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Alt-a
run PLUMBER’S JOB.
-——.
W'hatever her eccentrielties-I must
grant her some—she was greatly be-
loved by .her fellow-townsmen; and
those who knew her best loved her
most strongly. She had, however, a
will of her own. And she was one
who, inthe language of the Holy Writ,
kept her promise to her hurt. Thus,
sometimes, an impettfous temper led
her into imprudent declarations out
of. which she could not always extract
herself without great exercise of her
wits.
her tonight. Having had the plumb-
ing of her dwelling repaired, in an
unlucky moment there has come a
quarrel with the plumbers’ union over
a bill. The result was that she sent
away “every man swindler of them
all”——and was left with the water ser-
vice of the house cut off, and water
hauled from the cisterns and a single
faucet in the garden, while friends
sniffed apprehensively whenever they
she not afraid of sewer gas? and her
niece (who was as a daughter to her)
did not.care to bring the baby to spend
Thanksgiving because the child might
catch diphtheria through the deadly,
leaking pipes.
“Stuff!" said Miss Merryweather,
who used strong expressions some-
times, being by birth and breeding
quite too much of a lady to disturb
herself about the minor conventions;
“stulf and nonsense! There are no
leaks, but I’m not going to argue with
you, Helen; I shall get a plumber and
have you come Thanksgiving.”
Miss Merryweather was not used to
be beaten; it galled; She had mailed
letters to difierent plumbers asking for
bids by telegraph; but peer as she
might-,she could not see a loop-hole
of escape for her at this time.
She 'went to bed early, but for a long
while she could not sleep; she thought
of the plumbers’ union and her own
defeat, and raged anew. 7
And when, at last, shewas just slip-
ping off into the shadows of peace, she
heard the softest of footfalls. Surely
she had closed the door on Diogenes,
the dog. Hadn’t she closed the door?
Her mind drove her backward over
that hasty journey through the rooms
downstairs. Diogenes had a mat in
the laundry, and the range of the
kitchen; she certainly had closed one
of the kitchen doors. Hadn’t she
closed the kitchen door upstairs? She
had—at least she had seen that the
door to the cellar was fast, and she
thought she had bolted the door up-
stairs—how did people ever feel certain
about anything enough to swear that
it happened? The footsteps were
nearer—in the sitting room which ad-
joined the chamber. Her first thought
was for the safety of the tea table.
with its precious freight; she was sure
'if she called to .the dog kindly he
would begin wagging his tail, that tre-
mendous brush which with one sweep
might hurl her idols into irredeemable.
smashing, crashing ruin!
Sternncss was the only chance!
"Down charge, vDi!” she commanded.
“Bad dog! Down!”
A particularly mild voice answered
her: “It ain’t a dog, miss; it’s a man!"
“A man?” repeated Miss Merry-
weather. “Well!”
Of course it was not well; but Miss
Merryweather did not think of the
nicer meaning of words.
“Yes, ma’am,” the voice repeated;
don’t be alarmed; I’m a man—a bur-
glar!”
Miss Merryweather showed no signs
of alarm; in the first place she had a
fearless soul; in the second place, the
voice was so mild, so almost apologet-
ic, that it aroused her sense of humor.
“I don’t know but that you are less
- of a nuisance than the dog would be,”
said she. “You stay right where you
are, and I will turn on the electric
lights. Don’t move, or you’ll hit some-
thing!"
"All right. ma’am,’ said the burglar;
“only no pulling out a pop, you know,
and tiring it off at me in the dark, hit
or miss!‘ 'i .
“Certainly not; at least, not until I
can see you.” said Miss Merryweather.
All the While she was hastily donning
a wrapptr and slippers. Then she
turned on the lights. ,
The burglar stoori div-".7 fly under the
blaze. lie did not look like a burglar;
there was nothing ranch in his‘pale
face except the 1007.: cf recent sickness
and hopelessness. His clothes were
like any other workman’s, a pair of
blue, soiled-overalls with something
‘- like a bib front and a patched check
shirt. .
When Miss Merryweather loomed
upon him—one may say darted, since
that was the effect of the springing of
the light upon her image—he lifted his
empty hand to his hat.
