The Indianapolis journal., 1904-01-24


Indianapolis has an optimistic-pessimistic
bookkeeper who frankly admits that half
his time he feels almost too cheerful and
good to live and the other half of his time
he knows he is too cantankerous and mean
to die.
Naturally In the course of his business re-
Iations with this spotted world this
bookkeeper encounters numerous mixed lots
of men and women-human nature in every
phase of financial exposure-and he conf
IDENTIFY asserts that both men and women
exhibit more undiluted idiocy in regard to
money matters than they could possibly
manifest in connection with any other sub
ject Bookkeepers like other men, cannot
always say what they think; but as free
expression, after some fashion, is vital
necessity to this Indianapolis man. he has
had a rubber stamp made to imprint the
words-"The gods hate fool" With this
curious legend ne violently stamps all OBJ
noxiouS letters bills and other business
documents which arouse his ire. only,
however. when such papers are TO be filed
out of sight. The laity and the clergy nave
labored in vain with this eccentric business
gentleman, but his unique rubber stamp
is still in active use.
Along Washington street the other day,
farm wagon crept slowly, drawn by two
stout horses, that looked
Pork I'm half asleep The farmer, in
Old Times. broad hat and heavy coat,
sat on his high front seat.
his legs we'll wrapped in a red-and-green
bedquilt. Behind him, in low splint chair,
facing the back of the wagon, sat an ell
| derly woman-his mother, evidently-well
han fhn
rest of the wagon was occupied by the
great white and pink bodies of three large
dressed hogs, on their way to some city
market.
THAT reminds me of old times, sure
enough" said one of two men who had
stopped to look at the somewhat unique
sight. Fifty years ago, when 1 was a
youngster, our little town did not have
daily market, and none of the groceries kept
meat TO sell. Every fall, about November,
| farmers killed. as the phrase went, and
brought wagonloads of pigs and hogs to
| town, peddling them through the streets,
as they peddle apples and potatoes nova
days. Every family of any thrift what
ever always purchased a whole hog; they
sold, generally, at two or three dollars each,
according to size. Pork was two or three
cents pound then.
1T was a glad day for all of us chill
dren when we ran home from school to
| find that the hog had come; for, to u.s. it
meant great family excitement and much
| going-on. The hog was cut up on big
| table in an outer washhouse of our dwell
| ing. Father, / remember sawed off the
! hams and shoulders, also the head; then
my mother and our cook did the rest. Gen
! tlewomen. in those days. in the average
| family, had a lot Of hard work to do. Curl
Gus children, four of us. two boys and two
girls. faithfully attended much of the
performance as our school duties would
| admit. There was the rich fat to be stripped
| off. and rendered into lard; sidemeat
spareribs, backbone and tenderloin to be
cut off. sausage and headcheese to be
made. and pork to be picked. There was
no pork scare in those days, and we all
ate just as much good. sweet pork as we
wanted. We children stood by the stove.
and ate cracklinss right out of the pan, and
| cracking bread, made of cornmeal and
| cracklings was feast indeed. Picked pigs
feet of the old time are now memory to
make strong man weep. The last act was
| the smoking OF the hams and shoulders.
| in big barrel in our back yard. Once in
| a while the barrel would get on fire; that
was great sensation indeed, and mother
| and the cook had to hustle to save the
family bacon. I'm glad 1 was child in
those simple, homely, happy old days"
Every man who likes to study human ma
ture. is by habit, more or less, a loafer,
and every loafer thinks his favorite Ioafing
place the choicest of ALL
Grocery Some men prefer a drug
Library. store to loaf in," said one of
these professional human-na-
ture loafers, but give me a grocery every
| time. Whenever l hang around in a grocery
ten minutes, in the evening. 1 come away
with ten times more than my money s
| worth. Last night dropped into a middle
sized grocery kept by a friend of mine,
named Dick. Dick sells fairly good cigars,
| and, anyway, I'd rather smoke a half-good
cigar. now and then, than miss seeing Dick
once in while.
He understands people, Dick does, and
never fails to give me a good bit of talk.
I've known him a long time; but last night
he came out in new phase to me. Really,
L was almost upset by the shock. Never
had l heard Dick mention a book; and I've
been loafing in and out of his grocery
for several years. Up on a shelf between
jar of olives and bottle of tomato cat
sup l noticed fat book
Hello 1 said, what's that book,
Dick?
That's "Anne of Geierstein,"' Dick
answered, taking down the volume; never
get enough of good old Walter Scott, and
always keep one of his books in here, to
read at noon, and between times. if have
any
" 1 didn't know you were reader 1 said,
| somewhat sheepishly.
| You don't know everything; no man
| does Dick replied in sprghtly fashion.
| Then he fished under the counter, and
brought out two more well-handled books.
Here's old "Pickwick," and Copper
| feld"' he fondly commented: L couldn't
run this grocery without a volume of Dick
ems somewhere around
| " Just you let me read you this he went
on, digging up a large book Of poetry from
behind a keg of pickles.
We'll, sir, Dick held me by the sleeve
| while. he read aloud-and he read IL well,
| too-'Kemble's Farewell TO the Stage Gus
toners came in while he reading, and
/ | fidgetted a little, but he didn't stop until
| he had read sonorously to the end
There's a grocery man for you, I'm
thinking of starting another literary club
only old standard authors TO be read or dis
cussed-to meet o. Saturday nights. with
Dick
The Jester.
I jester I.
Sadly the poet sings;