley's reckoning with Miss Malvina.
“I hepe you don't object,” she said
with a smile toward him.
“Miss Fairly, I am deeply grateful,”
he said warmly, and under the scorn-
ful eye of Miss Malvina Lee he strode
down the path and returned to his dis-
abled machine. When he reached the
spot he came upon a large motor car
full of people lunching in the shade
of the trees. Among them were sev-
eral friends, and after he had told
them of his trouble there were many
willing hands to pull out his car and
with an elaborate tool kit the chauf-
feur of the big machine repaired the
broken tires sufficiently to send him
rejoicing on his way to Melton.
No one could blame him for tooting
his horn triumphantly as he stopped
before Miss Malvina's gate, and when
he reached the porch and had paid the
money he had borrowed from Miss
Fairly into her pretty pink palm, he
grasped it for a moment in his own
strong clasp.
“You've been a friend indeed to me,”
he said soberly. “My reckoning with
Miss Malvina is paid—but my reckon-
ing with you, Miss Fairly—well, 1
never want to settle that!” With a
{smile and a blush from her he was
gone—but he went back again.
—
Settling a Smart Lawyer.
A law case was proceeding in old
rc
the stand as a witness,
“Where were you born, sir?” in-
quired the lawyer.
“In England, sir.”
“How many times have you crossed
the Atlantic?” :
“Twenty times.”
The lawyer jumped up and addressed
the judge: “Your honor, I impeach
the veracity of this witness. He says
he was born in England and has
crossed the Atlantic 20 times. It
would be impossible for him to have
crossed the Atlantic that number of
times and be on this side now. There
is perjury here, your honor. His vis-
its to this side would make odd num-
bers, and his visits to the other side
even numbers, and yet he is here and
has the audacity to swear he has
crossed the Atlantic 20 times. I im-
peach him, your honor.”
“How do you explain this, sir?
asked the judge sternly.
“Why,” said the witness, “the last
time I came to this country I came by
way of the Pacific ocean.”—Saturday
Evening Post.
: Substitute for Soap.
Boiled potatoes an excellent
substitute for soap if your hands have
become blackened with
pots and pans.
potato and rub
er delectable viands, all served by the
times over if he had mot feared the
“She must think I'm a glutton,” he |
“What is my reckoning?” he
She hid it was and he thrust his |
Mexico and a mining expert was on
A WAY PEOPLE HAVE.
| "Did you ever notice,” said the ob-
serving girl, “that when people are
| married their duty to their relatives |
| ceases instantly, while every one’s
| duty to them is immediately increased i
ten fold?” {
“lI can't say that 1 ever did,” an- |
swered the placid girl, who accepts |
the world as she finds it. “But what |
made you think of it just now?”
“Oh, 1 met Bertha Stone today.
You know she had been planning on
| this summer vacation for a whole year
to carry out a special project. When
' I asked her about it she told me that
just as she was ready to go her sis-
ter's chislren were both taken sick
and she devoted the entire two weeks
to helping care fog them.”
“l suppose she thought it was her
duty,” interposed the placid gil,
gently.
“But when Bertha was sick last win-
ter {t was no one's duty to take care
of her and she had to go to the hos-
pital,” argued the observing girl. “The
worst of the present case is that as
soon 3s the children were well her
sister lef! them in care of am aunt
while she went to the country for a
rest and Bertha came back to the of-
fice all tired out to work another
i
‘
|
i ye rr
| hat was hard,” agreed the placid |
, Biri, sympathetically. |
! C—
| “Then there was Doris Thompson,
who kept house for her brother Jack.
It was dreadfully hard for Doris to
I work downtown all day and take care
of the flat, too. But she insisted that
| both she and Jack neded a home, al-
though we al] knew ghe did it gore
for Mick's sake than her own. When
i Jack was married she fully expected
| Yo make her home with them, but
they gave her to understand that mar.
ried people were much better off by
themselves. However, they suddenly
changed thelr juinds when the twins
arrived, and then it immediately be-
e Doris’ duty to live with them.