. "I don‘t want to distdrb you,
. ma’hm,” he repeated, “but I’ve got to
have some money’”
Her latest dilemma engrossed .
“Why?” said Miss Merryweather.
She was quite at her case, and had ta-
ken a rocking chair.
“Why?” the man echoed bitterly.
“Because I prefer to steal to see my
wife dying for want of things done
for her, and my children without shoes
to their feet, and never a bite amongst
us all this day, by —! I beg your
pardon, lady; I wasn’t meaning to
swear, but I’m wore out.”
‘ “Haven’t you had anything to eat
today?” said Miss Merryweather.
He shook-his head. A stifi lock of
brown hair which stood up on the top
of his head waggled at the motion; it'
gave him a grotesque look. He cer-
tainly was frightfully thin. ‘
“Humph!” said Miss Merryweather.
“You sit down in that rocking chair
and stay there till I come up again.
Don’t you burgle any until I come
back; then we’ll see what we can do.”
“I won’t touch a thing, lady,” prom-
ised the burglar; “I’ve been druv to
this, I truly have.”
When she entered her sitting room
again, and saw how starved and tired
her burglar looked, she was glad of
her decision. .
He was leaning back in his chair,
his pistol still in one limp hand, his
head laid back, showing a miserably
thin neck; and the white glare full on
the haggard pallor of his face.
His eyes brightened at the sight of
the tray. Miss Merrywe‘ather, making
no comment, lighted the lamp under
the silver chafing dish; and, as it
burned she buttered the slices of bread
and placed beef between them.
“I am afraid the beef is a little un-
derdone for your taste,” observed she,
kindly, and I hope you don’t care for
mustard. for I forgot it; but I’ve put
on salt and pepper, and they were the
best done pieces I could find. The
soup will be warm in a minute.”
“You are not at all like a professional
burglar,” remarked the lady, who
had now come to ladling out the
steaming soup; “I think you must be
an amateur.”
“I never touched a thing that wasn’t
my own before, lady, so help me——-!”
“Well, you haven‘t touched any—
thing yet, now,” interrupted Miss Mer-
ryweather, who had a mania for ac-
curacy. She continued: “I suppose you
are putting that sandwich in your
pocket for your family—don’t do it!
I’ll make you up a basket for them.
Tell me what brought you, such a de-
cent man. to this pass?”
The man smeared his eyes with his
hand before he began. “I have never
seen a lady like you,” said_he; “I’m
just going to tell you the honest truth.
I was working in Chicago. I belonged
to the junior plumbers—”
“Oh, if you were a plumber, it must
have come natural for you to rob.”
The burglar acknowledged the sally
by a faint smile. “We ain’t so bad as
they make us out. IVell, hard times
came, and work fell off, and the union
wouldn’t let us work below wages, so
I left the union-fact is, I couldn’t
keep up my dues—”
“Do you mean to tell me,” cried Miss
Merryweather, springing " from her
chair in strong agitation—“do you
mean. to tell me that you are not a un-
ion man? Don’t think of burgling me!
I can give you a great deal better job,
and I will advance you money on it,
too. This house is only about half
plumbed; if you will take hold and
get this plumbing done by six o’clock
tomorrow, I’ll pay you well._ And you
shall have two men to help you who
aren’t plumbers, but who have some
sense. A nd a boy to run to the shop
to get the tools. Are you .a good
plumber? 3’ ‘
“Yes’m, I was; but, you see, I went
to Pullman, and worked there till the
strike came. I didn’t strike; but
I joined the A. R. U. afterwards, so as
.to get the relief. The strike lasted so
long I used up all my savings; and then
I didn’t git back after all. The baby
come just then, God forgive it! and
I guess he knowed he was none too
welcome, for he’s been hollering ever
since. Doctor says. he needs some
kinder food, and I wanted to git it. for
I someway don‘t jest want him to die,
if he is mean! Then I wanted to git
my woman things; she’s an awful
nice woman, I’ll say that, and about
all we’ve got she’s earned washing. I
have been out a week walking about
a hundred miles, I guess, begging for
a job everywhere. I heard jobs were
to he had; but you see we were
strangers, and there ainlt enough Work
to go ’round ’mong the old men. To-
day, as I went back from the shoe fac-
tory ’eross the river, and seen all the
turkeys in the winders, and remember-
ed how there wasn’t a bite in our
house for today nor for to-morrow,
and looked at the rich folks that don’t
love their families a mite better’n I
love mine, I got kinder wild, I guess.
