The Birmingham age-herald., 1915-01-24

am not theoretically pinioning my arms to keep from boxing his ears.'
 'They're a lot of wild animals when they are playing cards,' agreed Mrs. Tit ter, enthusiastically. "and they all act alike except those smiling candidates for matrimony. How sweet and gentle they are then. It's T beg your pardon,' and If you please and Permit me- They certainly change quickly enough from soft, playing little pups to ugly grown up dogs
 'The evenings in our household used to be so sweet, but alas! now they are turned into hours of torment" said Mrs Pumpkins wearily.
 Patient soul that you are, I know how you must have suffered said the other kindly.
 You sec in the first place, MT. Bump kins always rubs it in by saying he plays cards merely to please his family" re- marked Mrs. Pumpkins vigorously. "Of course, the real reason he plays is be- cause he can make us mad more times in one evening that way than any other. We perform a little game called Five Hundred and Papa thinks it's up to him to bet every hand up to the limit so as to keep us from winning He doesn't care if he's four miles behind until one of us happens by some hook or crook to win a game and he begins to pout.'
 q suppose he almost cries: I know he does if he's anything like MT. Tit ter said Mrs. litter, We almost have to hold buckets to catch the crocodile tears that MT. litter sheds when he loses.''
 Well, Mir Pumpkins doesn't exactly 'bleer' when he loses,' said the other, but he makes a terrible racket. He holds a post mortem after every hand which all but runs me crazy. In the first place, he kicks against his luck all the time, saying he never has any like other people. and declares that the kid child and my poor old self don't know how to play like he does, but that we have the luck, and get the cards. He declares emphatically that he is tine sci entifiec member of the family. He has the stupendous brain. he has, Believe me, half of the time when he makes the trump and rakes in the chips, he doesn't discard. He plays chirpngly along with 13 cards, instead of 10, and even then he can't win-often''
 Its most astounding fact, my dear" observed Mrs. litter. that we can abide the brutes at all. The longer I live the more firm I am in the belief that hus- bands and dogs should live in the barn"
 '"They are not so bad in the summer" said Mrs. Pumpkins, ''I mean the hus- bands. because you can turn them loose on the golf links. and the golf links don't care. just dread to see the golf sea- son close, though, for what is to become of poor, dear Papa? Sixteen miles over the greensward every day, and fast asleep he is by o'clock and the kid child and I are left alone to rock and manicure our nails and talk about the neighbors to our hearts content. But now-alas!-gone are those happy even- ings of yesterweek. The roaring volcano breaks loose every night anew! Having had no exercise during the day MT. Pumpkins is ready for anything when the evening comes So we have to amuse
 
 table (and he never can fix the legs to the table like anybody else; they stick or won't work, or something) my spirits just sink-deeper and deeper and deeper. And this is the way he begins to talk:
 Well, I guess I'm the very best lit- tie Five Hundred player we have. I guess Papa is the boy who is going to win the dough-
 "Then he picks up his hand" Mrs. Pumpkins continued to relate, and as soon as he picks it up he immediately throws it down and half of the cards fall on the floor and the big fat thing has to stoop down and in doing so nearly breaks blood vessel and he groans and squawks and carries on like something wild. After that ordeal ia over and he Is sitting in his chair like A respectable human being again bid six on heart and the kid-child bids seven on clubs and Papa, with out even 50 much as looking al his hand Gin fact. he's never yet arranged his cards although he's been work ing like Trojan since the hand was dealt and puffing like steam en- gine) bids nine on mo trumps. Now what can you do with a person like that7 Can you beat thatr
 T could but won't" murmurs Mrs. litter Knowingly.
 eHe hasn't a thing to bid o,l of course Mrs. Pumpkins continues frateiy. 'He merely bids 50 we can't play our pretty little hands. Anybody would bid on the had he had. Any chump could bid on 1t, but when he does and 1t doesn't turn out like he expected and hs doesn't make his per fsctY gocd pine that he bids he flieu