Poor B. is kicked by a calf.
"I took the camera home with me and carefully assimilated the printed instructions which accompanied it, fixed up a dark room in the woodshed and then sauntered proudly back with my machine under my arm to photograph the baby.
"Now, I've always prided myself on the genial good nature of my infant. He hardly ever cries or kicks the covers off, or becomes afflicted with colic about 3 A.M. The butcher says he takes after me, though my wife won't acknowledge this, notwithstanding the fact that the butcher has six of his own and ought to know. Well, the moment I came in, that kid, instead of rolling his eyes and saying, 'a-goo-goo,' which means 'papa,' as everyone knows, set up a regular Comanche howl and threw his rattle at me. When I took him in my arms and tried to quiet him, he clawed at my eyes, kicked a pocketful of cigars to pieces and bellowed so vociferously that I gave him back to his ma.
"After a while he began to listen to reason and I set up my outfit near the window in order to have a good light. I tore down a blind and ripped a lace curtain clear across in my effort to get two exposures, and, Good Lord! you ought to see those prints.
"In the first snap I must have moved the camera, for I got only one side of the baby, but that side had three different arms and you could see the back of the chair through all of them. The second was normal, as to limbs, etc., and plumb in the center, but it was all fuzzy, like an impressionist picture.
"I took them to the photo' store and asked the clerk what was wrong. He said:
"'Why, you've timed 'em too long. He's moved all over the plate. You want to use a big stop and make it quick!'
"'But what do you make it of and what is it for?' I asked perplexedly.
"He laughed and explained that I should make the hole in my lens larger and take a more rapid exposure; then he sold me a bottle of flashlight powder.
"That night I thought I would take a group at the dinner table, so we all assembled around the board. After knocking down a couple of pictures and upsetting the cuspidor, I got things all ready to light the fuse, expecting to get back to my chair and be in the picture before the stuff went off. The moment I lit it, however, the durned thing blazed up like a small volcano and I ran around the room for a minute or so with my thumb in my mouth. Then I discovered that the slide had not been withdrawn from the plate-holder. Well, the room was full of smoke and the baby was so badly frightened that we had to put him to bed before I could make another attempt. When my wife came back I set the cat up in the high-chair to fill out the gapand tried it again. This time, by using a long fuse and making a third-base slide, I got almost to my chair and the prospects looked promising. The result was an excellent view of the back of my head, occupying three-fourths of the plate, through which could be dimly discerned a silhouette of my wife and a black streak in mid-air which represented the cat jumping over the coffeepot.
Poor B. hanging by his pantaloons on a fence-post.
"I know a fellow, though, who had a worse experience than mine. He took home a kodak and a 'creme de menthe' jag one night, and, as all his folks had retired and he was too impatient to wait until morning, he went out to the stable to flashlightthe calf. The calf was too sleepy to object till the stuff exploded. Then he became imbued with such sudden and tremendous vitality that he kicked poor B. and his outfit into the middle of next week. The hired man heard the racket and found him hanging by his pantaloons on a fence-post. Part of the tripod was about his neck; his hair was full of ground glass and he was murmuring something about a trolley-car. They put him to bed and the first thing he said after he came to, was, 'Did they arrest the motorman?'
"I hear fellows talking about golf and driving four-in-hand, but, if anyone wants to experience a real hot time, let him get one of these easy-working cameras and practice on the family."
"Spiritualism is a wonderful thing," said the Observer in a retrospective tone. "As a source of valuable information, it beats the Encyclopedia Brittanica in an easy hand gallop; the tonsorial artist is not in its class and even the 'Intelligence Office,' pales into innocuous desuetude beside it.
"Had it not been for a recent visit to a medium, I should never have learned many important truths which affect me very closely. In the first place I should not have known that I have a little brother and sister in 'spirit life.' I had always considered myself an only child and all of my relatives and friends cherished the same illusion. You may imagine my astonishment, then, at receiving messages from Brother Charley and Sister Ida, both of whom the medium describedwith marvelous attention to detail. They told me not to worry—that it would all come right, and that they were always with me, which is comforting and shows how affectionate children can be—even in spirit life.
"The next revelation which came from the 'other side' was the statement that a dark cloud which was then hovering over me, would soon pass away. This was interesting as well as instructive and, as I was idly speculating as to the exact location of the cloud, I was suddenly startled to learn that two beautiful young women—one fair and wealthy, the other dark and poor, but accomplished—had won my heart and that I was hesitating as to which one I loved the more.
"This was somewhat distressing and wholly unpremeditated on my part. I caught myself hoping, with a vague sense of guilt, that my wife wouldn't hear of it, for I knew it would worry her and bringabout complications between us. Perhaps this was the dark cloud, I ruminated, and felt cheered by the assurance that it would soon pass away. The spirit that told me these things was evidently in a communicative mood and had, no doubt, looked up my case very carefully.