I never had gredged rich folks their
. 9 . .
money, before. I was Willing to work
' ....,.
w E EK LY _'4 n
l
' a.-
hard, and not to have verymuch; but
now it seems as if there Wasn’t. an inch.’
of room for me‘ and my family on this
earth. We’d pawned every last thing
we could pawn, and there we was—a
starving! '
“Lady, I tell you, it ain’t the poverty
poor that gits squeezed the hardest
when there’s hard times; bless you.
no! They’re used to leanin’ on other
folks, andthey just lop over a leetle
heavier; but it’s the decent folks that
never knew the way to the poor-over:
seer’s office before, or- even to the
pawnshop, that catch it. They suffer
and don’t holler -"about it.” .
“I see,” said Miss Merryweather; “go
on!” _ .
“There ain’t much more.” said the
man, very neatly folding the napkin.
“I told my wife I had got a job and
would have the money for a turkey to-
morrow; not to fret, I’d git some ad-
vanced. I went straight out, mean-
ing to enter somebody’s house and git .
enough to buy a Thanksgiving dinner.
I prowled about for a long time, first
deciding on one house, and then on
another. By and by‘ I saw all the folks
in your kitchen going out, and the
light upstairs; and, says I, ‘that lady
is all alone by herself, and I can git
some money, easy.’ So I come.”
“But how did you get in?” The win-
dows are barred downstairs ”
“Yes’m; they look like good win-
ders. But I come in by the door—the
kitchen door. I reasoned like the girls
would have some place where they
hid the kitchen key, and I could hunt
it up. Most like it would be under the
door—mat. That’s where it was, too.”
“They shall have a latch-key. every .
one of them; of course you got in.
But didn’t you wake the dog?”
“No, ma’am; he jest slept like the
dead. Them big dogs is jest like men
about sleeping, they sleep so sound.”
“But when you came up stairs what
did you do about the mat at the foot
of the stairs? The lights ought to have
sprung up and the bells rung,, the in-
stant your foot touched the mat!”
“Why, you see, lady,” said the bur-
glar apologetically—he, seemed to fear
lest she should be hurt by the failure
of her carefully planned burgar traps
-“you see, I naturally struck a match,
now and then, to see my way, and
when I come on that plain, common
mat in that beautiful hall with the
handsome rugs about, I knowed it to
be a burglar mat, so I jest stepped
over it. I’ve no doubt all the things
would have happened if I. had stepped
on it right.”
“Do you think anything is the matter
with this ?” displaying her revolver.
It was a big revolver of glossy and
iridescent black, not a feminine frip-
pery about it—no pearl, no silver; a
revolver that meant business and
showed it intentions hunorably.
“No, it’s all right,” said the bur~
glar, admiring; “you could ’a plugged
me, sure.”
“Unless you shot me first.” . ’
“Hump! that would ’a been difficult,
seein’ mine ain’t loaded and there’s
something the matter with the trig-
ger so it can’t go ofi, else it would ’a
been in the pawnshop ’stead of here.”
“Well,” sighed Miss Merryweather,
“it’s a mercy you tried to burgle me
with that useless thing, instead of some
one else. Now, for goodness sake come
down stairs and let me give you that
basket and get you off before the ser-
vants Come.”
Miss Merryweather had very much
the sensations of a burglar in her own
house, as she dcspoiled the larder,» the
friendly burglar holding the candle.
They hurried at every glimpse of the
clock, they trembled at all the creak-
ings of the floor.
“Robbins never did stay out before
later than twelve or one; it’s a quar—
Great heavens!” Miss Merryweather
jumped. Suddenly she'was bathed in
a flood of light, and bells seemed to
be ringing all over the house!
“I guess the mat, is straight goods,”
said the burglar; “you trod on it by
mistake, ma’am. Say, what’s that?