‘l remember how sorry we all felt
for Mrs. Robinson when Alice mar
ried. She was the only child and had
been her mother's constant com.
panion. They had always declared
they would never be separated, but
that when Alice married she would
Hive with them in the big house. But
ske wedded a poor man and decided
in favor of love in a cottage. Her
mother and father declared she was
quite right and fought down their
loneliness as best they could. But
when she had three children to take
care of and could not afford a maid
| Alice came to the conclusion that it
| was a shame for mother to be alone in
that big house, and accordingly moved
! her family over,
| “There also Was Aunt Janet Long,
| who brought up a family of nieces and
nephews. Not because she was able |
to do so financially, but because as
she had no husband or children all
the relatives considered it her duty to
do so and she, poor weak soul, gave
up her life to the task. Now they're
all married and, of course, could not
think of having their home invaded
! by an old maid aunt who has ‘ways,’
80 she lives alone. But whenever there
are sick headaches, extra work or ba-
bles Aunt Janet is sent for post haste
and never fails to respond.
“You remember that spoiled girl,
Nellie Mayne, who in all her life
never thought of doing an unselfish
act for anyone Because she was pret.
ty and insisted on being petted and
havieg her own way she always had
! the best of everything at home and
! her brothers and sisters all had to
give up to her. They expected great
| things of her and were heartbroken
{ when she ran away and married a
| good-for-nothing young scamp who had
nothing to recommend him but a hand.
some face. Now they have allowed
themselves the luxury of a large fam-
ily of babies that they cannot support,
and it becomes everyone's imperative
duty to help them out.
|
t
“Of course.” pursued the observing
girl“l am fully aware that married
people are much better off by them-
| selves. At the same time it seeme a
bit cne-sided and rasher unfair to thefr
relatives to let it be known that since
they have each other everyone else is
an outsider and must expect nothing
from them, but as soon as they need
aseistence their people must fall over
one anotker to be the first on the
spot.”
“What 1s to be done about it?” the
placid one inquired.
“Nothing at all,” and the observing
girl dismissed the subject with a
shrug.
Spilt Milk—and Ink.
Visitor (consolingly to Tommy,
who has upset a bottle of ink on the
new carpet)—Tut, my boy, there is
no us crying over spilt milk.
Tommy—Course not. Any duffer
knows that. All you've got to do is to
call in the cat, and she'll lick it up.
But this don’t happen to be milk, and
mamma will do the licking.
Cause of the Slaughter.
Tourist (in Crimson Gulch)—Is ft
a fact that one of your leading citi-
zens, Hairtrigger Hank, shot three
men yesterday?
Lariat Louis—That's jest what he
done, pardner. We got a new hospital
now, and Hank, he's been hired t'get
business for it."—Everybody’'s Week-
.
Second Ditto—Bravery in the aerial
service in Tripoli. His machine fell
from a height of two hundred feet
and crushed twenty Turks single
handed.— Fuck.
then rinse it off
~Subscribe for the WATCHMAN,
|
i
:
|
| widow he had nct yet come to under-
VIOLENCE AND THE WIDOW.
By Lawrence Alfred Clay
(Copyright, 1811, bv Associated Literary
Press.)
It was a matter of gossip that Mr.
Clyde Vernon, the sculptor, was to
marry the young and rich widow,
Mrs. Coleman, who had been out of
mourning for a year or more. As a |
matter of fact, both principles in the
case had been congratulated by inti- |
mate friends. The widow had blushed
and made no reply, and the gentle-
man had said that he was too busy
to grant an interview that day.
There was more than a grain of
truth in the gossip, but gossip had
hurried things along too fast. It was
a case of love, but love, except in
those cases where an empty-headed
New York girl wants to buy a title
and a “critter” with it, can't be hur-
ried. Then the whole business can
be concluded in twenty-four hours. |
Besides being young and rich, the
widow was called handsome. Besides
being fairly well off, the sculptor had
a fine face and figure, and a name in |
the world, and among athleves he had !
a high rank. He wasn't crazy on that '
subject, but he needed exercise, and '
he {ook it this way.
Ther was one thing about the
—
{
'
stand. She had inherited a terror of
violence. She had fainted away at |
sight of two men exchanging blows on
the street. A lame dog or a wounded
bird brought out ail the sympathy in
her. On an occasion her only brother
bad been rendered insensible by a
blow from a regan, She classgd ath- |
letice under the name of “rough
house,” and it so happened that she
had neither read nor heard of Mr.
