Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1912-01-02

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shouldered aside his guardian angel
(for that's what common sense is,
argue to what end you willy and
pleaded in that luminous rhetoric UNI
DER the spell Of which our old friend
Sancho often fell asleep.
r. A., as they called him behind
the counters. was but twenty eight,
and II he was vice-president in his
last fathers shoes he didn't wabble
In crowd he was not noticeable; he
didn't stand head shoulders above his
fellow men, nor would he have been
mistaken by near-sighted persons, the
myopes, for the vatican's Apollo in
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beardless, slender, but tough and wiry
and enduring. You may see his pro-
totype on the streets dozen times q
day, and you may also pass him with
out turning round for q second view.
Young men like P. A. must be init
mately known to be admired; you did
not throw your arm across his neck,
first-off. His hair was brown and
closely clipped about a head that
would have gained the attention OF
the phrenologist, If not that Of the
casual passer-by. His bumps, in the
phraseology Of that science, were
good ones For the rest, he observed
the world through pair of kindly,
shy, blue eyes. 4#
Young girls, myopic through ignor-
ance or Stiffness, seeing nothing be-
yond what the eyes see, seldom gave
him second inspection; for he did
not know how to make himself at
tractive, and was mortally afraid of
the opposite, or opposing sex. He
could bully-rag a sheik out of his
camels' saddle-bags, but petticoats
lace parasols and small oxfords had
the same effect upon him that the
prodding stick Of small boy has up
on a retiring turtle. But many a
worldly-wise woman, drawing out with,
tact ard kindness the truly beautiful
thoughts of this young mans soul, sad
ly demanded of fate why sweet,
clean boy like this one had not been
sent to her in her youth. You see,
the worldly-wise woman knows that
ii is invariably the lay-fgure and not
Prince Charming that a woman mar
ries, and that matrimony is blind
mans buff for grown-ups.
Many of us lay the blame upon our
parents. We shift the burden Of
wondering why We have this fault and
lack that grace to the shoulders Of
our immediate forebears. We go to
the Office each morning denying that
we have any responsibility; we let
never went prospecting In his soul for
any such dross philosophy. He was
grateful for having had so beautiful a
mother; proud of having had SO hon
est a SIRE; and if either of them had
endued him with false weights he did
his best to even up the balance.
The mother had been as romantic as
any heroine out of Mrs. Radcliffs
novels, while the father had owned
to as much romance as one generally
finds in a thorough business man,
which is practically none at all. The
very name itself is bulwark against
the intrusions Of romance. One can
not lift the imagination to the pro-
spect Of picturing Jones in ruffles
and high boots, qinking varlet in
the niddriff 1t smells of sugar bar
rels and cotton bales, Of steamships
and railroads, of stolid routine in the
office and of placid concern over the
daily news under the evening lamp
Mrs. Jones, lovely, lettered yet not
worldly, had dreamed of her boy, bay
ed and decorated, marrying the most
distinguished woman in all Europe,
whoever she might be. Mr.. Jones had
had no dreams at all, and had put the
boy to work in the shipping depart
ment little while after the college
threshold had been crossed, outward
bound The mother, while sweet and
gentle, had will, iron under velvet.
and when she held out for Percival
Algernon and q decent knowledge OF
modern languages, the old man agreed
if, on the other hand, the boys first
name should be George and that he
should learn the business from the
cellar up. There were several tits
over the matter, but at length a truce
was declared 1t was agreed that the
boy himself ought to have word to
say upon subject which concerned
him more vitality than any one else.
So, at the age Of fifteen, when he was
starting off for preparatory school, he
was advised to choose for himself.
He was an obedient son, adoring his
mother and idolizing his father. He
wrote himself down as George Perci-
val Algernon Jones, promised to be-
come linguist and to learn the rug
business from the cellar up. On the
face Of it, it looked like big job; 1t
all depended upon the boy.
The first day at school his misery
began. He had signed himself as
George P. A. Jones, no small diplom-
acy for a lad; but the two initials,
standing UP like dismantled pines in
the midst of embarrassing landscape,
reused the curiosity Of his school