The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1908-11-04

/ the sides and there's a crowsfoot or
two beginning to show up at the cor
ners of your eyes. And l understand
that you're living right up to every
cent you make. That's showing fine
set of brains for you, isn't It? Are
you aware of the fact that in these
days of competition man has got to
get together at least the foundation
Of his little pile before he's forty-flve
or SO or stand a hundred to one
chance of never getting anything at
all after he's reached that age? Hey?
Don't you know very we'll that man
gradually becomes less productive,
sort of loses out, after he reaches the
age Of forty? That the demand now
adays in all lines of endeavor is for
the younger fellows? Well, then!"
You tell him that you're not feel
ing decrepit at the age of thirty
seven; that you expect to be swing
ing right along at the old game for
quite spell yet, and so on. But nix.
He won't have 1t.
81 say he declares oracularly,
"that IL you're ever going to have a
place to lay your head by the time
you're forty-five, you've got to begin
right now to tuck a hunk of your
earnings away. You ought, as mat
ter of fact, to've begun long ago.
And you can't save by indulging your
self In every blamed caprice and
whim that you happen to think Of
You have got to make sacrifices If you
expect to save. You've got to grind.
You've got to put your nose down to
1t. You've got to be able to say No,
no! You've got to be able to stand
by and see the other pinheads blow
ing in their money without expert
encing any temptation to go and do
likewise yourself. You're listening
to me, aren't you?"
or course you are. You wouldn't
dare not to listen to him. But you
tell him that, really, you don't feel as
IL you'd be any happier if you. did
sands of dollars. You try to pass it
off by being bit humorous.
"What 'ud be the good" you in.
qulre of him, "of my scrimping and
saving to get hold of few thousand
dollars, and then to have a milk
wagon zephyr along and hit me on the
| wishbone and send me over to Oak
Hill, and all like that-what' I'D be
the good of my saving If that kind
of thing were to come OFF,"
This makes him positively furious.
He says that that observation proves
that you are an utter fathead. He
has all the insurance figures on a
mans chances to live doped out and
at his fingers ends, and he tells you
that at your age, thirty-seven, why,
you've got such and such a number
of chances out of such and such a
number to go right on living until
you bury the last member of this
years baby crop. He jumps upon
you for trying to fetch in that milk
wagon and tells you that the grave
defect of your character is frivolous
ness. The very fact that you'de be-
gin to talk about milk wagons and
wishbones and Oak Hills and things
when he was trying to lead you tc
your duty-your duty to your family
as well as to yourself-why, that very
fact shows that the grave defect OF
your character Is frivolousness. II
sure Is He's sorry to see it, too
He's noticed 1t for years, but he
never wanted to say anything about
1t to you.
Sad nuisance, this saving friend OF
yours. Sad, really. Because you
can't come right out and tell him tc
take that noise away. He's always
a good, solid, well meaning sort ol
a chap, you see, and you know very
well that he sincerely has your in.
terest at heart If you tell him tc
forget that stuff and talk baseball
he'll be offended. There's really
nothing that you can tell him that'l
stick, anyhow. The only thing you
can do is to keep right on apologizins
to him, year after year, dozens Of
times each year, for spending your
own hard earned money the way yor
feel like spending it.
1t sure is orful, Mildred, how many
otherwise good people there are il
this world who suffer from atrophy
of the Imagination and things
Washington Star.