Richmond planet. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1883-1938, 1900-11-17

up every morning atterward without
SO much'as bad taste in the mouth.
and who can beat every professional
steeplechase jockey in Great Britain
a-riding hands down-have YOU come
TO the part yet where he gets into a
wrestling match with the champion
pugilist of the globe, and hurIs the
champion AZ feet through one of the
walls of the tapestried drawinp-roou
where the contest takes place, and"
OH said Mrs. Jobson. stin smil-
ing. there is nothing OF that kind
either. IN this
Amt. Ley?" saiffed Mr.. Iobson.
Wei. have YOU reached tie chaDter
YET where the Young won an who has
been sent to girls school i'm the CITY
from a Farm returns. after five years.
to the farm and is made weary by the
sight OF the wrinkles on her paws
neck. and the clabber-covered aprons
worn by her poor Old mother. and the
hired men i'm harvest time devouring
pies for breakfast. and where the
young woman, fun of the inspiration
of the higher and nobler and the in
huence of alien environment, decides
That she Will shake down the coin hid
in the crock on top OF the pantry and
flee to the great city, where she will
study to become Sculptress and make
st. Gaudens and Canova and Thor
waldsen and few other cheap figure
makers like that look like
but this work." interrupted Mrs.
Jobson again, SIS really utterly diff
ferent from what YOU"
still different. eh?" said Mr.. Job
son. We'll, then, 1 suppose it has to
do with the scapegrace son of the
enormously rich English ironmaster
who, after having engaged himself TO
the fourteenth daughter of one of the
poorer julles of the realm. sees an
American girl at the running of the
Derby and straightway gets to moon
ing so about her so that he can't sleep
o nights, and finally musters enough
nerve to go and tell the juBe about it.
and is spitted en- the end of rapier
at dawn in the iuke's trusty right
hand for his caddshness. and then"
No, fear you have not yet"
Haven't hit the motif of that fine
bit of Sunday reading you've been
porting over yet, hey?" went on Mr..
Jobson, still stridiug up and down the
room. We'll, it's probably one of those
hasheesh colonial stories, then, where
one George Washington. one time
president of the United States, is made
to figure in whole lot of idiotic ad-
ventures, or where some huge young
cub from one of the American colonies
goes over to England on ship and
gets captured by pirates four or five
times on the way, which makes IL
possible for him to have fricaseed nj
rate Tor breakfast every morning of
the voyage for quite long stretch of
weeks, and when he gets to England
he makes such hit with the court
and with himself that all of the young
Mayfair bucks and Belgravia blades
become jealous of him, and"
Again" said Mrs. Jobson. ~ fear
you have quite failed to guess Just
Have, eh?" said Mr.. Jobson. "All
right. It's probably one of those man
and wife, social study affairs, where
the wife, after carefully thinking it
over, comes to the conclusion that her
husband, who is the proprietor of a
large and prosperous soap factory that
yields him an income of $4,000 per
annum, most of which he spends ON
her-where this wife, i say. comes TO
the conclusion that her husband don't
know enough about the esoteric and
the occult, much less the Delsarte sys-
tenn and the science of repose, and
that the gradually thickening roll of
TAT on the back of his neck is becom-
ing wearisome to her, anyhow, not to
speak of the obvious enjoyment with
which he drinks buttermilk, and
where she makes proposition TO him |
that they draw up separation articles, |
whereby he is to continue handing her |
over $4,000 per annum OF the S45, 600 |
that he earns, and that she is to be al |
lowed to-
No." said Mrs. Jobson, ''this book !
doesn't relate particularly to the mod |
ern con1ugal state, nor does it"
Doesn't, eh?" said Mr.. Jobson. |
well, it's too much like work to fur
nish guesses as to what it does relate |
to, considering the amount of mind |
poisoning rubbish that YOU contriye
TO get through in the progress of a
year. But it's a good wager that, if |
1T hasn't to do with any of the themes
l have touched upon, it is in every re-
spect just as idiotic as any or all of |
them, and l can't understand how a |
woman of ordinary intelligence, who
makes such a great TODD about her
church work, and who sort O. elares
at me when ] go to the front door to
buy the papers on Sunday morning,
can square it with her idea of the fit
ness of things when she finds herself
bending all day Sunday over a piece
of nonsensical fiction that any mum
bling schoolboy knows is about as
true to life as"
Mrs. Jobson, still smiling, rose soft
ly from her chair by the window, and,
going over to where Mr.. Jobson was
Grating in front of the sitting-roor
mantel, handed him the book she had
been reading, without word.
The book was Buffers analogy of
Religion" Mr.. Jobson looked at the
title, grew red, then scowled, and said
to Mrs. Jobson:
SHThiS isn't the ho0lr xyox, xxrara ~aoS