CHAPTER XVI.JOBE IS SCARED.

JOBE he is in a critical condition. Day before yisterday, when Jake Stiffler brought our mail out from town—it consisted of the two noosepapers that we have took for years, that is, theOhio Dimicratand theTuscarawas Advercate—I played a trick on Jobe that nearly cost him his life, and nearly made me a weepin and mournin widder.

For years and years we have took them two “stanch and substantial” noosepapers without ceasin. We have took them simply because one was a Dimicrat paper and the other a Republican. We have took them when payin for them kept me from gittin a new dress or Jobe a change of pants.

We have took them though durin all them years they have said the same things over and over agin, aginst each other and aginst the party they wasent, jist at the time, gittin any campaign money or county printin from.

TheDimicrathas allers called the Republicans rascals and sich, and theAdvercatenever fails to show how the Dimicrats are worse still.

Always, when theAdvercatecomes, Jobe he sets down and reads out loud all the abuse agin the Dimicrats; then, lookin over his specks at me, says:

“Now, Betsy, you see what kind of a party you belong to. You see now what kind of leaders youve got,” &c., &c.

Its a regular thing for Jobe to read the same things week arter week and then to criticise me and the Dimicrat party time arter time, until for years Ive been in thehabit of goin in and settin down and a listenin to Jobe read theAdvercate’sabuse of the Dimicrats, and a waitin for my regular weekly tongue-lashin. Ive done it jist for the good it seems to do Jobe.

“‘Now, Betsy, you see what kind of a party you belong to.’”

Sometimes to answer him I jist read from theOhio Dimicratthe same things he has read from theAdvercate—only where theAdvercatesays “the Dimicrat party,” theDimicratsays “the Republican party.”

Then Jobe will flare up and say:

“TheOhio Dimicratis a dum dirty sheet, and full of lies.”

He knows that I dont swear and wont say that about hisAdvercate, even if I know it is the same kind of a paper as theOhio Dimicratis, except in the name at the top of the fust page. Of course it gits its campaign money and public printin from the office-seekin canderdate fellers of the other party.

Now, when Jake brought them papers, I happened to pick up theAdvercate(a thing I seldom do), and one ofthe fust things I read was a article a praisin Mr. Cleveland for workin to git a “gold basis” and “gold mortgages” and sich. I was so surprised to find a word of praise for a Dimicrat president in a Republican noosepaper that I looked twice at the headin to make sure it was theAdvercateI had instid of theDimicrat. Sure enough it was theAdvercate, but I dont want you to blame Editure McIlvaine for sich a article appearin in his paper. He couldent help it. It was in that part of his paper that he dont print. It was in the patent part what is printed in Cleveland—the part, you know, which them fellers down east, the fellers what gits rich by havin on this gold basis bizness, pays to have in all papers, Dimicrat, Republican, Methodist, Prisbyterian or any other kind except them howlin Populist papers. Them Populists seem to be so sot agin that “gold basis,” and a “contractin of the money to make it scarce and hard to git,” that they wont put anything a favorin the “gold basis” in their papers for love or money. They are jist that mean.

So I dont want you to blame Mr. McIlvaine or any other feller for sich articles a bein in their papers. They cant help it. They jist have to do it or lose their rich money-lendin friends.

But the feelin I felt when I seed sich a article in a Republican noosepaper prompted me to do the thing that, as I said afore, nearly made me a weepin widder.

I jist thought Ide have some fun with Jobe.

So I went to work and cut the headin off from last week’sTuscarawas Advercateand pasted it over the headin of this week’sOhio Dimicrat. Then I cut the headin out of last week’sOhio Dimicratand pasted it on this week’sAdvercate. I then folded the papers up nice like and laid them on the table in the settin-room, where I had laid them week arter week for near onto fifteen years.

“So I went to work and cut out the headin.”

Arter supper, when Jobe had his chores all done up, he says, as he come in from the barn:

“Betsy, has the mail come?”

A question that he has asked about that hour, on that same day of the week, fifty-two times a year for these many years. The mail alluded to meanin theTuscarawas Advercate. I told Jobe, as usual, that it was in on the table. He took his specks down off the kitchen mantel, and, wipin them as he went on the corner of his coat tail, approached the table.

He sot down, rared back in his split-bottom rockin cheer, put his feet on another, then picked up theOhio Dimicrat(with its name changed), and begin to read, as he expected, Editure McIlvaine’s slaughter of Dimocracy.

It started out with:

“There never was a more corrupt gang in control of any State government than the Republican boodlers at Columbus.”

Then:

“Every Republican officeholder in this county seems to exist for no other purpose than to suck the life-blood out of our hard-working tax-payers. We must turn the rascals out.”

“‘It is all over, Betsy,’ says he.”

And so on and so on, clear through the paper. Jobe heread a minit or so; then looked at the name of the paper; then read another item; looked at the top of his paper agin; took off his specks; rubbed them hard; put them on and read, or started to read, another item; laid the paper down; got up and went to the lookin glass; stuck out his tongue and shook his head in a troubled manner; then he felt his pulse, shook his head agin and fell over on the lounge that was near him. He groaned once or twice, then hollered, “Betsy, Betsy!” dyin like.

I went a hurryin in. There he laid as white as a ghost, and drawin short, quick breaths.

“Why, Jobe, dear,” says I, pleadin like, “what on airth is the matter?”

“It is all over, Betsy,” says he, “all over; Ime a goin to die. The end is near. Betsy, Ive tried to be a good husband, but at times I know Ive been a little cross and contrary. Betsy, I want to hear you say you forgive me before I go.”

“Why, Jobe,” says I, “what in the world is the matter?”

“Oh, Betsy,” says he, “the end is near. I know it is. Editure McIlvaine is changed, or my mind is shattered. My mind is so onbalanced that I can no longer read my paper and understand it, or the leopard has changed his spots. Betsy, its me. It must be me, for where my paper has been praisin, it is now abusin; and where it has been abusin, it is now praisin. Betsy, I want to die. I want to die a believin that its me and not theAdvercatethat has changed. You must do the best you can, Betsy; and if you marry agin arter Ime gone, remember my last wish is that you do not marry one of them wild Populists. Betsy, will you promis?” says he.

At that I began to laf out loud, as hard as I could laf.

“Oh my! oh my!” says Jobe. “Is my wife crazy or do my eyes deceive me agin?”

I took holt of him and jerked him off the lounge, sayin:

“Here! git up and have some sense. That is all the truth you read in your paper to-nite. The office-seekers of both parties are corrupt, and if the papers were honest they would say so. Neither of them dare tell how the people have been betrayed, and so they fill up their columns with abusin the party they dont happen to belong to.”

“That nite he slept in the barn.”

Then I explained what I had done, and he jumped to his feet and swore awfully. That nite he slept in the barn, and for the second time in her married life Betsy Gaskins slept alone. Jobe is still critical and sleepin in the barn.

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