The times., 1899-01-01
THROWING IN THE PUDDLE.
Origin of n Bit of Suburban Bosto"
SirnE.

From the New York SUM-
In one of the suburbs of Boston there is
a local bit OF slang which always puzzles
strangers. Whenever n bargain is driven,
or argument over some small matter grows
heated, someone is sure to say, facetiously:
"Oh, WELL you might throw in the puddle,
or The puddle is thrown in" New York
woman who has, for her husbands sins,
moved into the shadow Of Bunker Hill, af-
ter hearing of the puddle from butcher,
baker and candlestick maker. finally went
to friend and asked for an explanation
Here is the story:
This particular suburb OF Boston is hon
ored by being the home OF a literary wo-
man known to fame. Like many another
genius she has marked eccentricities. In
this particular case genius testifeS to it.
self in an exceedingly great care of pen
nies. Frugality isn't the ordinary hall
mark OF the artistic temperament: but
this case is exceptional, and the trades
people have been heard to wonder how one
could find time to write immortal books
when one consumed so much valuable time
in haggling over an extra cents pound
on rib roast.
The home which is the shrine of genius
is a charming one, but it is on the very
outskirts OF the town and crowns a high
hill. The view from the hilltop is inspir-
ing but the climb is wearying one, es
was chosen as allegorcal after the author
/ had arrived. When the dweller upon the
I hilltop was obliged TO come down among
I the profane crowd and go into Boston she
! drove back and forth TO the station in he
| own carriage; but one rainy day she came
| out from the city. and, through some
! mistake, her carriage did not meet her.
/ She waited and fumed. and finally asked
the only cabman what he would charge
| to take her home.
Fifty cents. mum, said cabby.
Absurd" snapped the celebrity. I'll
| not pay any such price.
Very well, num-
After another five minutes genius de-
scended to argument.
You don't charge anyone else more
than % cents.
Well, mum, your house is the last one
in the town, and there's q bad hill to b
climbing"
There was silence for another five min
utes Then genius inquired:
How far will you take me for %
cents?'
Half way. mum"
She closed her umbrella with a snap.
Very well. I'll ride % cents worth.
Cabby drove for fifteen minutes and
then stopped head appeared at the
window.
You haven't gone half way.
''Indade and l hev, mum"
You won't take me any further
Not fer the price
Very we'll, drive me 80 cents worth"
The cab logged on for five minutes, then
stopped again. This time it was the
town side of an immense puddle which
stretched not only across the road but
across the gravel path as we'll. The car
riage door opened, and genius picked UP
its skirts for descent, then caught sight
of the puddle, faltered stood with one
foot on the step and looked up the hill to-
ward the imposing house. The cabmau
thought the 30 cents was his but he didn't
know his passenger. She stepped back
into the cab, but thrust an irate face out
of the window. .~.sx III
The very least you can do after such
extortion is to throw in the puddle" she
said.
The cabman was overwhelmed. He
drove across the puddle. set his fare dowr
on the muddy path and drove slowly bacl
TO town, where he told the story that since
has become town property.