The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1883-03-03
How the Fates Work Against Poor
Jones.

Jones.
eI n.-t
1t has sometimes been doubted that
there is a divinity which shapes our ends
rough-hew them how we may, but there
is one man in this city who believes that
he is foreordained. predestined, prede-
termined to suffer. Poor Jonesi he seems
to spend his whole life in offering to Mrs.
Jones-an excellent woman, by the wav
"a series of apologies for doing THINGS
he never did, and he no sooner gets out
of one scrape than he plunges into
another. If Mrs. Jones has fault it is
that of loving Mr.. Jones too much for
his own good; and being so particularly
fond of him herself, she imagines every
other woman must be, and so at times
Jones finds his life, not worth living.
1t always happens, too, at some time
when he is in a peaceful, pious frame of
mind, walking firmly in the path of recti-
tude and flourishing like a .bay-ru tree.
For INSTANCE just a. few nights ago he
said, after supper, that he believed he'd
go down town few minutes and look at
the new electric light, and Mrs. Jones
asked him to mail some letters for her,
and he started out, whistling .f
81 want to be an angel
On the way down it occurred to him
that he might as well stop at the BARRIERS
, and get shaved, and he did so. Then he
went to look. at the light, and as he
walked along the sidewalk, where it was
as bright as day, he saw lady in front
of him drop folded paper out of her
purse. He started forward, picked it up
and presented it gallantly to the lady,
saying:
''Madam, you dropped this just now,s'.
Now the most that he expected was
grateful ''thank YOU" but instead of
that the woman gave a terrific scream,
grabbed hold of a policeman who was
sauntering by, and pointing Jones out,
shrieked:
"That man insulted mer'
Jones attempted to explain, but the
policeman told him to hush up or he
would club him, and then asked the
woman if he should arrest him. She said
n-n-o, she should hate to have to appear
in court againt such a creature as that,
and so after taking Jones name and
number he let him go.
Jones went home; he had tasted
enough adventure for one evening and
was glad enough to get back into the no
piace-like-home atmosphere again, but
when his wife saw him she held up both
hands.
"Why, Jeptha," she exclaimed; show
you look, where's your collar and tie
gone top
III don'tknow," stammered Jones,
who had forgotten all about the barber
shop where he had doubtless left them;
'h-h-hain't got them on?''
''Why, no! and how queer you look.
Did you mail my lettersP"
Y-y-yes," gasped the wretched liar;
''of course I did"
II don't believe it," said Mrs. Jones,
in voice that nearly took Jones out of
his boots. &c know those letters are in
your pocket at this very moment. Let
me feelr'
Jones had wild thought of rushing
out into the night and cold and leaving
Mrs. j. to find out all she could, but he
hesitated, and the man who hesitates is
lost.
"There they are," she said, in a tone
indicating that she had found roll of
million dollar bills, &c and-but what's
thisP''
There was an awful silence, and you
could have heard meeting house drop
as Mrs. Jones, with calmness born of
desperation, unfolded piece of white
paper and read:
ITO Madam Blank, fine French millinery, Dr.
One pink satin evening bonnet, $50.
Received payment,
SARAH BLANK s. Co.
1t was the wretched piece of paper he
had picked up and which fate had helped
him to thrust into his pocket to form one
link in this iron chain of adverse circum-
stances. We will draw veil over the
subsequent hilarities of that evening and
merely refer to the atmosphere of Betsy
and I-are-out gloom which has enveloped
''no-place-like-home ever since like the
dense smoke from a glass factory. Jones
is still strong believer in manifest des-
tiny.-Detro1 Post and Tribune.