They’re a hollering in the yard! I’ll
try this door ”
“No, you will not,” said Miss Merry-
weather, all herself again; “you will
stay just where you are, while I open
the door.”
She was at the hall door before she
ended, calling loudly to the shrieking
maids, who came in timidly (except
Robbins), in the rear of the two men.
who were none too valorous.
“Nothing is the matter,” said Miss
Merryweather; “I stepped on the mat
myself. It works perfectly. Harriet,
I’ve engaged a plumber, and he is to
work all night, and the plumbing’ will
be ‘done by tomorrow afternoon. If
you need those extra tools you better
go home and get them now”—turning
upon the bewildered burglar—“and you
don’t need that candle any. more; put
it down. Don‘t forget the basket.”
“No, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,” the
burglar responded meekly, “and I’ll be
back—”
“As soon as you can; there‘s no time
to lose,” said Miss Merryweather. “He
is a good plumber,” she announced
calmly to her dazed domestic staff,
“and I was lucky to get him. I have
sent a basket of things to his family.
Get him a good breakfast to-morrow
morning; and I hope we. shall have a
Thanksgiving after all. -I shan’t for-
get how good you all are in these
emergencies.” ._
The household knew too well Miss
Merryweather’s generosity, for these
special efforts, to be unhappy; but
Robbins summed up the general mix
ture of disapprobation and admiration.
She said: “Did yougever see the like!
I believe Miss Elinor would git her will
if she had to tear the world up by the
roots!”
The plumbing was done, and well
done, by four of the next afternoon.
The burglar’s family, as well as the
Merryweather gathering dined late
that Thu aksgiving.—-McClure’s Maga-
nine.
The Better In “'hlch He Proposed Mar-
riage to Miss Peggie Shippen.
Chief Justice Shippen and his wife;
. argaret Frances, had nine children,
among them three daughters whose
beauty and charms of mind and man—
ner made them preeminent among the
belles of the Revolutionary days.
Elizabeth married Major Edward
Burd of , the American army, Mary
married Dr. William McIlvaine, and
Margaret, or “Peggy” Shippen became
the wife of Gen. Benedict Arnold.
Her story is a tragedy, this brilliant
belle, courted by a throng of suitors,
who was at the same time, the darling
of her household, and a tender and be-
loved daughter. She was fascinated
by the dashing officer who had re-
turned from hardfought fields, crip-
pled with honorable wounds, one of
the most distinguished leaders of the
American army.- Her family did not
fancy the match, for Benedict Arnold
was a. man of low birth and rough
life. But he was a. dashing soldier and
a bold and ardent suitor.
This unfortunate marriage involved
the character of the beautiful but
unfortunate “Peggy” Shippen, but her
family and several historians of re-
pute have ably defended her, and have
claimed that she knew nothing of her
husband’s treason to his country. The
balance of the testimony seems to be
in her favor. . It-is certain that Gen-
eral Washingtonbelieved in her, and
it is not probable that she was in any
way an accessory to the black career
of Arnold when maddened by fancied
neglect and insult on the part of his
military superiors he sold his coun-
try’s cause for money. “Peggy” Ship«
pen was banished from the state of
Pennsylvania, and lived the rest of her
life in England with her husband.—
Philadelphia Inquirer.
RIGHT REV. HENRY B. WHIPPLE.
The Venerable Bishop Married 3 Widow
Half His Age.
Another instance of May and Decem-
ber is recorded, with the further inter-
esting fact that a venerable and re-
spected authority in the’church impor-
sonates the wintry month, while the
Season of buds and flowers is represent-
:d by a. rich widow of New England.
\1
RIGHT REV. HENRY B. WHIPPLE.
Bishop Potter, of New York, recently
performed the ceremony which united
in wedlock the Right Rev. Henry Ben-
jamin Whipple, Bishop of Minnesota,
and Mrs. Simpson, of Saxonville, Mass.
She is a. wealthy widow-of thirty-five,
and he is past seventy. ' ,3.
A CONVINCING COMPARISON.
A Very Lucid Illustration of a Roman
Boy's Division.
