The Douglas independent. [volume] (Roseburg, Or.) 187?-1885, 1883-03-31
Row the Fates Work Agains, Poor Jones.

there is divinity which shapes our endt
rougll-hew them how weAmay. but
there is one man in this city, who be-
ieves he is foreordained, predestined.
predetermined to suffer. Poor Jonesi
he seems to spend his whole life in Offer
ing to Mrs. Jones--an excellent woman.
by the way-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 q 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, so
at times Jones finds his life hardly worth
living.
It always happens, too, at some time
when he is in peaceful, pious frame of
mind, walking firmly in the paths of rec
titude and fourishing like a bay rum
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
81 want to be an angel"
On the way down it occurred to him
that he might as well stop at the barber's
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. !"
Now, the most that he expected was a
grateful ''thank you;'' but instead of that
the womangave terrible scream grabbed
hold of a policeman who was sauntering
by, and, pointing out Jones, shrieked:
That man insulted mep'
Jones attempted to explain, but the
| policeman told him to hush up or he
would club him, and then asked the wo-
| man if he should arrest him. She said
| n-n-o, she would hate to have to appear
in court against such creature as that,
and SO after taking Jones' name and
number he let MIN go.
! Jones went home; he had tasted enough
! adventure for one evening, and was glad
to get back into the .place-ike- e-home
atmosphere again, but when his wife saw
! him she held up both hands.
why, Jepthat" she exclaimed; show
you look! where's your collar and tie
gone to?"
! I'll don't knowr' stammered
Jones, who had forgotten all about the
barber shop where he doubtless had left
them; .h-h-hain' got them on?"
"Why, no and~ you look so queer.
Did you mail my letters?"
| "Y-y-yes," gasped the wretched liar;
"of course did"
81 don't believe itr said Mrs. Jones,
in voice that nearly took Jones ont OF
| his boots. 81 know those letters are In
your pocket at this very moment! Let
me feel
Jones had wild thought OF rushing
ont into the night and cold and leaving
Mrs. j. to find out all she could, but he
besitated, and the man who hesitates is
lost
"There they are" she said, in tone
indicating that she had found a roll oi
million dollar bills, ''alld-but whats
this?"
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 MILL
merry, DIR. One pink satin evening bon
net $50. Received payment.
SARAH BLANK L Co.
It was the wretched piece of paper he
had picked up and which fate had helped
him to thrust into his pocket to form on
link in this iron chain of adverse cireum
stances. We will draw veil over ths
subsequent hilarities of that evening and
merely refer to the atmosphere of Betsy
and -I-are ont gloom which has envelopet
"no-place- -like-home'' ever since like th,
dense smoke from a glass factory. Jone
. isSstill strong believer in manifest des
tiny.-Detroit Post and Tribune.