"'You are very sensitive,' she told me—I use the word 'she' advisedly, for no masculine spirit could possibly have ferreted out all these facts. 'You touch many natures closely and benefit by this faculty.' I had just borrowed a little money from a friend and wondered if anything personal was intended by the word 'touch.' But I cast this thought aside as unworthy—no spirit would resort to slang.
"'Do you often hear voices, indistinctly?' continued the spirit, 'strange voices which seem to call you and then sink away?' I thought of the telephone and wondered how she could have known.
"'Yes,' I said, I hear them every day.'
"'Ah!' said the spirit, 'you are mediumistic.'
"I started. 'Is it painful?' I asked, 'or likely to become chronic?'
"The medium sat bolt upright in her chair and rubbed her eyes violently. 'Your levity has destroyed the conditions,' she said. 'Two dollars, please.'
"I paid the money, and, in going out, I met a man looking at his watch in an irritated way.
"'I engaged a sitting for 3 o'clock by telephone,' he said. 'Why have I been kept waiting half an hour?'
"The medium's jaw dropped with peculiar suddenness and she sat down heavily in a chair. A sudden revelation came to me.
"'Sir,' I said, addressing the stranger, 'pardon the inquiry, but have you a Sister Ida and a Brother Charley in spirit life? Do you love twowomen—one fair and wealthy, the other poor and dark, but talented? Does a dark cloud hover over your life and do you hear voices calling you from afar? Are you sensitive and have you developed the sense of tou—?'
"'Enough!' cried the man, hoarsely. 'I am convinced—here is your money,' and he handed me a five-dollar bill.
"'Thanks,' said I, and left them there together."
The Potency of the Testimonial.
Did
"Did you ever read the testimonial letters of noted persons?" said the Observer, thoughtfully, stirring his coffee. "There are many things which come with fame besides public adulation; they are material things and have a certain commercial as well as sentimental value, such as soap and corsets, patent medicines, face powder, vapor baths, books, cigars, corned beef, fountain pens, and patented trouser hangers. As soon as a man gets his name in print a few times he is deluged with samples by every manufacturer in the country. I know an actor who hasn't bought a cake of toilet soap sincehe began to play leading parts. All he's got to do is to write a testimonial for some new brand, saying he would use no other, and he gets a case; then, there is a leading lady who once endorsed a certain kind of shoe, and now she's got a dozen pairs in her trunk, which didn't cost her a cent.
"Among the personal effects of the late Senator D—— were six dozen porous plasters and nearly a gross of Casey's Liver Regulator. Whether the senator's demise was due to his strenuous efforts to deplete this generous supply has never been made known, but I very much doubt if the doctor, who attributed his death to heart failure was familiar with these facts at the time.
"Another famous statesman, who was as bald as he was absent-minded, once mailed a testimonial to the manufacturer of Blank's Hair Restorer, enclosing a photograph of himself. In their next advertisement they made two cuts from the picture,painting a profusion of wavy hair upon one, and ran them over a reproduction of his letter, labeled, 'Before and after using.' When the old gentleman saw it he was so pleased with his appearance in the latter cut that he straightforth bought a wig and ever afterwards kept up the delusion.
"Then there's the man who is cured by X-Y-Z Cough Cure, or Blither's Sarsaparilla. He may not be known to half a hundred people before he tries this wonderful stimulant; but after he takes half a dozen bottles and is 'snatched from the jaws of death,' his name and features become familiar to several millions of people. I know a carpenter in a northern county who resorted to this method and was so well advertised that, when the national representative for that district died, B—— was nominated for Congress and elected by a big majority.
"There is a saying that 'some men are borngreat; some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.' I don't know who made this statement, or why it was made, but it's dollars to doughnuts that the fellow who did was saved from an untimely grave by the curative powers of Bunker Hill Stomach Bitters and rose from obscurity to high position as a result."
Reading Dante's Inferno."They usually read * * * Dante's Inferno and think how sweet it is to suffer."
A
"Ambition is a good thing," said the Observer, deftly flicking the ash from his cigar. "It provides one with a certain amount of incentive which may prove useful in developing latent resources, but it ought to be carried about in a glass case and labeled, 'Handle with care.'
"Cæsar had an ambition, but he overworked it with disastrous effect. Napoleon got good results from his for a while, but it finally gave out on him, and William Jennings Bryan, the latest prominent victim of ambition is in such a bad way that he has to ride on tourist cars, like 'common people.' This may be due to a beautiful spirit of consistencyon his part, as editor of the 'Commoner,' but it is not in line with his ambition. All of which goes to show that ambition is no more subject to a guarantee than a patent-leather shoe—it looks very fine when you first get it, but it cracks.