J ohnny Blykins has been less success-
ful than usual in his studies, and his
father was trying to stimulate him
togreater endeavor.
“I can get along pretty well in most
things,” Johnny was saying, “but I
can’t manage with grammar and aritha
metic." . ‘ "
“Those are the two essential studies
of modern times,” was the earnest re—‘
ply. “A man nowadays must know
how to talk for a chance to make
money; and he's got to be mighty
quick at figures to see that somebody
isn’t holding back any when he gets
his change.”
“I guess I can pull through on gram-
mar. ,But I’ve got so discouraged with
arithmetic that I don’t feel like trying
any more.”
‘ “Don’t give up. Arithmetic is just as
important as the other, if not more so.
Be thankful the study isn’t any harder
than it is. Think of the poor little Ro-
man boys,” he went on, with a sudden
inspiration. .
. “Did they have to study hard?”
' “Study? Why those boys had to
know Latin before they could under-
stand the clown’s jokes at the circus.
Let’s take an example,” he exclaimed;
drawing a pencil and a piece of paper
from his notebook. “We’ll work it
out the way a little Roman boy would
have had to do. Suppose we want to di-
vide 49 by 6. You could do that easily.
But a little Roman in the fifth or sixth
grade wouldn’t have it all laid out be-
fore him in a simple unmistakable
fashion like that. It would be worse
than grammar and mathematics com-
bined with him, for he'd have to get
his intellect right down close to spell-
ing words that don’t mean anything.
He would have to state the example I
mention in this way: ‘XLIX divided
by VI.’ The next step would be to say:
‘VI into XL goes V I times and 1“."
over.’ ”
= “And then what ”Would he do?”
. “W'hy then he would—er—Johnny. l
don’t know just what he would do
then. But I shouldn't be surprised if
he smashed his tablet and dropped his
stylus down a knothole and ran olf to
fight Indians.” . ‘
' Both Twins.
Chatty Old Bachelor: “Most r’mark-
’ble likeness between those two chil:
dren,'nurse!” Nurse: “Yessir. Twins.
sir,” Old Gentleman: “What, both
at ’em!” 3 ' .
BENEDICT ARNOLD’S Lovax'
R w A L L GLZETTE
A
.-... on 1.4 .
THE ”AMERICAN G!RL.~
N..-
In Cities Her Escort. to Thanksgiving Sen-
’ vices May be a Mekulgcl Boy.
A new collectionof drawings. en-
titled, “Pictures of People,” by
Charles Dana Gibson, has been pub-
lished. Mr. Gibson has selected his
own wife as his new ideal type of the
great American girl.
[Copyrighted by the Century 00.]
The last collection of Gibson’s draw-
ings was dedicated “to a little Ameri-
can girl.” The favored person then
was his young sister. This one is dedi-
cated “to a big American girl,” who
is, of course, no other than Mrs. Gib-
son. The second book is as much an
improvement on the first as the big
girl is larger than the little" one.
- Gibson has now been known for sev-
eral years as the artistic creator of
the typical American girl. There were
critics who said that onegirl appeared
too often, but they must admit the
artist is continually giving them more
variety.
The accompanying picture of Mrs.
Gibson’s shows an independent Ameri-
can girl with an escort, who in New
York, can be employed at twenty-five
cents an hour, and is better than the
average dude, for ordinary occasions.
PLENTY OF ’EM LEFT.
“Ah! James, you've broken all the
good resolutions you made last Thanks-
giving.” ' '
“Yes, sir; but I am thankful I can
make others just as good.”
A HOUSEKEEPER’S THANKSGIVING.
She Has Many More Reasons for Feeling
Grateful than Bad Ber Ancestors. °
The season for special thankgiving
should make us consider as to whether
we are really and truly thankful for
all our blessings, whether we have not
grown so accustomed to them that we
accept them as. but our due. The
housekeeper of all persons has much
to be thankful for above her Puritan
ancestors who instituted this festival.
Those homespun: days, the “good old
times,” as they are mistakenly called;
should have little charm for the house-
wife of to-day. The modern improve-
ments in her home stand out in sharp
contrast to the primitive arrangements
in vogue one or two centuries ago.
