The Manitowoc tribune. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1866-1878, 1878-01-10
JOE,S NEW-YEAR'S DINNER.

To have seen Joe Sterling stubbine
about the store of Messrs. Sampson &
Sturges no one would have suspected
him of being a hero-a little, short
beardless fellow, with peaked face, anG
shoulders that stood out sharply-wear
ing never plume, nor scarf, nor slashe6
velvet doublet, like the hero of romance
and chivalry, neither epaulets and GOLD
lace like the military hero, neither
| broadcIoth and beaver like the gentle.
man hero of the moral drama, but at.
tired with severe simplicity in a well.
worn pepper -and-salt'' suit, that
| pinehed about the shoulders, and was
too short in the sleeves, his sallow com.
! plexion effectively set off by "a sky-bIue
neck-tie-a tie which Flkins, spruce
fellow-clerk, who supported dictionary
had stigmatized as "perennial'-his
cuff-butttons not mates. Oh, but, Joe
| blessed be the world on its New-Year'f
days, if it had more like you!
Who Joe was, where he came from in
| the morning, where he went at night,
interested neither Sampson nor Sturges
nor Filkins. The latter had, one even
ing, invited him out to witness the pre-
sentation of that glory of the drama,
1.-THE Black Sheep to be followed by
's the side-splitting farce of 'The One
legged Shoemaker >" but Joe had DO
litely declined, murmuring something
about duties that detained him at home.
| Thereupon, Filkins had lifted his eye
brows, and made no more advances. He
had never found young men with +" du-
ties" congenial companions.
By 1870, New-Year's morning, Joe
had completed his marketing among
the shops and stalls on Bread -and-B
ter square, and, with his basket swung
on his arm, had begun trudging home.
ward. He kept a sharp watch, us was
his wont, to left and to right, to see il
there was anything he could do for any
| body. When one is on the lookout fol
somethiI 6 of that nature, something
generally turns up, and it was hard OF
/ TO IL when Joe turned into that sloppy
! decayed old street, which he had turned
into regularly every night since he had
been in Sturges' empoly.
! He was growing dreadfully tired Of
| that street. It wasn't a busy street
| Nothing ever seemed to stir in it, except
tired men and women going out and
| coming in from labor Nothing eve1
went up on it nothing ever came down.
| The old wooden buildings just gathered
a few more icheps, and sank a little
from twelvemonth to twelvemonth. II
wasn't cheerful street. 1t sometimes
seemed to Joe as if all the tired, and
| discouraged, and sick, and cross, in the
city-an the people despairing enough
to be wretched, and yet not despairine
enough to give up a kind of automatic
effort, had gathered themselves together
Shere. Joe began whistling as soon as
he entered its precincts, and whistled
| Justify, just as boys do who have theil
courage to keep up, until he came along
side the decrepit wooden building that
held his "hofne.
Up two flights, and turning to the left
he entered a small room, the atmosphere
of which was charged in about equal
/ proportions with the odor of moldy
wallpaper and of some kind of pungent
| liniment A middle-aged, unhappy.
| looking man, with his feet and legs
stretched out on two chairs, recIined be
| fore the window. His gay dressing.
gown was wrapped tightly around his
body, and gray shawl was swathed
about his limbs and feet
This was Joe's Uncle William.
! Uncle William had been in his day 6
dashing young man, but he had dashej
just a little too far, and all at once, as
sometimes happens in parallel cases
| found himself used up, body and soul
| Then, since nothing else remained TO be
done, he had reported, and found, to his
establishment, that the laws of nature
wouldn't work backward, even for re-
pentant prodigals. The almshouse i'm.
pended. Just then Joe, the size OF
whose heart was out of all proportion
with his pecuniary resources, had inter.
posed. He had left a pleasant boarding.
place for detestable tenement, saddled
himself with q burden which he was
likely to carry for life, and gone to house
keeping.
Uncle William, when securely estab.
lished in his three chairs at Joe's eX.
pense, had given himself unreservedly
/ to brooding over his troubles and "a.
menting his hard fate His melancholy
gaze was, this morning, fixed out of the
window, and he failed to withdraw il
when Joe entered.
{. Morning again, Uncle William, y
said Joe, briskly. cts been a bit dull
here for New-Year's morning; has it,
eh ?''
Uncle William, slowly turning from
the window. delivered himself of sound
that might have been either grunt or q
groan.
"And you haven't found anything in
teresting in the papers % continued Joe,
looking down at the pile of periodicals..
81 laid in literally for all the pictori-
ais, hoping you would be entertained by
them"
Uncle William shook his head slowly
and trife scornfully.
81 couldn't be entertained by pict-
ures, Joe; I've been refiecting."
"Then 1 wouldn't reflect any more.
1t don't agree with you. Aren't you
glad you're going to have me for COM
pany, this afternoon? And hot din
ner, too? Hot dinners are luxrlries
nowadays. See here, viii you2" pull
ing from oat his basket round OF
| beef.
Uncle William eyed it gloomily.
"Beefsteak for New-Year's dinner p
muttered he
"Beefsteak isn't to be despised-noi
| if it's tender and juicy as this" replied
| Joe, making an incision in the beef with
his pocket-knife, and watching the juice
start out with an expression of keen
qualification.
"Not in our present situation, know
1t, Joe; that's the sting of ii. 1 don't
blame you, Joe; but I can't help think
ing how it used to be with me- -
| Here Uncle William attempted NOV
ing one of his limbs, hit his foot against
a chairback, ard cried out with pain.
ice slapped his steak upon the table,
/ brought Uncle William his liniment,
and then piroaetted of into his bed
room-three minutes, and he was back
again, in suit the patches whereof at
tested the fact that he did his own mend
ing, as well as cooking.
"Now. we must have dinner in 6