The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1877-10-06
A SeaSOnable Story.


PUTTING up a stove is not so difficult
in itself. 1t is the pipe that raises four
fifths of the mischief and all the dust.
You may take down a stove with all the
care in the world, and yet that pipe won't
come together again as it was before.
You find this out when you are standing
on chair with your arms full of pipe
snd your mouth full of SCOT. Your wife
is standing on the floor in position
that enables her to see you, the pipe and
the chair and she gives utterance to those
remarks that are calculated to hasten a
man into the extremes of insanity. Her
dress is pinned over her waist and her
hands rest on her hips. She has got one
of your hats on her head, and linen
coat on her back, and pair of rubbers
on her feet. There is about five cents
worth of pot black on her nose, and lot
of flour on her chin, and altogether she
is spectacle that would inspire dead
man with distrust. And while you are
up there trying to circumvent the awful
contrariness of the pipe, and telling that
you know some fool has been mixing it,
she stands safely on the floor and bonn
bards you with such domestic notices
as: What's the use of swearing so?"
" You know no one has touched that
pipe" "You amt got any more patience
than a child" DO be careful of that
chair" And then she goes and reap
pears with an armful more of pipe, and
before you are aware of it she has got
that pipe so horribly mixed up that
it does seem that no two pieces are alike.
You join the ends and work them to and
fro, and to and fro again, and then
you take them apart and look at
them. Then you spread one out and
jam the other together and mount them
once more. But it is no go. You begin
to think the pieces are inspired with
life and ache to kick them through the
window. But she doesn't lose her pa
thence. She goes around with that aw-
full exasperating rigging on, with length
of pipe under each arm and a long
handled broom in her hand, and says she
don't see how it is that some people
never have any trouble in putting up
stove. Then you miss the hammer. You
don't see it anywhere. You stare into
the pipe, along the mantel, and down
the stove, and off to the floor. Your
wife watches you and is finally thought
full enough to inquire what you are look
ing after; and, on learning, pulls the ar
ticle from her pocket. Then you feel as
if you could 60 out and swear hole
twelve foot square through block of
brick buildings, but she merely observes:
" Why on earth don't you speak when
you want anything, and not stare around
like dummy" When that part of the
pipe which goes through the wall is up,
she keeps it up with the broom while
you are making the connection and stares
at it with an intensity that is entirely
uncalled for. All the while your position
is becoming more and more interesting.
The pipe don't go together, of course.
The SCOT shakes down into your eyes and
mouth, the sweat rolls down your face
and tickles your chin as it drops off, and
it seems as if your arms were slowly but
surely drawing out of their sockets
Here your wife comes to the rescue by
inquiring if you are going to be all day
doing nothing, and if you think her arms
are made of cast-iron; and then the
broom slips oft the pipe, and in her en-
deavor to recover her hold she jabs you
under the chin with the handle, and the
pipe comes down on your head with it's
load of fried SCOT, and then the chair
tits forward enough to discharge your
feet, and you come down on the wrong
end of the chair with force that would
bankrupt a pile-driver. You don't
touch that stove again. You leave your
wife examining the chair and bemoaning
its injuries, and go into the kitchen and
wash your skinned and bleeding hands
with yellow soap. Then you go down
the street after man to do the business
and your wife goes over to the neigh
boris with her chair, and tells them about
the injuries, and drains the neighborhood
dry with its sympathy long before you
get home.-DGn6ury NesOs.