The progressive farmer. [volume] (Winston, N.C.) 1886-1904, 1892-03-01


so it would be eternally thrown into
bankruptcy before it would sell meany
music box oil.
1t is sad to be sat down on that way
by a music box house. 1t took me two
days to get naughty again. Then a
friend said. that all 1 wanted was
watch oil. 1t was the same thing.
80 l went to a big dealer where l had
bought a watch once for my wife and
L got a little phial of watch oil-no
Cargo. But say, fellow citizens, did
you ever put a little watch oil on your
handkerchief by mistake, and then go
to church and get put out?
Watch oil comes from the jaw of the
porpoise. 1t is prepared by a special
process, and men who are deaf do the
work so that they cannot hear it
think.
You do not need much of it. A
quart will lubricate So, 500, 600 journals.
Think of that, and then remember how
much fat it will take to lubricate the
Journals of New York City alone next
fall.
But I have drifted into statistics and
incidentally into politics,
X X \ X
Some sad stories indeed might be told
of the ravages of the grip in New York
if we could know them all and tell them
to the world.
One evening | had rooms-it was
really a rOom-one Of those portable
rooms which is attached to a suit and
used then as a cloak room, but let
separately sometimes to jayish travel
ers and furnished with flexible trundle
| refer to it as rooms because
[ ID not ire very much how I live if
1 a make the public believe that 1
loll in the lap of luxury till it causes
adverse criticism.
1 could hear the conversation in the
next room. In fact, 1 could not avoid
it. | cannot wear cotton in my ears
all the time, as high as cotton is now,
and so I was obliged to hear the pa
A4Cb ~ w LlO ONC1O III /
transOm and through the walls.
There was a little, dry, hard cough
and a sigh of pain after it; then a
woman's broken voice:
"Her cough is tighter tonight,
Charlie. 1t is dryer and her tempera-
is greater dear. Oh, what shall we
1o9 What shall we do? poor darling7"
Somehow l thought of my own home
and wondered if the little folks there,
we'll tonight, so many cold,
weary miles away in the Old North
State.
Then the mans voice said in deep
90Iss
q think it is the crisis with her, !
dear" Then the little cough once
more and a patient little moan that
died away in a sigh. eff she can get
through the night we may hope for an
improvement tomorrow, Clara. See,
she is going to sleep now"
Then there was a long hush, but
afterward came the cough-that cough
that hurts a parent S heart worse than
it could the child, it seems. Then a
little whimp9r of pain and then the
voice of the almost sobbing woman:
"What would we do without her,
CharlieY What would we do without
here She is all we have. I could not
go home again without her and leave
her here. What would wedo, Charlie9
What would we do7
1 began to feel uncomfortable. l
could not bear to hear this sort Of talk.
cannot stand such things. I smoked
a large brunette pipeful of the ablest
tobacco l could get hold of and walked
the floor, 1t was terrible. Icould not
read. l could not write. When the
dry, quick cough, and sigh, and the
women's sob came I got so [ started
and turned pale, and if it had not
been too late at night I would have
left the room altogether.
"You must give her the medicine
now. 1t is II o'clock, and she had it
before at 10. Be brave, dear heart.
Have courage. Others have passed
through even deeper sorrow, Clara"
came the deep, earnest, comforting
voice of the husband. Life and death
are not in our hands. We can only do
our best and be ready for the worst"
could not endure this. I am Of too
sympathetic a nature. Irang the bell,
intending to order my room changed,
but got ashamed of myself before the
boy came and told him to have me
called at 7:30 in the morning, and he
went away with a bright new shilling
which l had once owned.
"She is awake now Charlie, and she
knows me See! Yes, indeed she does.