Puck — September 10, 1879 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

428 PUCK “< Get in there,” was all the satisfaction he re- ceived, as she literally shoved him into the room, and then locked the door behind her. “ Heavens! is she going to take advantage of its being leap-year ?” thought the astonished and thoroughly mystified Bob. But he only said: « And now, Mary darlint, what’s the mean- ing av all this?” “That's the meaning,” she said, handing him a letter. “Well, what of that, Mary?” he said, re- cognizin; f, the handwriting. “ This is only Mr. Campbell's writing. What's all the mystery Shout? “ Perhaps,” said she, “ you might find out if youo ed the letter and Jead it. Bat I can't help t inking it’s something serious.” “ Serious ?” “Yes, sir. Do you know’—and here she dropped her voice to the faintest whisper— “ that Mr. Campbell”—for the domestics still continued to call him by his assumed name, “was never in his bed last night?” “Is the girl mad?” “No, sir; I’m not mad; and more than that, there’s none of his things in his room, so he must have packed them up and gone away. And—and—you won't be angry at me, sir? but I thought the letter might be iroport- ant, and—and that you mightn’t like to get it in presence of the family.” “Ye're a good girl, and a wise one, too, Mary,” said Bob with empressement, as he tore open the letter and read it, What his thoughts were he eek good care to keep to himself; but if ever bewilderment and fear were depicted on human face, they were on his, and Mary saw it in terror. “«What has happened, Doctor?” she cried, in her excitement laying hold of his sleeve. “Nothing, Mary, nothing,” was the reply; “ only be sure and say nothing about this until I see you again.” Another moment and he was rushing up- stairs to Archie's room, while the breakfast company were wondering what was keeping him, and Gleninver, with true Highland hos- pitality, was advising that the mysterious visitor be invited to breakfast. (To be continued.) A Troy burglar lost his liberty and his plun- der by stopping to kiss the sleeping mistress of the house he had ransacked. He says the next time he will be content with the booty and let the beauty alone,— Morristown Herald. Mrs, SmitH of New York, according to the Herald, stole a wash-tub to keep her children from starving. A family that can dine satisfac- torily off a wash-tub must be reduced to the very lowest extremity.— Buffalo Express. “ Tr Lincoln had not died,” exclaimed a po- litical orator, “ what would he have been to- day?” “Alive, ’ sadly ventured a timid-looking man on a back seat, and the tide of eloquence was momentarily checked.— Burlington Hawk- oe. “ Puck" should be put into pantaloons. Small clothes of ‘‘ crayon "—now that he has become so strong and healthy—are, to say the least of it, inadequate. A modest suggestion to the Editor.—Madison Square Garden Pro- gramme, A younc gentleman who has just returned from a tour through the mountains and along shore, remarks: “It’s queer that whatever sum- mer hotel you go to you most always see some boarder that seems to run the hotel.— White Mountain Echo. ANOTHER good man at Fall River, Mass., has Pack’ 8 Bre anges. Tue baby rolls upon the floor, Kicks up his tiny feet, And pokes his toes into his mouth— Thus making both ends meet. The dog, attached to a tin pail, Goes bovine down the street, And, as he madly bites his tail, He maketh both ends meet. + The butcher slays the pensive pig, Cuts off his ears and feet, And grinds them in a sausage big— Thus making both ends meet. —Hackensack Republican, Ture is no barrel of clams however watched and tended But one bad clam is there. There we no tub of butter howsoe’er com- unded Bat Eas its lock of hair, —Oil City Derrick, been speculating in futures and going wrong with other peoples’ money. The sort of futures these men are playing with will be determined after death, when the great hereafter is defined. —WN. O. Picayune, A WOMAN may wear her hat knocked into any conceivable shape, and both herself and the hat are pronounced perfectly lovely; but just let a man jam in one side of the hat he wears, and he is at once proclaimed a first-class rowdy. — Toronto Graphic. ‘Tue White Mountain hotels are full of Mas- sachusetts school ma’ams, who act as waiters. When one of them looks at a guest through her glasses, and asks him if he will have another plate of hash in six languages, he is nearly para- lyzed.—S. F. Argonaut, Wuen Mrs. Hayes suggested to her husband at the cattle-show that he might study a drowsy Durham to get some ideas for a bull-dozing veto, Rutherford replied: ‘‘ My dear, don’t mar our recreation by continually calling to mind the shop.”