The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1893-01-11
DAN MITERS.
CHAPTER. I

CdAHIER i.
Dan Miters was especially drunk.
By this l mean that any other man in
the village of Cane Hill might have
been drunk-and indeed other men of
that respectable community had been
known to indulge too heartily in drink
but that Dan Miters, being the ac-
knowledged drunkard of the place, was
especially and particularly intoxicated.
he was man of acknowledged sense.
He had, gossip said, as prelude to
some dlsparaglng statement concern
| ing his weakness, carried off the hon
ors at a well-known school, One thing
was certain. He expressed himself in
better language than even the connty
judge could hope to employ, and this,
at Cane Hill, was regarded as a con-
yincing assertion of higher educa-
ton.
Dan had first come to the village as
the agent of a nurcery; not that sort
OF nursery which would disprove the
declaration that marriage, among the
poor at least, is failure to perpetuate
human misery, but as the agent of a
company which had fruit trees for
sale. He did not thoroughly succeed
IN running the gauntlet of village
curiosity, for villagers are critical of
appearances, and a lazy lounger who
sits all day at the store, while his wife
takes IN washing-the utterly worth
less fellow who would rather wallow
in the mire with, black falsehood
than to recline on velvet couch with
bright truth; who wears a filthy
shirt and one "bedtick" suspender;
who chews charity tobacco and spits
at knot-hole-which he thinks by the
right of his own yellow slime he has
pre-empted-tha fellow will criticise
the clothes and facial expression of a
stranger.
Dan was criticised, not only by the
worthless loafer, but by the merchant,
and even by the faded woman who had
slipped in to exchange few eggs for
a small piecs of calico. They de-
clared that Dams hair was too red, and
that there was too many freckles on
his face; and it was agreed that he
did not dress as gentleman should.
The worthless loafer squirted at his
pre-empted knot-hoSe and remarked:
"Now you're gittin' right down to
squar' facts"
That was long time ago. Dan was
system, and became celebrated as the
village drunkard. Previous to his
achievement of this distinction, the
fame had belonged to one Peter B.
Rush, and lit appeared that he could
never be robbed of the reputation
which he had laboriously acquired,
but after few years of close contest
Peter B. Rush's warmest admirers
were forced to acknowledge that the
palm belonged to Dan Miters. What
a handy man Miters was when a COM
parison was needed! What an encour-
agement to innovation! A man in
speaking of some one who was stupid
ly influenced by liquor was no longer
under the necessity of saying that he
was as drunk as the reputab bic canine
associate of the fiddler, but simply
fulfilled all demands by affirming that
he was as drunk as Dan Miters.
Seriously-and unfortunately we are
all compelled to be serious at times
the man of 25 whose education had
not been neglected was, at 45, vaga-
bond, with every hope trampled into
the mud away down the road behind
him. He did odd jobs, cleaned out
cellars, and cut tire-wood for scolding
women.
One day, when he appeared to be
soberer than usual, the mayor of the
village thus addressed him:
"Dan, would like to know some
thing about your life."
"And l, sir" Dan replied, "would
like to know something about my
death"
"You are funny fellow, DAN"
"No doubt of it, sir. A corpse has
been known to grin"
Come, don't talk that way. You
have been here now about twenty
years and none of US know where you
were born"
"And do you really want to know
where l was born?"
"Yes, I'd like to know.
swell, sir, was born in the night"
"There you go again. Say, do you
know that if you would brace up there
is yet time for you to accomplish some
thing?"
"Yes. But you have tried, and what
have you accomplished"
"Why, own good house and lot
I am married and have family of
interesting children"
"Is that alp"
"But isn't that enoughP"
Hardly, for you have not taught
your children not to feel, and until
you do this your marriage stands as
wrong. About year ago one of your
boys lost an arm at a saw-mill.
Weren't you the primary cause of his
suffering, and is not primary cause
the meanest of all causes?"
81 won't talk to you," the mayor de-
clared. There is no reason in your
argument and no humanity in your
conclusions. But come" he added in
soft voice, "why don't you make an
effort to keep soher?"
81 don't won't to keep SOBER"
"And why not?"
Because sobriety is the mother of
thought"
And you don't want to thinks
that it?"
Eyes"
"And why don't you want to thinkP
Your thoughts might amount to some
thing. The greatest man, you know,
is the greatest thinker"
$50 is the greatest sufferer"
"And when you think you suffer,
eh?"
"Yes, and so do all men. Go into a
library and look about you. What do
you see?"
"Books," the mayor answered.
"And what are books?"
"Gifts from superior minds"
NO." said the drunkard. "They
are records of human suffering. Ev-
cry book is an ache from heart and
painthrob from the brain. But
what's the use of all this talk? What
concerns me most at present is where
am going to get drinkP"
"You don't need drink, Dan."
"There you go with your dogmatism.
There you go. measuring the grains OF
my want in your half bushel. You
don't need drink and you say that
don't. l would not presume to say
what other men need, but it seems to
me to be the province of all other men
to dictate to me. Come, I'm growing
too sober, and shall begin to think
pretty soon. Won't you please help