The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1880-06-26

red again to the lumber pile. We were
to have grander dinner therein than
the one being cooked. and expected to
eliminate in q circus, with real money
to be taken at the door. But all this
never came of. l felt Inundated by
the feeling of dependence conveyed to
me by my fathers words. l saw myself
good for nothing little beggar, eating.
drinking and wearing the hardearned
wages Of another. 1 heard the world
calling on me to do my part and be-
come my own provider in this great
struggle for existence.
sAMPLING PIES AND ICE CREAM.
But what could l do to earn money?
Over the way Bill Simmons kept the pie
and candy shop. Thither daily had l
gone for years to spend for candy the
daily penny begged from my father,
and ali those accumulated daily pennies
now increased my load of obligation.
Henry Simmons, Bill Simmons son, but
a trife more stricken in years than my
self, daily staggered past our door quite
overwhelmed under great basketful of
hot pies on their way from the Sim
mons family oven tc the Simmons fam
lily shop. | was deep in Henry SIM
mons confidence. We held secrets
together. In the summer, passed
much of my time in the cellar
of the Simmons mansion, where
Henry worked for hours rotating the
cream-freezer. Simmons was the only
ice-cream saloon in the village. Henry
and myself kept spoon in partner
ship. 1t was hidden in a crevice of the
cellar wall. Henry and myself used
| frequently to sample the cream during
the laborious process of artificial con-
collation., as well as lift at times the
crust of those pies while in transit past
our house and test their interiors. Dead
pies tell no tales so long as the upper
crust remains unbroken. Yet there is
always room for apprehension where
small boys with soiled fingers are al
lowed any access to pies and ice cream.
Often l assisted Henry in Juggling that
great basket of pies to the the Simmons
shop. Henry was a sticky sort of boy.
and his rusty black suit, his lips and
even his fingers suggested pies. Henry,
myself and the pie basket often stopped
for season in little house we had
built of packing boxes, located in cor
ner of the yard where, undisturbed, we
partook of the sugary juice which from
the upper crust of cooling blackberry
and huckleberry pies oozes and hardens
on the pie-plate rims. There we would
linger until the warning cry of "Hen-
ryr' from the Simmons house or shop
would start Henry forth, bent nearly
double sideways under his burden, stick
Ter and more suggestive than ever of
pies.
| AN ATTEMPT TO GET CLERKSHIP.
l wanted to earn living. l thought
l might be useful to Bill Simmons in
selling pies, candies and nuts. This
was business within the limits of my
comprehension and also in accord with
my varied range of tastes. So one day
mastering up courage for an unwonted
step, l entered Simmons shop, to APP
ply for clerkship. Simmons, on see
ing me, placed himself in position behind
his counter, supposing my errand to be
the daily purchase of the pennyworth
of candy. He was, as usual, very busy
with oyster-stews, root beer and pies.
The place was as ever smelling ofstews,
root beer, cigar smoke and pies, and
was as usual full of loungers and flies.
/ disliked to make my business known
before them, and craved an interview
with Simmons pere in the most remote
corner. 1t was the first time l had
ever asked a private conference with q
grown-up man. said, very timidly:
Mr.. Simmons. / want 10 hire out to
you to help you in your shop Sim
mons laughed. His lean jaws yawned
| into smile, and thence into smoker,
and he said loud enough for all to hear:
"Why, don't want any more help.
Gosh! Another boy would ruin me any,
wayw did wish he would respect the
privacy of our conference and not talk
for the benefit and amusement of the
crowd present. / felt his ridicule, too,
and WINGED under it. He resumed in
an admonitory tone: You cont want
to work for living. Why, your father
is well enough off to take care of you.
You must be good boy and study your
lessons. You'll go to college" And
he hustled off to his stews and whisked
a convention of flies off his pies. Sadly
leaving the shop, fingered for mo-
ment at the door, and heard Simmons
retailing my application to his custom
ers. Then fled, for knew from their
grins and outlaws that was an object
of ridicule, because of desiring to earn
my bread by selling Simmons pies. 1
fled home across the street. The world
seemed darker and harder than ever.
felt myself more useless than ever. l
was not deemed even competent to sell
Simmons pies. / was an incumbrance,
fit only TO cost money and he tainted
with it.-Prentice Mulford, in the San
francisco Chronicle.