Vernon's “exercises.” The informa-
tion came to her with a great shock.
— ——
—
Through the newspapers she read | “Clyde, did you hit that man with |
that at a high-toned club, where a |
“scrap” had been put on, her admirer |
had donned the gloves and knocked
out Billy the Terrible, who was a
quarter of an hour recovering his
terrible senses. What kind of gloves
were used the widow didn’t care, but
there was one thing sure—Mr. Ver- |
non must be a brute to step forward |
and hit Mr. Billy a punch on the jaw |
that almost deprived him of his life. |
She had read the sculptor as a man |
of refined and gentle nature, but she |
| she thought it.
! perhaps plunder.
And down at the house one after
! Boon, while the fishing and thinkirg
were going on, an Italian tramp ap- |
plied for fcod and was refused it. ile
went out of the gate muttering and
threatening, and caught a chicken in
the road and started up through the
: Woods to roast and eat it.
As ke found a spot to make carp
he caught sight of the widow fishirg.
Here was a chance for revenge, and
He got down on
hands and knees and crept toward
{ her, but while he was vet yards away
: a stick broke under his knee and she
| sprang up to take in the situation and
scream out and then fzil In a faint.
When she recovered consciousness
Mr. Vernon was bending over her and
| sprinkling water in her face.
“I was passing in my auto and
hezrd your scream,” he simply ex-
. plained.
“But there was a man here!” she
said.
“Yes, and he's here yet.”
“And I saw a knife in his mouth as
he came creeping toward me.”
“I have the knife.”
“And, mercy or me, you are blecd-
ing from tke arm!”
‘Yes, he cut me when I closed in
on him. If you will get up I wiil
| help to the auto and take you home.
I've got the fellow securely bound |
and he won't get away while I am
gone.
isn’t pretty to look at.”
It wag only a few rods to the high-
‘way and t§e auto, and no more words |
were spoken until the house was
reached. Then the woman said:
“Clyde, you must come in and have
that wound dressed.”
He went in, and with her soft fin-
+ gers she bandaged it, rejoicing that |
it was only a lively scratch. When
the dressing was over she looked him
squarely in the eyes and asked:
a club?”
“No, ma'am,” he answered in 2 rath-
er defiant way.
“Then with what?”
“With my fist.”
“And where?”
“On the point of the jaw, just
where I knocked out Billy the Ter-
rible.”
She turned and looked out of the
window for a moment, and then turn-
ed back to say:
“I'm glad you did! You go out on
He's got a face on him that |
BOYS AGAIN.
|
, Alter dinner Mannows, who had
gone east on a business trip, went
out for a walk. Presently he found
himself passing the buildings wherein
he had had education forcibly in.
stilied in him.
“Forty years o!d!™ he said, a trifle
indignantly, at length. “I don't be-
lieve it!"
As he still stood and stared some
one passing bumped into him. Man-
nows, catching sight of the face in
the glare of the street lamp, whirled
him around. “Bill!” he howled. “If
it ain't Bill!
The captured man, after one look,
broke into exclamation roints.
Twa rather portly men dancing on
the sidewalk are apt to attract atten-
tin, so Mannows and his friend
moved on.
“l was just mooning over the time
when | was hiking up those steps.”
explained Mannows. “Greatest old
college on earth, that!”
“Not while Harvard is
mire” said Bill
Mannows laughed,
“Terrible rows Harvard and Tech
used to have, eh? Odd how hot-head-
ed boys will get. Why, | remember
, calling you every name in the diction-
, ary because you were so chesty over
Harvard and sneered at Tech! Tech
meant more to me then than family,
friends or fortune! | felt that you
bad insulted me personally!”
still run-
remembering.
“So did 1." confided Bil), “when you
¢id a highland fling the time Tech
' licked Harvard at football! I remem-
: ber meditating how satisfying it
| would be to slay you. Bloodthirsty
lite demons, college boys.”
“That they are,
| “Too young to know better!
.
i
1 :
Mannows.
It takes
years to drill a little sense into them!
Ever gc back on class day?”
