Little Falls weekly transcript. (Little Falls, Morrison Co., Minn.) 1894-19??, 1900-10-02
FOOLED THEM ALL.
The Lunchroon Liar TolA an Alb
surdly Improbable story. ~.

surdly Improbable story. ~
"Well, s:rs," said the lunchroom con-,
ve.sationalist, partaking Of his crab sal
an. chocolate eclaire and q glass Of milk
with great apparent relish, Its funny,
amt 1t, how we'll women folks can do
some things and what poor stab they
make ut doing other thingsY' &.
"Nopc." said the other four men at
the table, looking in the other direction
from the lunchroom conversationalist.
"They can make doilics all right and fix
the flowers on the center table and get
together mustard plaster that'll make
hlppopotamus think he's been taking a
surf bntl, in boiling oil by mistake. and
prop their husbands up In bed the day
after their husbands have been down
town late, and tell 'enl-the husbands, l
mcun-more things about what brutes
and reprobutcs sand no accounts they
the husbands. I2fer to-are than ever
came out Of Il photograph" went on the
Mnchroom convcrsationalst. ignoring the
lack OF encouragement extended to him,
"lut when it comes to sharpening lead
pencils md things like that-well. say.
dye ever seq II woman throw rock at
Ecn?'
J'hr otter four ut the table looked
l.nnlns.y out Of the window and made no
reply.
"i,rrauxr. II you didn't" went on
til" lunvhruom ccuversationalist. you've
missed Il heap that's all. I saw wom-
NJ l!.:"w II rock ut II hen last week. and
! haven't got through wondering over the
wonderful make up OF women in some
respects yet. This woman that I saw
throw Il rock NJ II hen was my wife. My.
wire's nbou, us feminine a woman as
evrr coiulr1l MI VI her husbands necktiest
to make n crazy quilt, aud when she pick
ed rEfs%rnck last week to throw It Mt.
the hen. says to myself. 'Now's the time
for me t" take to the tall cactus. even il
l an stamlinH - feet behind her: for II
don't I'm going to lose an eye. sure pop,
and | haven't got any more eyes than l
need IN my business. As it stands ::
well, sirs. she swirlpd her right arm
around three or four times until thought
she was going to dislocnte it. l could
see by the way she was gazing at one
hen IN particular that she had that hen in
mind for an early death. I was just
about to yell mt my wife to hold up for n
second sos to give me time to make q
move for the postoflice down the road.
but before I could get the words out Of
my mouth, burned II she didn't let that
pebble fly and e
sand l suppose small boy, carrying a
pail Of milk. ti;} feet the other side of the
barn. was hit behind the left ear by that
pebble your wife threw. audi 4:
mot on your platinum wedding! re-
marked the lunchroom conversationalist.
"My wife lad such dead bead on that
particular hen that she was cunning for
that she landed the pebble square on the
right side Of the hens neck and the hen
looked up Mt her with yearning, passion
lit eyes, and then toppled over In her
tracks. dcader'n sardine. We had that
hen, boiled. for dinner" .a
Tlieu the lunchroom conversationalist'
topped off his MONDAY feed with small
plate Of cucumbers and another glass Of
milk. grinned gleefully at the depressed
other four at Ills table. and went his way.
Washington Post. "a