—Boston Post, Frienp to scientific authority—‘ Doctor, how is a man to ell a mushroom from a toad- stool?” Scientific authority—“ By eating it. If you live, it is a mushroom; if you die, it is a toad- stool.”— Chicago Tribune (?) Iowa has a doctor who cures the disease known as shingles by cutting off the head of a cat and rubbing the blood upon the sores. How unerring is the feline instinct that drives the harmless, necessary cat to the roof o' nights, to yield its best blood to heal the shingles!— Boston Transcript. Tue tomato is masquerading about the market stalls under more a/iases than you can shake a stick. at. There are tomatoes, tor- marters, tommytoes, tomattuses, tommattocs, tormatoes, and the other day we heard a woman inquire, “How d’ye sell yer tornadoes ?”— New Haven Register. Says Joaquin Miller, writing of the river Thames: “ By the side of this great commer- cial artery of the earth broods London—broods and broods and broods.” He might have added, with equal force and truth, that it broods, and broods, and broods, and broods, and broods and broods, and broods, and broods,— Rockland Courier. THE MUSHERY. Ellen McAroon: ‘How do you clean tin- ware ?” writes this young lady. What on earth are you giving us?. We don’t clean tin-ware at all. We don’t do anything but write pretty things. Mollie McGuire wants to know ‘ what is the prevailing color in boys’ stockings?” Well, a gray slate-shade of a heavy drab color, with deeper tints of old brown and leather shades at the heel and toe. P. Phelps: Allis forgotten and there is no- thing to forgive. You can come down in the morning without a tremor, We would send you a token of reconciliation, but somebody got at it last night, and this morning there isn’t a solitary drop in it. Jennie MeGilvery says she ‘cuts her tomatoes in two and fries them slawly on both sides in butter and lard.” Well, now, Jennie, who un- der the sun cares if you do? They're your own tomatoes, aren’t they? You have a right to slice them into and dry them in lard, or you can sit down on them, or you can fire them against the end of your ‘neighbor's barn to see them “bust.” We set ours out on the cistern box for five minutes the other day, and a hun- gry tramp came along and ate them all up. This is a household department, but if it is to be filled up with accounts of what people do with their tomatoes, it might as well be shut up, for it has outlived its usefulness. Jabez Thistlepod wants to know if we can tell him “how to preserve apples from the worms?” We can. Let a ten-year-old boy from town have the run of the orchard three days of the week. The worms will starve to death the second day of the first week. Mrs. Jannaker wants to know “what she shall do with her boys?” It depends a great deal on the number of them and on their ages. But we think yo ju might roast the eldest, if there isn’t too much of him, and the others you can make into pemmican and keep for the winter. John Benamy has a horse, he writes, that is going blind, and wants to know what he shall do with him. Well, sell him to your pastor; he is probably a good, trustful man, and you can swindle him more easily than you could a regularly-ordained horse-jockey.— Burlington Hawkeye. A Few nights ago a man in Brockville, who had been ill several weeks, shot and severely wounded.his physician, It is thought the sick man was delirious, but that is too gauzy. If the physician were to die, an intelligent jury would soon determine that his patient shot him in self- defense.— Norristown Herald. To tell the truth, we are surprised that the women folks show the amount of common sense they do. Young man, supposing you were told, say twenty times a day, how bright your eyes are, what magnificent tresses are yours, how enchanting your society is, how nicest, sweetest, best you are; how long, think you, before you would develop into the assiest kind of a jackass —always provided you were not one at the start ?—Boston Transcript. ‘Tue remarkable unanimity that is so pleasant to observe between man and wife is nicely illu- strated by the following letters of same date: Up County, August 20. Dear John—I am going to stay another week. Am having a splendid time. Affectionately, Junta. City, August 20. Dear Julia—You can stay another week, Am having a splendid time. Affectionately, Joun. For some reason or other, she concluded to pack up and start for home immediately, to see about his “splendid time."—W. H. Register. ‘Comicbooks-com