“l went two years ago,” said Bill
“I tell you it made me feel good to
see what a splendid class of fellows
Harvard turns out each year!”
“Uhhuh,” sald Mannows. “Of course,
Harvard is bigger, but when you come
right down to it | guess the men who
| 80 to Tech are about the cream of the
lot. Fine chaps, good families and all
that.”
"Oh, yes,” sald Bill. “But nothing
|
|
| like Harvard. 1 tell you—"
| "Oh, come now, Bill,” Mannows
| broke in complacently. “Of course,
it's all right to stick up for your alma
now saw that those sentiments were the veranda and smoke and I'll tell mater and all that, but you're old
The brute nature |
He might
but thin veneer.
lay close to the surface.
use his fists on the gardener—on the &Wfully nice to be able to hit a man |
cook—even on her! She could think |
of him only with a shudder, and she |
could think of The Terrible only as |
some guileless half-grown man who |
had been cajoled into standing up to,
be knocked down. :
It was a dainty little note Mr. Ver-
non received a few hours later at his '
studio, but it had a sting to it. The ters. I received five thousand begging
golden cord, if golden cord there had
been, was broken, and the silver bow! |
was mashed flatter than a pancake. |
The two were to be strangers hence-
forth. Yes, he was reading the dainty |
little note that sealed his doom while |
one of his club friends was saying:
i
1
“Clyde, old man, that was one of ish type of woman is disappearing—
the type of woman, I mean, who |
the prettiest punches I ever saw. He |
was about to swing with his left
when you crossed your right, and, oh,
Lordy, hew he sat down and snored!” |
“Yes—ahem!"” replied the sculptor
as he laid the note carefully aside.
“She'll have a husband that can
protect her.” |
“Yes—just so.” {
“I've congratulated you once, but |
shake again.” i
“Y.e-s.” :
Would Mr. Vernon answer the
note? Would he call and ask the priv-
lege of making an explanation? Cer-
tainly not. No woman, except a prize
fighter's wife, could be made to be-
lieve that boxing was not brutality.
It the wvidow had wanted an explana-
tion sPe would have asked for it—
even demanded it. And so it came
about that the gossips had another
thing to talk about. They asked each
other why, but no one could tell. The
nearest that anv one got to it was to
say that there was another woman in
the case—an old love with whom the
sculptor had quarrcled and made up
again.
It is easy enauph tn ree
uo widow dre i= 4
clety and there is shopping. But when
she goes out to her country house,
what then? She wants a rest and she
gets it in part by going fishing, if the
lake or river or creek isn't too far
away. She may give it up for the
day after a nibble or two, but she has
rested and had time to think of many
things. It was so with the Widow
Coleman. After her trunks had been
unpacked and the servants had set-
tled into their places she took pole
and line and went through the woods
to the creek. She fished and she
thought. She fished and she medi-
tated. She fished and she felt irri-
tated and annoyed.
That's a woman's way. She will
give a lover his conge in the most
emphatic terms, hoping never to see
his face again, and then get mad be-
cause he doesn't come around and
wee ry
she fully expected the sculptor to
come rushing to the house within an
hour. When he didn’t rush she ex-
pected a note in reply. No note. She
two months and then flew to
the constable over the telephone to
come and get the fellow. Yes, it's
on the point of the jaw! 1 almost
wish I could rave seen you do it!"
Men the Biggest Beggars.
Mrs. E. H. Harriman, at a dinner in
New York, sald of the begging letter
nuisance:
“I am overwhelmed with begging let-
letters before 1 started on my recent
western trip. It isn't unusual for me
to receive one hundred begging letters |
a day.
“And most of them are from men.
Women have a finer, bolder spirit than
they used to have. The clinging, baby-
writes begging letters and who, if
married, has for her motto:
“Laugh and the world laughs with |
you.
want.”
Only Inquiry That Is Omitted Seems
to Be the Classic “Have
You Used w——1"
The native Moors are not content
with the salutations which pass mus-
ter with English when acquaintances
are met in the street. “Hallo, old man!
How are you? Going strong—that's
right. So long!” This sort of thing
does not commend itself to the Moroc-
can.