The tufning of a faucet and the in-
stant gushing forth of hot or cold wa-
ter is a radical improvement upon the
old bucket and well, or even the later-
day pump. The modern housekeepers
can hardly comprehend the labor that
even this one feature of housekeeping
must have entailed in days gone by.
We also find it much easier to buy our
cottons and woolens in the shops rath-
er than toil Tin spinning them our-
selves, as they did. We should be
thankful that we are commencing to
learn how to live, that the mother may
know what will keep her children
well, and how to use the modest ah
lowancc so that it will cover the ex-
pense of living with a_ little margin
against the rainy day likely to come
to us all. - ‘~ ’
A. DESERVING DIPLOMAT.
. ‘sl;
Ily Flannigan—Will yer help a ”re- ’
dooced gentleman dat’s out at de knees.
lady? .
Lady—How came you to be out at
the knees? '
CHILD'REN’S Gowns. w '
Serviceable Garments in the New Materiel}
als and Fashion- 1' the-Season.
(By Special Arrangement with the 15’. Y. Sun.)
Children’s gowns and cloaks are of
especial interest now, and. the more
one thinks about children’s clothes the
more interesting they are, for there is
some satisfaction in the purchase of,
their pretty, simple gowns, which can
all be worn out'béfore they go out of
I;
style. -
There are some girls who look very
quaint. in the Puritan dress of soft,
light grey cashmere and a chemisette
of finely tucked lawn, with a broad,
hemstitched collar and culfs.‘ The
. a";
. v , - 7,1‘
‘ ‘_~A
-
A
short waist is laced with a gray cord
over the chemisette in front, and the
effect is charming on a very prim lit-
tle maiden. The gown illustrated is
of dark red smooth cloth, with a. belt
of red velvet and revers ,of cream—
white ‘cloth striped With gold braid
and trimmed with otter. Another
dress of green has a chemisette yoke,
revers and lower sleeves of green and
white Liberty satin. The sleeve puff
is of cloth, as is also the full bodice.
Still another model for serge gowns
in various colors is made with a cir-
eular skirt trimmed with broad black
braid" and a narrower width put on in
loop pattern. The bodice buttons up
the back, where it is gathered at the
waist line only, and is blouse shape in
front, plaited in at the neck. The col:
lar of white cloth trimmed with braid
is round in the back and pointed in
front. Scotch plaids are perhaps the
most economical school gowns, for
they are made very simple, with plain
hemmed skirts, full waists, Shirred
into the belt back and front, and a.
few rows of black velvet ribbon on
the collar band, cuffs and belt.
_ The ’W’ashlugton 'Monument.
One of the most singular stories that
may be told about the Washington
monument is hardly credible, yet it can
be vouched for as perfectly true. There
are hundreds of ladies in Washington
who wear upon their hats the plumage
of the entire skin of a bird which has
lost its life flying against the tall mass
of marble in the dimness of twilight
or daybreak. Every morning one of
the watchmen who spends the night
in the monument finds about its base
quite a number of birds who have lost
their lives in this way. This mortal-
ity is not limited to any one species,
but includes nearly all the birds known
'n this region. Strange to say, fer
<nglish sparrows lose their lives by
flying against the monument, but the
beautifhl golden finches, cedar birds,
starlings, tanagers, grosbeaks and
many others of bright plumage and
great rarity have been found. The
watchman takes these birds uptown to'
a taxidermist, who stuffs and mounts
the rarer specimens, which are sold for
a good round price to collectors, and the
skins of those less rare are prepared
for the milliner. Hardly a morning
comes that there are less than a score
of dead birds about the .base of the
shaft. -
Another curious thing to know about
the monument is that its height and
width vary. It I taller in summer
than in whiter, and in the latter season
its width on the south side is about
an inch greater than on the north, east
or west side. This is due to expansion
under the heat of the sun’s rays—-
Washington Star.
“The Cuban insurgents stole anothel
march orizWeyler yesterday.”
"W'hatswas that?”
“They spilled six barrels of ink on!
JJ-z;fii‘§z!e‘ies_rerisde§a_. - l
of his ammunition wagon.”
ll
Norwalk Chronicler