River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1900-08-09

She tells him they are in the bath
room and he wants to know why on
earth she had not said so instead of let
ting him hunt the fat for half an hour
for towels when he was worn out and
so sleepy he could hardly keep his eyes
open.
She says nothing, but sinks back on
the pillows and has just closed her eyes,
as. he dances in in condition of ex-
treme bad temper and distinctly i'm
modest attire and demands to know if
she has used his bath robe for door
mat or sold it to the junk man, as il
certainly is not in the fiat. She tells
him it is hanging on the back of the
bathroom door and he dances out, re-
minding her that if he dies of quick
consumption il viii be her fault.
As she turns her pillow over to the
cool side he puts his head around the
portiere and asks, with intense mild
ness, if she has given his flesh brush
away as a prize at some of her cinch
parties. He knows he used to own one.
but cannot find it, which is not at all
strange in that house, anyway. She re-
minds him that he gave it TO the baby
to play hobby-horse with that morn
ing. He stalks off, stumbles over the
furniture, lights all the gas in the fiat,
with the aid of several matches and
good deal of eloquence, and Mrs. John
finally creeps YEARLY out of bed and
finds the brush on the bathroom floor.
Then she retires 10 her bed.
In two minutes exactly her lord calls
her in tones that cause her to run to
the bathroom. And she finds him
CARRIED airily in a moderate-sized bath
towel and liberal supply of what
looks like brown paint. His face is quite
purple and his language profane.
iodine! Iodine!' he sputters. Look
at me, viii ye? Keepin yer dashed soap
in yer dashed medicine chest as though
it was some cure for the measles. How
was | to know that dashed stopper
would come out, Ell? Look at me! I'm
a sight. And the dashed stuff has to
wear off-nothing but time and prayer
and sand paper will move it. And l
found everything in there but soap
soap and receipted bills! Everything
from cure for cramps to your marriage
certificate. Wipe me off, will We? That
is, what will come off. know my back
looks like a British war map of Africa.
I'll go into a museum as the only genu
inc tattooed man. OF all the places to
say you keep soap, and all the time L
suppose it is behind your Venus di
Medici in the parlor, with a ten-cent
cup and saucer standing on it. That's
called artistic furnishing nowadays.
Don't take all the skin off my spine!
There, that'll do. G'wan to bed and
maybe | can take my bath in peace.
Have you got any washing powder or
lye, seeing there is no soap?"
Mrs. John hands down two cakes of
soap from the third shelf of the medi-
cine chest and her husband snorts as he
grabs cake and steps into the bath
tub. She goes back 10 bed and this
time falls sound asleep. 1t seems to her
that she has slept about five minutes
when she is aroused by the gas fiaring
wildly in her face. Shading her eyes,
she raises herself on one elbow and sees
her lord and master turning the bureau
"What are you looking for, John?7
Her husband sits back on his heels
and grips the bathrobe around him
with both hands.
Looking for" he remarks. Look
ing for? At this time of night? What
would any sane person be looking for,
do yer suppose? For one of my dress
suit shirts, maybe, or a pair of silk
socks with sunfiowers embroidered on
EN-. Have | got nightshirt to my
name or haven't /? Or have you cut
EN- all down for Billy? Have l any
rights in this house, anyway? I used
10 have some clothes before / had
family, but III he blamed if 1 have any
thing any more"
My dear, your nightshirt is airing
over the back of that chair beside you"
says Mrs. John.
Airs it? Well, why in thunder
didn't you say so? Here I've gone
through all the furniture from the
chiffonier to your writing-desk look
ing for that shirt rather than wake
you up. But I'm the only one that
seems to have any consideration for
other people in this family
Mrs John yawns a little and turns
over as her lord struggles into the
nghtshirt He buttons the shirt at the
neck, then steps over the chaos of un-
derclothes that he has deposited on
the carpet, shoves pile of laces and
gloves that he has emptied from the
bureau drawers aside with one foot and
winds his watch. Then he shakes his
sleeping wife by the shoulder and asks
her where the keys of the buffet are
as he knows he is in for good cold
unless he can take something to ward
it off. He is drowsily informed that
the keys are in full view on her comb
tray on the dressing table and he de-
parts for the dining-room, remarking
that if people would only leave his
clothes and things where he could find
them without the aid of a microscope
he would be grateful. Later on she is
aroused with a request for her mani
cure scissors, but she objects mildly
and gives him her penknife. Five min
utes later She is startled by a fervent
declaration that he would like to see
her knife in another country farther
south, and she gets up to hunt court
plaster.
Mrs. John feels rather tired by this
time and the next morning she has a
headache, but when She reads his let
tiers from New York, in which he says
he is so enjoying his Turkish baths,
which he is taking regularly, she
thinks of BATH night at home and signs
retrospectively and wonders much
Chicago Chronicle.
No Medals for Them.
Twelve war correspondents have
been killed or wounded, or have died
of disease. or have been made prison
ers. since Kruger let slip his dogs of
battle on October II, 1899. There is
no Victorian cross for the newspaper
man, no medal, no pension. He is con
tent with a consciousness Of dnty
done. He chronicles the sufferings. the
dangers, the heroic adventures of the
meanest private in the ranks. and in the
keen competition to get copy on the
wire or into the hands of a Kaflir run
ner his own privations and Embarrassing
situations are forgotten. Some of the
keenest writer's for the press of the