The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1906-10-22
T A l. F. S
Of MEANEST MAN
(st. Louis Globe-Democratl


| when the red-headed man entered the
smoking compartment and found his
| favorite corner unoccun-ed. He sank
1 down into the cushioned seat with a
| sigh OF satisfaction, lighted a cigar
and then opened his ears.
| Why, that man was so mean one
+, OF the passengers was saying, that
when his wife died he had all the flow
| ers brought back from the grave and
| sold 'em again at bargain prices. He
was a florist-the only mean one
| ever saw. But you can bet your old
hat nobody sent any flowers when he
kicked the bucket"
Served him right, too" said
smoker from Milwaukee. Your florist,
| however. wasn't half a circumstance
| compared WITH a baker who lived in the
| little town in SaXony that l was born
! In. BY saving and skinning and skin
| ming and saving, this baker got rich:
| that is ne was rich for a German
village; had perhaps the equivalent of
a thousand or two dollars laid uD for
bad weather. He had Schemed to re-
tire some time and enjoy his money,
but he had pinched coppers until the
| habit had grown too strong to break,
and he kept on pulling them in and
slowing them away in his strongbox
until one day death, or what answered
L.
There wasn't any great amount of
| mourning i'm the village. His wife and
children made a show of grief. and did
the best they could TO give him a
decent burial. They had him properly
laid out. bought half a dozen of the
best candles, which they lighted and
placed around his body and then pur-
chased a quantity of flowers. Along
in the evening the bakers spirit came
back to earth-couldn't bear to leave
his hoard the villagers said. He
opened his eyes and loked around the
| room, and thcn he swore as only a
German baker can. Jumping out of the
coffin. he quickly extinguished the can
dies, and, still in his shroud, burst into
the adjoining room, where his wife and
| children were singing funeral hymns,
and frightened them into fits.
Mein Colt: he cried, you ruin me,
you ruin me, You pay 20 pfepnigs for
candles, when would have been a
| terrible waste. Of money, and you let
them burn when nobody is around to
see them and then he fell upon his
sorrowing sons and his devoted wife
and beat them until their cries for
mercy brought in the neighbors A
pfennig, you know, is about a quarter
of I ce It, l have always thought, gen.
tlemen, that baker was the meanest
man that ever lived"
He was certainly too mean for the
devil to keep" said the red-headed
man, land his resurrection reminds me
of an incident that happened out in
| Montana only short time ago. In
| this case, though, the meanness was
on the other side. Out there one day
some section men found the body of
a man half buried in the mud by the
side OF the railroad track. The coroner
was summoned 10 the spot. and after
pulling the body out of the mud, he
impaneled a jury and proceeded to
hold an inquest. One of the section
men was giving his testimony when the
deceased suddenly raised up, rubbed his
eyes, and then in everyday good
morning, Mr. Jones' tone of voice, he
| says: Hello, gents. wot's the row?''
L bet the inquest was adjourned
right there" said the man from Mil
waukee.
mo. it wasn't" replied tie red-head-
ed man. THE coroner and The jury
were somewhat startled you may be
sure, but the coroner hadn't come ten
miles over a mountain road for moth
ing. He didn't adjourn the inquest I'M
til he had conducted an Investigation
OF the pockets of the late corpse, and
finding no prospect of his fee from
that source, he assumed the role of
justice of the peace, which office he
also held. and had the poor man ar
rested for disturbing the peace. They
tried him then and there fined him S25
and sent him to Jail to stay until he
had worked out his fine. For all L
know he's there yet
Il think the coroner was meaner
than the baker, said q drummer from
Gotham, as h. reached for the match
box, "and they both make me think
Of Patsy McCallahan, they were so
different
who the devil was Patsy McCalla-
nan?" grOS led a grim-visaged passen-
gen from the region of the ice-water
tank
Patsy McCallahan was an Irishman,
as you may have guessed" replied the
drummer, land he lived over in Jersey
City. He was prominent man in his
ward, not because he was rich or held
office, or was pillar of the church, but
because he furnished free entertain
ment every Saturday night by getting
gloriously full and raising merry Cain
all over the district. Regularly every
Saturday night the patrol wagon came
rushing into the ward, and, after an
exciting tussle, took Patsy into the po-
lice station and kept him over Sunday
On Monday morning his patient little
wife would appear in court, pay his
fine and march Patsy off 70 work Still.
every body loved Patsy. There was
nothing mean about him. Every ragged
newsboy, every poor widow, every man
out of luck, was his friend, for his hand
was always outstretched to help, wheth-
er he was drunk or sober.
"Well, it so happened that Patsy Nc
Callahan got full once too often. One
Saturday night, while he was celebrat-
ing payday in his customary style, and
was discoursing to delighted audience
on the glories OF Ireland and the tyran-
ny of England, he tumbled over I'm fit,
and when the ambulance came, instead
Of the usual patrol wagon, the surgeon
in charge pronounced him dead and
they carried the body tenderly home.
when the news went around that
Patsy was dead there was great doin's
in that ward and Patsy's widow was
overwhelmed with sympathy. He
should have such a wake, they said,
az would do honor to Brian Boru him