The herald. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1905-1953, 1914-09-03
TALE OF WHITE PAINT
BY CARL kILGORE.

II WNlle pdulI-duu hScp Jul VI ~
He glared at the three young Stat
tiers and included Mrs. Slater in his
general glance. You know" he added
IN her direction little defiantly, that
you are just as impetuous and thought
less as the children! Some OF you will
be sure to fall against the woodwork
or try to absorb a bucket Of stun be-
fore the woodwork is finished! don't
see why the painters had to choose
Saturday. when the children are home
from schools"
Well be careful, John" promised
Mrs. Slater. "Oh-wait till / get
some turpentine and take It on"
Slater, clad in his broad-shouldered.
fuzzy winter overcoat, had attempted
TO pass through the den door to the
hall and the door jamb affectionately
brushed his right arm, leaving a white
smudge. Tee hee'" mistakenly said
Sally Slater, aged nine.
Sally" barked her father For
that you get no dessert tonight! 1t Is
time you learned to exercise little
respect toward your elders! Marcia,
| should think you would endeavor to
/ bring up your children IN a manner
! that"
It's all of, now, John" interrupted
Mrs. Slater. Il think if you will go
through the front door sideways-good
gracious, you've whisked the tails Of
your coat against the parlor door"
"Ye-ow!" yelled Johnny Slater, Jr.,
and dived for the swing door into the
kitchen.
Look at that" cried Slater, point
| ing majestically toward Johnny's exit.
IF that door had been white instead
of oak and if it had Just been painted
Johnny would have struck it with both
hands just the same! That's what I
mean by your carelessness! l expect
that when l get home tonight the
whole place will be marked up with
smears,"
Il hope not" said Mrs. Slater, anx-
iously. "Good-by, dear-oh!"
In turning to kiss her Slater had
rested his gloved hand on the front
door jamb. The glove that Slater
tore from his hand and hurled violent
ly as he went down the front steps
hit one Of the parlor windows and left
a smear.
With the exception Of the baby's feat
of licking off one of the freshly done
| spindles Of the staircase and the catas-
trophe which befell Johnny, Jr., who
lost his balance and grabbed the door
to save himself, the painting was a
triumphant success. Mrs. Slater well
coined her husbands early return
from >the Office with tolerably clear
conscience. He was restrainedly calm
bout the episode Of the baby and the
lind painter had painted out the evil
dences Of Johnny's misdeed and no.
body had stepped into a bucket Of
paint, as he had prophesied.
Il will say that l am surprised"
Slater confided kindly. you must
have tied up the children all day and
had extra good luck yourself. Well,
you see what a little forethought will
| dol"
A little later there came q yell from
the bathroom. whittier Slater had
gone to shave before he and his wife
should start for the card club. why
didn't you tell me they had painted
up here?" he demanded. II hadn't any
Idea they had got upstairs yet! It
won't wash on my handsl"
Mrs. Slater secured most Of the
paint from Skaters hands and soothed
him as best she could. He was still
nutinous when they departed and his
fingers showed a grimy gray which 70
fused to come OF.
Lovely looking mitts for playing
cards." said Slater with reproach.
III you'd only use your head e little
and warn people!"
They got home late and Slater was
tired. Its good to get home!" he
groaned. I'm dead to the world"
With long sigh of relief. he tossed
his overcoat over the stair railing,
where 1t chung affectionately to the
spindles. He himself sank down on
the seat built in at the foot of the
stairs. Mrs. Skaters shrek when she
turned around and saw him expressed
some horror, but more malicious tri-
umph. Slater pulled his dress suit
painfully loose from the stair seat and
grabbed his coat, which also stuck.
I'm going to tend to the furnace
and 90 to bed" he growled, and
stalked down into the basement, mer-
cifully spared the tragedy of seeing
the rear view of his evening clothes.
He was absent some time and when
he came up he was in his stocking
| feet.
you needn't ask where my shoes
are" he snapped to Mrs. Slater. who
paused in her gingerly progress up
the paint-wet stairs. Because they're
In the furnace! And" Slater ended
savagely as her lips opened In threat
ened speech, they're In the furnace
because stepped into pail of white
paint the painter left on purpose right
In my way! Darn your old paint, any.