The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1900-02-22
Aren't Men Ungrateful
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A TONE o'clock on Monday afternoon
~ last Mr.. Jobson brought an old
Schoolnate of his, whom he hadn't
seen or heard of for years, up to his
house for lunch.
Monday, it is not necessary to remind
our gentle readers, is wash day in all
well-regulated households.
Mr.. Jobson hadn't been home for
bunch, except on Sundays and holidays,
for years. Of course, it just happened
that out of the seven days in the week
Mr.. Jobson could have lighted on none
other SO suitable for bringing an old
boyhood chum up TO his home for
luncheon as on Monday-wash day.
Men don't know anything about the
dreariness of wash day, anyhow. They
see the ironed linen stacked up on the
bed on Thursday evening" say, and they
vaguely wonder how it was done and
where it came from and who did it, and
so on. If rainy weather or some other
interposition of providence prevents its
being stacked up on the bed on Thurs
Jay evening, and the boss of the house
happens to be out of handkerchiefs, he
gazes witheringly at the wife of his
bosom, accuses her of spending all her
time at the bargain counters to the
total neglect of her household duties,
and in general gives veat to torrid
flow of masculine unreason. That's the
extent of the male knowledge of linen
cleansing.
Mr.. Jobson happened to have for
ten his latch key when he went to the
office on Monday morning, and so when
he brought along his old school pal
to his house he rang the door bell. The
servant being busy in the basement
handling the washing, Mrs. Jobson,
thinking that the bell ringer was prob
ably rug peddler or book agent or
some such parsonage, answered tie
ring herself. Mrs. Jobson had been as
sisting the servant with the linen. She
was in an out-at-elbows red eiderdown
wrapper, with the sleeves rolled way
up, and her hair was done up tightly
in kids. Her nose was shiny from the
steam Of wash day. When she saw
Mr.. Jobson and his swell-looling COM
panion, she simply bolted up the front
stairs for it, Mr.. Jobson exuding mer-
ry, if somewhat hard sounding, laugh
as she went.
"Ah, caught you in house neglige,
did we, my dear?" he called up the
stairs after her in rollicking, oh-how-
naughty-naughty tone voice, that yet
had certain metallic ring in Mrs. Job
sons ears.
III be down in justa minute" .called
Mrs. Jobson over the banisters, and
then Mr.. Jobson and his old school chum
went into the parlor. Mrs. Jobson
hastily dug out the powder channels and
touched up her face, put on presentable
garments, removed the kids from her
hair and set it right, and then she made
her appearance in the parlor.
My dear, you've often heard me
speak of Tommy Swiftboy, my old
schoolmate, haven't you?" said Mr.. Job
son, formally presenting his friend to
his wife. Remember my telling you
now we played hooky once for three
weeks at stretch and hid our books
under a sidewalk every day? Well,
here's the self-same hooky player.
blew in on me at my Office this morn
ing, and, although | wouldn't say it
10 his face, I'm just tclIled to death to
see him. Brought him up to see what
nice little plant I've got-his dad used
to say that we'd both of us land in
states prison before we came Of age.
And here | am, a settled-down old foqv,
and he's got wife and three chill
dren-got their pictures in his watch
at his home in New York. wanted to
drag him off 10 a restaurant for a bite
to eat but he wouldn't hear of it
wanted to look me over under my own
vine and fig tree, he said, and he hates
restaurant or hotel cookery Can we
have just little bite of luncheon, my
lear?"
Mr.. Jobson tazed at Mrs. Jobson
amiably, but with meeting of the eye
brows that said, as plain as day: "And
1t wants to be an almighty neat lunch
con, at that!"
Mrs. Jobson's heart sank an she
thought of the remains of Sundays tur-
key in the refrigerator, and nothing
else. The stedmy fragrance of the
wash-day suds that permeated the
house caught Mr.. Jobson's nostrils AMI