Life — September 1, 1904 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘gqrmanT FOR CREAT BRITA BY JAMES HERDEREON UNOER T4E ACT OF 1801, Died for His Dog. HE river front in old Greenwich village was lined early last evening with crowds of workers secking rest and coolness after their day’s work, when a tramp, followed by a dog, ambled up to the stringpiece on the bulk- pead at the foot of Charles Street and took a sat, The tramp was young, but very ragged, nd the dog was 'most any sort of a dog, but little black eyes were bright and he had an way of fawning upon any one who nd glance. In a few minutes the - had made friends of every one of the weary line of watchers, who now felt not urkindly toward its master, and some of them even went So far as to pass the time of day with the man. “Smart dog, that,” said the show you what he can do. where's your manners?” Snip rose on his hind legs and bowed gravely. He wagged his tail furiously when the crowd applauded and dashed about frantically, want- ing more sport. He was put through his paces, standing on his head in his master’s hand, walking on his fore legs, jumping, playing dead and performing sundry other tricks, and then his master set him to bringing back a stick. A dozen times Snip dashed after the flying missile and returned in triumph with it to his master’s feet. At length the tramp said: “Now, for the last time, Snip. Show ‘em what you can do.” And he threw the stick With the air of a veteran fielder, endearin} gave h litle bru tramp. “I'll Here, Snip, into the air. Snip sat on his haunches and watched the stick sail upward and descend, ready to spring and seize it when it came down, He made a dash for it, but the stick fell on the string- piece, and in his eagerness Snip pushed it into the water. For an instant Snip teetered on the edge of the stringpiece, gave his master an appealing look and then sprang into the water, From the look on the tramp’s face when Snip disappeared it might have been his only friend who had fallen into the water. He threw off his coat and took a header into the dock among the driftwood and canal boats. The crowd on the stringpiece leaned over and watched for him to come up, saying that it was a foolish thing to do with the water twelve feet below the stringpiece and nothing to crawl up by. Charles Webster, a painter who sleeps on the piers these rose and got a coil of rope to help Snip and his master. Down on the dock Snip was swimming around whining. The circlet made by the tramp in his plunge had disappeared, and that was all. Everybody waited for a few minutes, when somebody said: “He's drowned or he'd ’a’ come up.” Webster, the homeless painter, took off his shoes and himself took a header just where the tramp had dived. He was down a long time and came up only for a breath before taking another dive. But the tramp never came up, nor could he be found. Webster, the painter, dived and dived, swimming beneath the canal boats, groping for the body of the tramp, until he was exhausted and was dragged from the water by a couple of longshoremen in a boat. Policeman Thaddeus O'Reilly, of the Charles Street police station, got some ropes and more longshoremen in boats organized a searching party and dragged their ropes along the bottom of the canal boats, thinking to find the tramp’s body if it had caught there, but to no purpose. It was not found. In the excitement the crowd forgot Snip, and he was carried away by the tide—New York Evening Sun. HAVE come to get my wife photo graphed,” said the determined-looking man as he entered the studio, followed by a meek-looking woman, ‘You can make fools look grand, sir, can't you?" “Certainly, sir,” replied the photographer; “that is part of my business, you know.” “Well, Maria here fell out of the window last year and broke her nose. You can straighten it out, 1 suppose?” “Certainly, sir.” “And can you push in Maria’s ears so that she won't look so much like a rabbit?” “Oh, I think so.” “And what about the squint in her left eye?” “Oh, I can touch it up with Indian ink.” “And the freckles?” hey won't appear on the picture at all.” “And will the hair be red?” “Oh, no.” “Well, you can go ahead. Sit down there, Maria, and try to look pleasant.”—Exchange. 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