Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1898-12-21

"Adt NA1s AOOtclUy udu OGcu saying
to the typewriter, seeing that@he (the
cashier) had been saying great deal
of Importance to her himself, and with
some hopes of success, unless distract
ing obstacles were thrown in his path,
and Mr.. Rooterby was a distracting
obstacle, beyond peradventure.
Nor did the fact that he had present.
ed fine suit of clothes to the cashier
as Christmas souvenir make it any
clearer in the cashiers mind why he
had a right to be saying things to the
typewriter when he (the cashier) was
in the office with her three hours to
Mr.. Rooter.y's one, and thought more
of her in minute than any other man
thought of her in seven years by the
watch.
"All I've got to say is responded the
cashier to the typewriter, when she
spoke to him about the matrimonial
izing of Mr.. Rooterby, "all I've got to
say is that he ought to have been mar
ried IS years ago and got out of the
way"
Which seemed so bitter and unkind
that the sweet little typewriter opened
her blue eyes in surprise and ejaculat-
ed in almost tone of horror: "Why,
Charley, how can you say that?"
After that the life of the cashier
seemed to grow narrow, and he never
saw Mr.. Rooterby come into the office
that he didn't begin to think of those
mysterious murders in the Rue Morgue,
which Poe tells of, and wonder what
was the price of man-eating monkeys
and how long it would take him to
teach one to climb up to Mr.. Rooter-
by's window and eliminate'M Mr.. Rooter-
by from the emotional problem which
was slowly but surely undermining the
mental equilibrium of the cashier.
Mr.. Rooterby, unconscious of what
was surging and throbbing in. the
bosom of his cashier, grew more polite,
if that were possible, to the typewriter
day by day. Indeed, his manner to all
women was changing. He seemed to be
so gentle, when before. while he was
always courtesy itself. he was lacking
in that ineffable gentleness which
comes only from the heart of hearts.
In other words, Mr.. Rooterby i'm
pressed the cashier as man deeply
and dangerously in love.
Strange that the cashier should be so
discerning, for no one else noticed that
self.
Yet he was, and the typewriter knew
something that few others knew. Ger
tainly, the cashier did not know it, for
his manner would have been very diff
ferent had he known.
The typewriter, who was 10, lived in
the same boarding house that sheltered
Mr.. Rooterby, Notwithstanding the
cashier had done all in his power to
have her move to some other, and with
her there lived her mother, a widow
not yet 40, and so young and pretty
as easily to pass as her daughters sis
ter. The women were confidantes, and
all the typewriter knew the mother
knew. Under the circumstances what
other result could have been expected
than that Mr.. Rooterby was looked
upon with favor?
AS for Mr.. Rooterby, he would have
laughed to scorn so much as vague
hint that he was gradually succumb-
ing to the mysterious power of the
feminine over the masculine destiny.
It was New Years eve. The cashier
was calling on the typewriter, or rather,
they had joined the watch meeting"
at the boarding house after the theater,
and the cashier was comparatively
Happy, for Mr.. Rooterby was devoting
himself to the mother, quite to the neg
lect of the daughter, and the daughter
seemed to be comparatively happy in
the company of the cashier. There was
a sound of revelry by night, and all the
boarding house had gathered then, it's
beauty and it's chivalry, and they had
walhalla kind of a wassail until the
clock struck IL, when the festivities
ended, and each member of the CON-
pany, before departing, was called on
to make one resolution for the year just
in.
Mr.. Rooterby popped up first.
Excuse my haste" he said, ''but I
want to resolve right now and here that
"AAA AOc PAOHOoC AAd1 W OIL
woman on earth, just to show you folks
who are everlastingly chatting me that
I mean business for the new year at
the same old stand"
This was received with great ap-
plause, and the cashier glanced stealth
lily at the typewriter as if to assure him
self that she was safe for another year,
anyway. And the typewriter caught
him in the act.
Then with resolution to the credit
CT each one they said "good night" and
in an hour the lights were put out and
the house was still.
It was one o'clock. the dead hour of
night.
At three, came terrific banging on
Mr.. Rooterby's door, accompanied by
scream, and Mr.. Rooterby, before he
was wide awake, was out in the hall in
his dressing gown.
It was the typewriter in cloud of
white, and the hall full of smoke. and
people below banging doors and shout
ing and fire bell changing around the
corner.