Idaho news. (Blackfoot, Idaho) 1887-1891, 1891-02-14


room were so dirty"
that he lost a dollars worth of time
while correcting them. All his think
ing, however, did not make the de
sired Thanksgiving dinner more Wis
ible. lie became so eXcitable as the
day wore on, that he felt equal to
any amount of extra work, so he |
haunted newspaper offices that night, |
awaiting a chance to replace some |
regular compositor who might want |
to be absent, but perhaps all the |
regulars" were thinking OF Thanks
giving dinners themselves; certainly |
none of them left their stands. Worse
still-for his pocket-he met an old
friend out OF work, and lent him u
couple of dollars. He reached home
in dismaltrame of mind, ms he real
ICED that the great national feast
was to be held only two days later.
He made another bad day in the
composing room, which seemed TO
make the desired dinner more improb
able than before. At night heroam-
ed through the four rooms OF his
little house, hoping to find something
which could be sold, without the
family missing it, Tor enough money
to buy the dinner the children longed
for. But there was nothing; families
who live in four rooms have no SUI
perhuities; the only thing that he
could see that was not in almost
daily use, was suit of clothes which
| had belonged to his namesake, his
/ first-born, buried two years before.
Could he sell the garments OF the
dead to provide food for the living?
I AS he wondered, his hand rested on
/ the jacket collar, over which q merry
little face used TO laugh at him, and
he choked forth moi"
There was nothing-nothing. His
hearts was so sore that he could not
unload il upon Bess, for was she not
CARRYING enough loads OF her own?
As alrendy stated, he was an old
/ fashioned fellow, and for u moment
he wondered TO which OF his two out
side friends to turn for consolation
his Bible or his Shakespeare?
He handled beth books irresolute-
~ and alternately for n moment or
two, but the Shakespeare contained
pictures, and the Bible did not; in
Toms mood the eye was quicker i'm
pressible than the mind, so he finally
fingered over poet instead ofprophet.
1t was n rare edition, from n printer 5
point o. view; that was the reason
Fred Trottiper owned it. 1t was
printed from type and wood-euts, in
stead OF plates, the publishers stock
had been consumed by fire alter
three or four editions had beGSl sold,
and the work was too eXpenN.ve to
remake; consequently, it was in de-
! mand by dealers in scarce books, MS
Fred had often heard. Could hespare
it-ior the children's sake? Could he
spare an arm or n leg-Ior the chill
: dren's sake? Well, yes he thought
, so-just then.
The next morning, after breakfast,
Ned sneaEed from the house: there
was no other way of avoiding inqui
ry, tor he was carrying a large bun
/ dle-three volumes, quarto. A
> noon he was in the street where al
New York dealers in secondhand
books congregate. There was a very
sore spot under his left arm, though
,. the books did not make it. Ill
|. passed several shops before he coul'
: make the flesh equal to the spirit o
the sacrifice. Finally, ne dashed in
: to one place, and dropped the pre-
: cious package upon the counter.
: "Old books?" said the dealer
I We're not buying at present
"Glad of it," said Ned, Selling hi
bundle as il it were a child he ha
. been abandoning.
1 "What is it?" asked the dealer
q carelessly tearing the paper from til
Z books. "H'm-Smith's Shakespeare
n Don't know but could get rid {
i that before long. I'll give you tie
n dollars for it.
I do it'll" said Ned.
4 As the dealer fumbled in his pock
= cts for the money, Ned turned the fl
miliar leaves rapidly, and had t
r treat himself terribly to conquer til
y desire to seize the books and hurr
n away. An old bookworm, who wa
- rambling about the shop picked u
J, one of the volumes. stared at Ne
p through very convex glasses, and o.
n claimed.
ii "Welll / don't see how any INTEL
L. gent man can sell his copy ofSmith
IS Shakespeare"
60 Don't, eh?" growled Ned. &c
70 get married, and you'll find out"
When Ned Trottiper reached hon
"a at night, he was so loaded with bu
dies that his son Freddie shoutC
8. "Express!" and little Elsie exclaim,
TO "Christmasl"
t. "Oh, Ned, what has happened?
We asked Mrs Trottiper.
K Nothing, dear girl; I've brougl
the things for Thanksgiving Dime
ut that's ALL"
Is Gracious! How did you pay f
Is them?"
"With a pound Of 6esh-neare
e the heart; the place doesn't hur
,w though"