The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1909-08-28
Fred Bullene's Ideal Bachelor
Quarters on Fillmore Street.
Has Proved That He Can Be
Independent of Women.
ALL SIGNS OF COMFORT
Oriental Rugs, Comfortable Fur
niture in Good Taste.
How the Owner Circumvents
the Ice Man.

Tie 1C0 MALL
'AOh, Geei I wish that I had gofl
Like the other fellows had;
%nd oSe eG ms s1 up wh henS feel bad.
When I ought to be down to my sweet
And it's lonesome. awful lonesome.
Gee! wish had goilt''
You really mustn't be prejudiced
against the prettiest bungalow in To-
peka eff it IS owned and occupied. by
a crusty bachelor) just because there
As a photograph in it.. For, of an
evening, when he can't find a bridge
game nor a poker game, and he has
no guests to cheer his solitude and
Flap up the contents of his refrigerator,
1.-THE master of this independent para
disc digs up his favorite record, puts
the soft needle on the Victrola, huns
anournfully to the machines accom-
ipaniment, "Oh. Gee, I wish that had
q goili'' and gets a melancholy salts
faction out of it. This, and another
classic, I'm Tired of Eating in the
Restaurants declares Colonel Fred
BulIene, the Kansas man on the Kan
sas City Star, the building of whose
attractive shack on Fillmore street
was the occasion of more marrying
stories than have ever been told on any
one confirmed bachelor in the history
of civilization, epitonize the sad story
of his life, and the inside explana-
ton of a mystery which has baff1ed
the village gossips for months. For
while everybody can understand lone
spinster making an old maids para |
disc of a tiny fiat or satisfying her |
domestic yearningS in one room with |
a chatting dish, an alcohol lamp and |
silver from a ten cent--store, Mere |
Man Gas a matter of solid fact the |
most domesticated animal on earth |
not excepting tame old Maltese) |
III, and IL hal
comforts, independence and SecluSiOn |
of home without arousing specula-
ton on the part of all his acquaint- |
ances as to his matrimonial hopes or
intentions.
"You go out to Fred Bullene's and
get story about his house" said that
brutal sIave-driver. the city editor.
eff KunneI Blene wants me to write
A story about his house, seq the |
down-trodden hireling. ''let him ask
about a dinner invitation ever since he
built his old 'dobe shack, but until he
comes through with the fried chicken
and the roasting ears and all that, 1
have no way of knowing that he has
n good lookin' house and propose to
knock on il"
But it's simply impossible to criti-
else Mr.. BuHene's bungalow after
you've seen it. And somehow that talk
about his favorite song no longer i'm
presses you as so poignantly pathetic.
L
some one to cheer 2him up when he
felt sad he could have her: no normal
woman. with a woman's domestic in
Stinct. her inherent feeling for a per-
feet little house, perfectly ordered.
could resist that bungalow. She would
stand for good deal in the way of
cranky bachelor notions in its owner.
And as a matter of fact, in spite of
that delayed dinner imitation, the fat
colonel is a pretty good sort, at that.
Sentimental femmes who read this
80 SnI 5r-rar ffe-Aw1
prompted to let Mr.. Bullene know that
there are other lonely hearts which
beat responsive to his own, other
monographs which play the "com-
at Wish Had a Beau would doubt
less be wasting their time Between
you and the downtrodden hireling
there isn't a man in town. in the
bosom of an adoring family. who
lives. apparently, a more contented
life than Colonel Bullene: with his
man Friday Ga Black Friday, by the
way), and his bull pup Jerry
Colonel BuIlene's bungalow, the most
distinctive and the only bona fide, orig
as all the world knows, on one of the
lots of the old Archie Williams place
on Fillmore street. One floor and an
TRIM eS wide front veranda, flower
boxes overlooking with greenery and
bloom, a bow-window on one side and a
screened porch on the other a smooth
lawn in front, and row of splendid
maple trees on the edge of the parking,
and in the rear a real garden with
sweet corn and tomatoes and radisheS
and things as well as fowers-that's
the sort of miserable excuse for home
that one helpless bachelor has made for
himself. without ever the touch of a
woman'S hand-poor thing! Already
although the house was only flnishe
this spring, Japanese ivy and a crimson
rambler have been planted around the
veranda and are we'll up the wide net
ting placed for their support There is
a ported palm, placed with just as
much careless grace as if a woman had
taken half a Friday morning to the
task. at one side of the portal, and
there is a grass fibre rug on the
veranda and gay crimson hammock
and swinging davenport, and you
would never notice that it was mans
house until you stepped inside. Then,
however, the signs are unmistakab BILE.
One big living room and dining room
combined (the entrance is by way of a
small vestibule-halD which runs the
whole width of the house with a great
fireplace of native rubble stone, flanked
by low oak bookcases, under long case
ment windows, is at the south end.