The Birmingham age-herald., 1908-06-23
PA CALLED HIS
 RUNAWAY BLUFF And Ma Played Her Tragedy
 Role BLUFF HABIT IS CURED
Boy Threatens One Time Too Often To Leave Home-Father and Mother Give Him a Kind
 Send Off.
From the Washington Post.

From the Washington Post.
 Talking of running away said the jolly fat man. "I had an experience or two myself when l was a purp. s, "It was favorite threat of mine. If I was sent on an. errand I didn't like I'd mutter that I was going to run away; if I was kept in the house for missing my lessons at school I'd whimper that I was going to run away; if I got my ears boxed for mischief I'd below that I was going to run away.
 ''Then maybe I'd make a dash for my cap and my mother would send me up to q the garret without my shoes until got cooled off, or else she would. lock me in the tool shed with an ax and a small mountain of logs to split into kindling. We lived in the country, you see.
 "But at last my father got tired of hearing that threat. tell you he was a smart man, my father. No licking for him and no counter-threats. He had game of his own. He just waited until he got me committed beyond retreat.
 q forget what devilment it grew out of or whether it was just my natural boys resistance to something l was told to do Whatever It was, I know I end- ed up the dispute with the fiat-footed an- nouncement, I ain't goin to stand it no more I'm goin' to leave home an look out for meselluf Pm goin' now. So, therei
 oh, very well, John,' says my father as grave as an owl. I'm sorry; but If you're mind s made up it cant be helped. ort fria o1tt and see mother'-and with that he took me by the hand as kind and gentle as patriarch in a picture in the Bible, and began walking me over toward the house. I forgot to mention that the fuss was in the barn.
 Now you can't imagine how my heart rose up in my throat in that short walk over to the house. l had been more or less consciously bluffing, and here I was it seemed, up against the real thing.
 About this time we reached the kitch- en door and the old man drew me in can see the picture right now before my eyes-my mother with hersbig, blue ging ham apron stirring crabapples with wooden spoon in a big copper kettle on the shining stove. Ann Maria, the hired girl, was peeling the potatoes for the mems dinner. My baby brother was sit- ting in his swing chair near the door and making grabs at the black cats tail as the brute rubbed to and fro against chair leg just out of his reach. Oh, it was so peaceful and homelike, and the pungent smell of those apples just went to my gizzard.
 Told Ma the "NeWs."
 "Then says pa, as grave as an old judge but just as kind and sweet as honey; sals he. John has concluded it's best for him to leave home, He's going out into the world to make his fortune, and he's come over to tell you goodbye.
 q had a moment of heartsickening doubt crossed with hope. Then my hafr stood on end. Could believe my ears? Could that be my sweet motlter speak ing in those heartless tones? What she actually said was: oh, Is he going? We'll, I'm most too busy now to bothe CT with him. But I wish him good luck. We'll be glad to get a letter from him sometimes.'
 "Well, ma,' said my father T guess we'd best do something to give >im start in life. Just let Ann Maria stir the apples and you go and make him up a little bundle. He'll want a clean shirt and pair of socks or two, and a couple of handkerchiefs-a bring him his good shoes. And, say, ma, you bring me down dollar bill out O the isIeIu drawer.
 Ma started off as cheerful as could be, and my father turned to me where l stood frozen with horror, and, putting on the fine society air that he usually kept for the dominic and the doct0-, he waved me to a chair, politely urging me as if I was already stranger in the house with Sit down, John. You'll need it. Maybe you'll have long way to go today
 'He slipped out of the room minute and then he came back with a ~aS and the heel of the Sunday joint of beef And some butter and he began cutting tie bread and spreading the butter and juicy sandwiches with great industry. l looked on with sick sort of wonder too crushed even to cry, when ma came hustling back with choice selection from my wardrobe over her arm and my Testament in her hatd. This was an awful stroke. It was SC like the stories in the books.
 I'm making a few sandwiches for !ohn.' says my father. kind O pathetic ike. He may need them, poor boy and he heaved sigh.
 "This tapped the springs of my soul