Here is the kind of conversation,
says Health Culture, that .akes place
at every meeting of any two friends
or acquaintances, say Mr. Abd'l-Kah-
der and Mr. Boo'l-Hamara:
“Peace be with you this morning.”
“And with you be peace.”
“How do you do?”
“Without any fl.”
“Are you well?”
“Thank Allah!”
“And is your health good?”
“It is good.”
“And you have no ill in your body?”
“I have none.”
“And your bones, how are they?”
“They are indeed strong.”
“And your little bones?"
“There is no ill to them.”
“And the marrow in your bones, is
it well?”
“And your limbs, are they well?”
“They are sound, praise be the
prophet.”
“And the whole of your body, is it
“It is well.”
Weep and you get what you
well?”
morning?”
“By your life, truly it is well.”
“And how is your nose?”
“It is free from any harm, I am
grateful to you.”
“And your ears, are they well?”
“They are well, may the prophet be
blessed.”
And so on and so forth, until almost
every part of the human system has
been alluded to.
A Sign of Age.
“I guess he must be getting old.”
“Why?”
“He's quit thinking that he can
sing.”
Hard Work,
Doctor—I forbid all brain work,
Poet—-May 1 not write some verges?
Doctor—QOh, certainly! — Christian
Intelligence.
-— -——
“And your forehead, how is it this |
| enough now to look at things with a
sane and unprejudiced eye, and you
| must acknowledge that the mere fact
| that Tech is a scientific school would
; bring to it a brainier, more earnest
set of students than would attend an
ordinary university! Fellows with
' some real purpose in life, you know,
! and with aims—no society butterflies
' with more cash than brains ever
chose Tech!"
“Well, just because Harvard isn't
| crammed with a lot of fellows with
; bulging foreheads doesn't hurt it, I'd
| have you know!" sald Bill, warmly.
“They are all around men who take
an interest in all sides of life. I hate
a narrow man! And in athletics—"
“Now, now!” interrupted Mannows,
warningly. “You are never going to
dig up that Gensler game, are you?
Harvard never could take a licking
i gracefully—"
| Bill stopped short and shook his
! finger under Mannows' nose. He
! tried to speak three times before he
: could get out the words. “Licking!”
| he repeated in strangled tones. “No
| one but a prejudiced, unfair, sponge-
| headed idiot of a Tech man ever
| would have agreed to that umpires
| decision. If Harvard wasn’t euchred
| out of a fair game by the most under-
handed, unjust, outrageous decision
that ever—"
“Everybody saw Gensler when he
cheated!” Mannows shouted. “Every-
body! Nobody with a grain of de-
cency in him would have dared to
claim that game! Harvard showed the
vellow in her all right by having the
sneuking nerve to object! She should
| have hid her head In shame! The
| Harvard men should have been egged
off the grounds! They should have
| been ridden on a rail! All of the—"
“You with your bribed umpire!”
Bill yelled. “I'd talk if 1 were you,
ves, 1 would! Of all the disgraceful
| acts of Tech that was the limit!
From top to bottom Tech is 2 moth-
eaten, disreputable—"
“I'l punch your face!” Mannows
bellowed, shaking his fist, “if you
don't take back your slanders on the
best—"
|
i
|
|
I
Stepping off the curb at the unno-
ticed crossing, both Bannows and
Bill reeled, grabbed and fell in a heap.
A passing boy helped them up. “Eyes
must be getting bad,” he commiser-
ated,
Mannows and Bill paused to look
after him. :
“Say,” exclaimed Bill, a bit sheep-
ishly. “blamed if I haven't got a boy
| of my own as big as that—he enters
! Harvard next fall!”
“Umph!"” sald Mannows. “I'm an
| old fool! I'm 40!" :
| “I guess we'd better call it square!”
said BIIL
A Mean Fling.
“When you told Miss Slicer that I
' created a ripple in Paris, did she seem
‘to be envious?”
| “No. She said ehe guessed you fell
| {ato the Seine.”
Me
“You'll never ry be the
you once were,” sald the
pugilism,
“Well,” replied the man with
muscles, “I don't want to be. A
never gets a chance to make big
| ture money till he's a has been.”
~Subscribe for the WATCHMAN,
BE
man
lec: