The Bloomfield times. [volume] (New Bloomfield, Pa.) 1867-187?, 1873-01-21

ultant motion, that humbly expressed the |
jubilee of uncomfortable jollity now whirl-
ing into somebody's garden now whisking
around barber's pole now bobbing along
the edge of fence, till at last-at last
had it,
Death could not grip harder than held
on to that cratic brim. 1t was, felt, a
hat gifted with extraordinary powers of
locomotion, and did not mean to let it
have its own sweet will again.
pulled out my watch with one hand,
holding still to my hat with the other. 1t
wanted one minute to seven, and the train
was five blocks off. Hoping against hope,
set off on run and at the corner of the
third block had the supreme satisfaction Of
hearing the final whistle, and the swift
thud and thunder of the departing train.
Twas balked, and gave my hat savage
pull as l stopped to consider what had best
be done. / mathematical hats of every
persuasion from the orthodox stove-pipe to
the Quaker broad-brim. To have crushed
the offending member on my head as fiat as
pancake, and then finished it with my
penknife would have been balm to my ag-
gravated soul.
Turning my steps in the direction Of my
Office, / walked moodily on, disappointed
man. Instead of the holiday which 1 had
SO fondly anticipated, the merry greeting
Of friends, the sight of old, long banished
faces, was still bound to the perplexities
of an interminable law case.
1t would be as well, perhaps, to attend
to business, thought, with rueful visage |;
and l prepared to resign myself with the
best grace possible.
My Office was nearly two miles from my
house. After leisurely walk 1 arrived
there just as the clock was striking eight.
Up went, scattering straws and papers,
till / gained the cheerless, uncarpeted pas
sage, and saw opposite, my own square of
painted glass, and the card, Not in till
tomorrow and ther l found had left
my office key in my other vest pocket in
dressing room wardrobe at home.
Clearly had begun the day wrong foot
|
everything went wrong. What should / do
next? / meditated upon the matter going
down stairs, utterly oblivious of basket
of oranges at my elbow till the vicious
scream of the old fruit peddler startled
me.
" Sacre sare, you are no zhentleman."
! turned, thrilled with horror. The Or
anges were racing pell nell down stairs,
to the delight of several urchins, and out
into the gutter. I, unfortunate wretch
had sent them there with an unconscious
movement of my arm as gesticulated to
myself.
Nothing stirs mutiny ina mans soul
quicker than the imputation Of not being
a gentleman. A five dollar bill, however,
healed this noisy foreigners wounds, and
mine too, for with one of his most frantic
bows the peddler repeated, "Sare, mis-
take; l see you are Won zhentlemen."
There was nothing for it now but to go
home again. pleased myself with pic
lures of Mrs George busy over my silver.
l make no secret of saying that 1 like to
see delicate, refined women at work. The
bare, round blue-veined arms, tempt
ingly displayed just below the elbow the
pretty handkerchief tied over the dark
flowing tresses the stout linen apron
jealousy keeping guard from throat to
toes; the quick, fine step; the musical
gurgle of some sweet favorite song the
dash and spirit they contriye to throw into
commonplace observances the mimic blus-
ter when one of the stupid masculines inter-
feres with their privileges, if it is only try
ing to find the shoe brush-make charm
ing aggregate delightful to one who has
never had more intimate acquaintance than
his housekeeper.
SO should see Mrs. George, perchance,
herself rubbing with those white tape fin
gers the old silver that my mother once de-
lighted to honor. 1t needed only this ex-
perience, felt to make me a willing slave,
to send me in haste to Ball s. Blacks to
choose the finest, eostliest solitaire TO be
found in their brilliant collection.
reached my home: mounted the
steps. There was a strange silence about
the premises. No cheerful hustle, 10 mer-
ry voices, no sound Of footsteps no ring OF
Gathering silverware, no anything
pulled the bell. Still completest silence
not even Jip's little cherry yell warned OF
welcomed the solitary and disappointed
home-seeker. The parlor blinds were clos
ed, the basement shades were down; Il
| seemed as If there must be q corpse in the