Newspaper Page Text
v IB -5
j qJ) Ipp CX ■ i
' <>
'sjl I
VOLUME TWO.
‘HUMBER TWENTY-SEVEN
WHAT WE THINK OF WHAT WE SEE
We all know the story of the bright joke, the only
one ever accredited to an Englishman that was
worth while, who was entertaining some American
friends in London and who took them as his guests
to the Henley Regatta. During the Regatta week
at Henley all the bill-boards and sign posts and
even the sidewalks are covered with very large
H’s. The American friends hardly understood just
what they meant and finally, after talking it over
among themselves, not wishing to seem to be either
unusually ignorant or inquisitive, said, “Where
fore those H’s?” The Englishman came up like
an American. He said, “Those H’s you see scat
tered around so promiscously everywhere are the
ones dropped by us Englishmen, and they seem to
have been dropped here more than anywhere else.”
As an illustration of how the dropping of the “H ”
by the English sometimes causes a misunderstand
ing, the following from “Judge” is a good sam
ple: “Hi say, ’ow long ’ave Hi got to wait for those
chops Hi sent to be warmed over?”
“Why, Ah et ’em up, boss. Yo’ tole me to.”
“You blawsted idiot; cawn’t you hunderstand
Henglish? Hi said distinctly to ’eat ’em up.”
It is not inappropriate in connection with a com
munication published in last week’s paper with ref
erence to the needs of the deaf mutes of the City
of Atlanta and elsewhere of a Minister to preach
to them in the sign language, to reproduce a little
story recently published in Harper’s Weekly. We
would not on any account seem to introduce levity
into a question to which we have devoted most se
rious thought, but there is “another side” to every
question and in this instance we believe that this
little story will give a view of the difficulties under
which deaf mutes labor better than anything we
have ever known:
“First Deaf mute —If you objected to his kissing
you, why didn’t you call for help?
“Second Deafmute—l couldn’t; he was holding
both my hands.”
And just to think what a fine excuse a deaf mute
has if her mother catches her in the parlor after
ten o’clock being kissed by her beau! No mother
in this world could get around an excuse like that.
If an attentive and interested young man was visit
ing a deaf mute and kissed her, there is no way
on earth that she could object if he held her hand.
•6
There are times when a journey during vacation
is not especially interesting, but there are also times
when a little ride on a railway car or a little jour
ney away from the scenes which surround one’s
ordinary, every-day duties affords pleasures that
linger long in memory. We believe that our last
journey on our annual vacation gave us a pleasure
that we should pass on to our readers who are in
terested in the little, amusing things that happen
only now and then. We have never laid claim to
ATLANTA, GA., AUGUST 29, 1907.
Sy A. E. RAMSAUR, Managing Editor.
any kind of relationship to Isaac Walton, but we
like fisherman and we love to hear them talk. Ev
ery fisherman who tells you about the remarkable
catches he has made, tells you that there are bad
days, good days and very good days for fishing.
Just so it was on this little journey. It was or
dained that something should occur to entertain us.
To begin with, while we were standing on the sta
tion platform beside the train that we were to take,
say to Smithville, a young man alighted from a
train that had just arrived and carrying a black
oil-cloth, near-leather valise, and earnestly said, “1
want to take the train for Smirhville. ” Owing to
the fact that we had no connection whatever with
the railroad and were not garbed in a uniform, we
saw no reason just then why he should make such
a confession to us. However, we responded just as
earnestly, “All right, you may take it, but have you
asked the others?” “What others?” was the re
sponse. “The others who are interested?” we
said. “It is all right as far as we are concerned
for you to go, but don’t ask us again, and don’t go
until you ask the others.” We did not smile, neith
er did he, but as he turned away he seemed to be
thinking some rude things. Then our attention was
attracted by a gray-haired old lady who was strug
gling down the station steps with an unusually large
number of assorted bundles. You could look at her
and tell at first glance that she was the best old
motherly soul that ever was, that everybody loved
her, and that her presence anywhere was a comfort.
The largest among her many bundles was a brown
paper sack, which subsequent events proved was
filled with about a peck of beaten biscuit. Home
made beaten biscuit are very hard to find, and it
was evident that the old lady had gone into the
city to visit some of her friends who had a cook
of the old-time Southern variety, whose specialty
was beaten biscuit. This large number of biscuits
had been given to her and she was taking them
home. At first we were so engrossed with the
young man who wanted to take the train for Smith
ville that we did not notice that a hole in a corner
of the old lady’s paper bag was an avenue of es
cape for the beaten biscuits. She entered the car
and secured a seat just in front of us. There were
not many people on the train and the old lady used
the seat just opposite her to spread out her bun
dles. For the first time she noticed, or seemed
to notice, that there was a hole in her biscuit bag,
and that the contents had been thereby consider
ably reduced.
She was just the kind of old lady who would at
tract and interest everyone who saw her and who
would never anywhere suffer lack of disinterested
and devoted services from people who did not know
her but had just seen her face. This was evidenced
by the entrance, just at this time, of the ticket
agent. He was hurried, as the train was about to
leave, but he had rushed in with three beaten bis-
cuits. He had evidently seen them leaking out of
the old lady’s paper bag and he hastened to restore
them before her train left. He came up, bowed, and
said, “Here are some biscuits you dropped, Ma’am.
I saw them when they spilled out but was busy
selling tickets and could not call your attention to
it.” The old lady thanked him most graciously
and slipped the biscuits into the mouth of the pa
per bag.
About this time the porter of the car, who had
been standing outside, came in and bowing respect
fully said, “Here are some biscuits you dropped,
Ma’am. You dropped ’em jus’ outside the car.
I’m glad I saw ’em ’fore we left.” The old lady
took these biscuits and dropped them into the bag
as she had the others. Just as the porter was turn
ing to leave, the conductor himself came in with
five beaten biscuits in his hand, and bowing to the
old lady, said, “Here are some biscuit that you
dropped, Madam, on the platform. I saw them
leaking as you came in and I do not think that they
are ruined, as the platform is clean and nice.” The
old lady thanked him graciously and the five fol
lowed the others into the bag. The conductor re
turned to the. platform, signalled, and the train
started. In about three minutes he came up to
the old lady again and said, “Here are two more
of your biscuits. I found these in the aisle.” The
old lady thanked him again, though with less gra
ciousness and with some little show of annoyance.
By this time every passenger in the car was inter
ested in the proceedings, and the old lady recog
nized that fact.
Just as she was settling down, the brakeman came
through with two biscuits and said, “Are these
yourn?” The old lady did not answer; she just
took the biscuits and dropped them into the bag.
About this time (the passengers having lost interest
in everything else) the conductor came back with
one more biscuit and started to bow as he offered
it to her. She was an old lady, but her patience
had been tried, and the weather was warm, so she
rose up and said to him earnestly and feelingly:
“Sir, I will not allow myself to be profane, but by
a gracious Providence I’ll try to shed your blood if
you bring me another biscuit!”
The conductor turned away, looking at her more
in sorrow than in anger. All of the passengers sub
sided and looked out of the window, but of course
there was a child about four years old crawling
around under the seats and he found another bis
cuit. There is no reason to think that this chlid
knew to whom the biscuit belonged, but Fate at
most times loves to keep up the joke, and it must
have been Fate that made the child go over to the
old lady and innocently say, “Here’s your bittit.”
The old lady did not take the “bittit,” she simply
rose up, gathered up her bundles and got off at the
station at which the train had just arrived.
And it was not her station, either.
TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
EIVE CENTS A COPY.
