PA.I’vegot one of the best Pa’s in this world. Pa is very fond of me, too; in fact, no one ever comes to our house when Pa’s home that he don’t commence to praise me before he even asks the guest to be seated. Pa’s not rich, so we often have to make both ends meet by resorting to novel expedients; and even then, the ends don’t stay together worth speaking of. Pa’s memory is none of the best; poor, dear man, I’ve known him to eat two soft-boiled eggs while trying to determine whether or not he had seasoned them. The other day Pa brought young Judson, the lawyer, home to dinner; we had codfish and potatoes with warmed-up coffee from breakfast. Ma almost fainted. Judson said he doted on cod-fish—but then he is a lawyer—Ma trod on my foot—said she in a whisper, “Tell your father not to ask him to have more coffee.” Pa caught the word coffee. “Why, yes,” yelled out Pa, “Judson, my boy, pass over your cup!” I never felt so mortified in my life; there wasn’t a single drop in the pot!“You must pardon us,” stammered Ma. “Never mind excuses,” interrupted Pa, “Pour out the nectar, Matilda—why—why—”“Yes, why,”—mother’s face was scarlet—“it is why—why have you not had the hole in the bottom of this pot mended? the coffee’s all leaked out.” Poor ma! how I pitied her.Last night the Higgins girls called to know if we liked the style of their new silk dresses—such stuck-up mortals I never saw—their father used to mend Pa’s boots—owes his fortune to a judicious use of chalk and an old pump—and styles himself a retired milk dealer. Pa happened to be in the parlor when the Higgins girls floated in. “Hannah,” said Pa, “go upstairs and get the silk dress you’ve just finished.” “Why Pa, how you do talk,” said I, my heart almost ceasing to beat. “Don’t be so modest, Hannah,” he continued, “show the young ladies how handy you are.” “Oh, Pa!” I cried, trying to get his mind off the dress, “did you ever see such beautiful bonnets?” The fates were against me. “Ladies,” said Pa, “that girl is worth her weight in gold; she’s just finished trimming over a last season’s hat, and has just made the handsomest dress out of her Ma’s old silk frock that ever a human eye rested on!” The Higgins girls giggled, and I—I could have sunk through the floor.One day Pa said he would take us to a matinee. It was on a Monday, but Ma said she’d put off the washing, although the washerwoman declared she’d never put up with such tomfoolery again. Pa came home later than usual, and almost hurried us to death. At last we arrived at the theatre, streaming with perspiration. A grand opera was to be given, and the entrance was crowded. Pa began searching for his tickets. He first dove into one pocket, then into another; meantime we were elbowed and jostled by the throng. “Strange,” groaned Pa, “I put them in my vest pocket.” Just at that moment Judson and his two sisters alighted from a hack. Pa turned white as chalk, then red as a canned lobster. “Come, quick,” he gasped, “this way.” We followed him to the corner. “What’s the matter, dearie?” asked Ma. “Why,” groaned Pa, “Judson’s got my tickets. I gave them to him last night, but forgot all about it until he just now jumped outof the hack.” So we lost that opera and a good washerwoman, too. Still, Pa’s awful nice.—Geo.M. Vickers.
I’vegot one of the best Pa’s in this world. Pa is very fond of me, too; in fact, no one ever comes to our house when Pa’s home that he don’t commence to praise me before he even asks the guest to be seated. Pa’s not rich, so we often have to make both ends meet by resorting to novel expedients; and even then, the ends don’t stay together worth speaking of. Pa’s memory is none of the best; poor, dear man, I’ve known him to eat two soft-boiled eggs while trying to determine whether or not he had seasoned them. The other day Pa brought young Judson, the lawyer, home to dinner; we had codfish and potatoes with warmed-up coffee from breakfast. Ma almost fainted. Judson said he doted on cod-fish—but then he is a lawyer—Ma trod on my foot—said she in a whisper, “Tell your father not to ask him to have more coffee.” Pa caught the word coffee. “Why, yes,” yelled out Pa, “Judson, my boy, pass over your cup!” I never felt so mortified in my life; there wasn’t a single drop in the pot!
“You must pardon us,” stammered Ma. “Never mind excuses,” interrupted Pa, “Pour out the nectar, Matilda—why—why—”
“Yes, why,”—mother’s face was scarlet—“it is why—why have you not had the hole in the bottom of this pot mended? the coffee’s all leaked out.” Poor ma! how I pitied her.
Last night the Higgins girls called to know if we liked the style of their new silk dresses—such stuck-up mortals I never saw—their father used to mend Pa’s boots—owes his fortune to a judicious use of chalk and an old pump—and styles himself a retired milk dealer. Pa happened to be in the parlor when the Higgins girls floated in. “Hannah,” said Pa, “go upstairs and get the silk dress you’ve just finished.” “Why Pa, how you do talk,” said I, my heart almost ceasing to beat. “Don’t be so modest, Hannah,” he continued, “show the young ladies how handy you are.” “Oh, Pa!” I cried, trying to get his mind off the dress, “did you ever see such beautiful bonnets?” The fates were against me. “Ladies,” said Pa, “that girl is worth her weight in gold; she’s just finished trimming over a last season’s hat, and has just made the handsomest dress out of her Ma’s old silk frock that ever a human eye rested on!” The Higgins girls giggled, and I—I could have sunk through the floor.
One day Pa said he would take us to a matinee. It was on a Monday, but Ma said she’d put off the washing, although the washerwoman declared she’d never put up with such tomfoolery again. Pa came home later than usual, and almost hurried us to death. At last we arrived at the theatre, streaming with perspiration. A grand opera was to be given, and the entrance was crowded. Pa began searching for his tickets. He first dove into one pocket, then into another; meantime we were elbowed and jostled by the throng. “Strange,” groaned Pa, “I put them in my vest pocket.” Just at that moment Judson and his two sisters alighted from a hack. Pa turned white as chalk, then red as a canned lobster. “Come, quick,” he gasped, “this way.” We followed him to the corner. “What’s the matter, dearie?” asked Ma. “Why,” groaned Pa, “Judson’s got my tickets. I gave them to him last night, but forgot all about it until he just now jumped outof the hack.” So we lost that opera and a good washerwoman, too. Still, Pa’s awful nice.
—Geo.M. Vickers.