Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1889-05-23
Mr.. CLUGsToN's ESCAPE.
An Editors Life Saved by the Proper APP
plicatiOn of a Tariff Article.
els the editor in p''

| an ASuitoT Lie saved Dy ING fTOpcE <AR-
plicatiOn of Tariff Article.
els the editor in?''
The person who spoke was a tall,
raw-boned man, with red hair and a
freckled face. He had hand like a
| canvas-cOvered ham, and was cross
| eyed.
! Mr.. Clugston. the editor and pro-
| prietor of the Doodleville Yelper,
| looked up.
''Why-ah-good morning. SIR" he
replied, with a frozen sort of smile
comforting mis- face, and a Manitoba
wave careering madly up and down his
spinal column. ats fine day-er-'
Not particularly" said the visitor,
| in q rasping voice.
And it wasn't. It was a raw, blus-
tering, rainy day, and the wild geese
were flying southwestward with a reck-
less, On-to-Oklahoma, get-there-Eli
movement, and a hideously-profane
emphasis in their hastily -warbled
music.
That's what r. began Mr.. Clug-
ston, as he noted with a sinking feel
ing that his caller stood in the only
doorway affording an exit from his
Sx10 sanctum, and that there wasn't a
weapon sharper than paste brush
anywhere within sight to defend him.
| self with in case of an attack.
mo, it wasn't" was the sneering re-
joinder. at wasn't what you meant
to say, and you know it wasn't! You
don't know what you intended to say,
you white-livered, pop-eyed, tow
headed disfigurer of white paper! You
lean. cheap, clearinghouse cut from
the shank of a starved mutton! You're
scared to death, and you know it! I've
come to polish you off, sir! I'm going
to knock your two eyes into one, and
chuck your No. 6 head in your own ink
keg!'
.'Wh-wh-what have l done?" asked
the editor, in trembling voice.
What have you done?" echoed the
large, red-haired man, coming nearer
''Do you pretend you don't know, you
washed-Out fragment of a man? Do
you pretend you didn't mean me when
you printed that piece in your paper
last week about How to Make a
White Man of a Strawberry Blonde?'
Do your
That article exclaimed Mr.
Clugston, earnestly and appealingly,
''was printed 297 miles from here,
and''-
That's little too thin! That may
do to tell some elm-peeler from Kreid-
ler's Mills, but it won't go down with
| me. Your paper, sir, amt edited and
| published 297 miles from DoOdleville.
I'm going to show you, sir, how to make
a mop of a Doodleville editor!'
He threw off his coat kicked over
the editorial chair, and made a fierce
grab at the frightened journalist.
In moments of great emergency
something like inspiration comes at
times to the assistance of hard-pressed
humanity. AS his antagonist lunged
savagely at him, Mr.. Clugston cast a
wild, despairing glance around the
room. His eye fell on something lying
on the table-something that
had hitherto escaped his notice.
Quick as a flash ne seized it
and brought it down squarely
on the head of his assailant. For one
brief moment the gigantic frame of the
red-haired man stood motionless, and
then with crash that shook the
Yelper Office from back-door to avn
ing-post in front he fell PROSTATE.
Garry out this unsightly object"
said Mr.. Clugston to the Office hands
who came running in from the back
room to see what was the trouble; and
with the cold, severe aspect of a man
whose time was too precious to be
wasted on trifies the editor of the
DoOdleville Yelper sat down at his
table again and resumed the work of
writing a lurid description, at ten
cents a line, of Mrs. Van SIMPSONS
millinery opening.
He had knocked the big, freckle-
faced man senseless with an editorial
entitled Tariff on Wool. Chicago
Tribune.