"Then there is the ideal, which is even more perishable, but can fortunately be replaced when it breaks—for it does not wear out. Like a Prince Rupert drop, it is just as good as new until something steps on its tail, and then there is nothing left but a noise and a disturbed atmospheric condition.
"After a fellow's ideal, explodes he generally idles away his time pitying himself and saying sarcastic things about the entire human race, until he achieves a local reputation as a cynic. When in this state of mind there is no use in telling him that he is not the only original possessor of a bona fide broken ideal. He'll show you a little superficialscratch and say in husky tones, 'see this great wound it has made in my constitution, it will never heal. Happiness is an iridescent dream. Go and leave me to my fate! 'Then he'll heave a sigh which he thinks comes from a broken heart, but which really emanates from a dyspeptic condition, caused by lack of exercise. After a while he finds that this brand of romance is an overcrowded field and that he doesn't get sufficient sympathy to make it pay. When he realizes that he is up against the competitive system good and hard, he bids a fond farewell to sentiment and goes to work.
"It is interesting to watch young women, just after they lose an ideal. They generally have more time to indulge the 'broken heart' idea and do it so much more scientifically than men. It is very effective to lounge about in a darkened room, wearing a pale, hopeless expression andpicturesque négligée. They usually read Faust and Dante's Inferno and think how sweet it is to suffer.
"When friends come to cheer them up they sigh softly and say, 'Ah, no; it is too late. Once I had aims and aspirations, but Fate has swept them all away. I shall only drift and drift now, until it is all over.'
"Then, the comforters go away with tears in their eyes and send her flowers.
"'How the poor child has suffered,' they say. But Providence only has a quiet laugh up her sleeve and says, as she winks the other eye,
"'What fools these mortals be!'"
The Telephone Face.
"What's the matter with that man?" said the Observer, repeating his friend's interrogation, as they passed a pedestrian wearing a most prodigious frown. "Don't you know what's the matter with him? He's got the telephone face.
"Never heard of it, eh? Well, that shows that your powers of perception are not particularly acute. The telephone face is no longer a physiognomical freak, but a prevalent expression among the several thousand unfortunate clerks and business men who find extensive use for the telephone necessary. It is a distinctive cast of features, too, which can readily be distinguished from any other by one who can read faces at all.
"The dyspeptic has a 'face.' His expression is fitful and disgruntled, but underlying it is a gleamof hope; the insolvent man, harassed by creditors, has another well-defined type of facial mold. It is haunted and worried, with a tinge of defiance in it; the owner of the 'bicycle face' has his features set in lines of deadly resolution; the 'golf face' displays fanatical enthusiasm and a puzzled look resulting from a struggle with the vocabulary of the game; the 'poker face' shows immobility and superstition; the 'telegraph face,' according to a well-known New York professor, is 'vacant, stoic and unconcerned,' but the 'telephone face' stands out among all of these in a class peculiar to itself. There are traces of a battle and defeat marked on it; the stamp of hope deferred and resignation, yet without that placidity which usually betokens the acceptance of an inevitable destiny. The brows are drawn together above the nose, and at times a murderous glint shows in the half-closed eyes of the possessor.
"The peculiar feature about the man with the 'telephone face' is, that he always believes the day will come when he will be able to get the right number and the right man without being told that the 'line's busy,' 'party does not reply,' or 'phone is out of order.' He is like the man who always backs the wrong horse, the poet with an 'Ode to Spring,' or the honest man seeking a political job, continually defeated, but ever dreaming of ultimate success.
"I know of only one instance in which the dream was realized. A new girl had been installed in a telephone office without proper instructions—a most unprecedented case. A bookkeeper, grown gray in the service of a large mercantile house, picked up his receiver wearily. It rang the new girl's bell, and like a flash, she said, 'Hello.' The bookkeeper gasped. 'Is that you, Central?' he asked huskily. 'Yes,' replied the unsophisticated maiden,pleasantly. 'What number, please?' The old man sat bolt upright and clutched the desk. 'Give me purple six double-nine,' he said, in quavering tones, and his weak form trembled as he spoke. Nimbly worked the fingers of the uninitiated telephone girl, as she struck a peg in the switchboard and quickly rang a bell. A voice at the other end responded promptly, and the bookkeeper wiped cold beads of perspiration from his brow before he answered. 'Is this Jones & Company?' he almost shrieked. 'Yes,' came the reply, full and clear, 'this is Jones talking.'
"A dull thud followed, and, when the other clerks rushed in, they found the old man lying still and cold, his right hand still grasping the receiver of the telephone, which had fallen to the floor beside him, and a smile of the most transcendent happiness they had ever seen, upon his faded lips."