Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1915-02-16

Copyright, 1915, by the Mcclure News
paper Syndicate.
On the morning of ST. Valentines
day the borders at Mrs. Munson's gath
cred around the long table with per-
Ihaps an unusual interest in the morn
ing's mail.
But the postman was late and break
fast Jagged. Once or twice Mrs. Mum
son had thrust her sharp nose into the
room and had even asked Mr.. Root if
there was anything more he wished.
Now. as a matter of fact, Mr.. Asa
Root ate a birdlike breakfast and new
er had been known to take a second
helping of anything; but this morning,
1.-THE postman not having arrived. Mr..
Root smiled blandly at his landlady
and informed her that he would take
a second cup of coffee.
Second helpings of anything being
rare at the Munson table, Mr.. Roots
fellow boarders grinned appreciatively
when Selma thudded heavily in with
a second cup of muddy mixture. po-
litely called coffee.
It was notable that Mr. Root never
even glanced at the replenished cup.
| His twinkling blue eyes were fixed on
the basement window, where one could
glimpse the first appearance of the
postman's gray-clad legs ere he de-
scended into the areaway.
Expecting a valentine. Mr.. Root?'
asked mischievous Ethel Raymond, the
little stenographer, who was to be mar
ried at Easter %H h
Mr. Root blushed furiously and look
ed into his coffee. ~
81 am looking for an important let
ter" he said severely.
valentines are important" leased
Ethel, for she liked the quiet little
gray man who had been bookkeeper for
twenty-five years in downtown ware
house Mr.. Roots bachelor quarters
at the top of the house had been spok-
en- of as model of comfort by the
men of the Munson boarding house but
the women would have it that the lit
tie man must be lonesome. and among
themselves they had secretly decided
that it would be fitting romance If
Mr.. Root married Miss Ida Wingfeld,
the school teacher who sat at the end
of the table.
Miss Wingfeld, once pretty. now
pale and tired, with rather disting-
uished air lent by her abundant gray
hair, always played Mr.. Roots accom-
paniments when he brought his violin
down to the parlor.
There's the postman now!" cried
Ethel Raymond eagerly.
A loud knock came at the basement
door and Selma plodded slowly to take
in the handful of letters.
! ,cli
the mail was given into Mrs. Munson's
toll worn hands, and that lady proceed
ed to distribute it with exasperating
slowness.
"A card for Mr.. Henshaw-humph,
it's only an ad., Mr.. HenshaW!' pass
ing it over to that indignant young
clerk "a missionary paper for Mrs.
Dodd-and a letter from your mother,
Miss Raymond-and here's a valentine
for Miss Wngfeld! Good land!' Mrs.
Munson's contempt of the tender mis-
sive was only exceeded by Ida Wing
fields embarrassment.
zone of my pupils she murmured
as she hid it in her lap.
more fools they" commented Mrs.
Munson tartly. "to spend money on
handsome embossed envelope-llke
enough it's comic. Here's valentine
for YOU, Mr.. Root declare, | never
see such foolishness! ! suppose they're
comic!" she challenged boldly.
VERY likely" said Asa Root gravely.
For that reason III not open mine I'M
til I am alone--it would be fearrully
embarrassing to have to exhibit 1t to
the whole family"
"Shucks," shifted Mrs Munson. 'T
suppose you feel the same way, Miss
Wingfield?"
Ida Wingfeld picked up her valen-
tine, broke the seal with reverent
! finger and pulled out charming con-
coction of lace paper and golden hearts
and flying cupids. There were roses
and forget me-nots and arrows scatter
ed everywhere.
"Ahn' breathed the excited table as
Miss Wingfield replaced it in the en-
velope.
you are satisfied, Mrs. Munson?"
asked Mr. Root in rasping tone.
! 'Id like to know who sent it," shifted
Mrs. Munson as she went out and
banged the door after her.
| "Impertinent, Insufferable!" gasped
old Mrs. Dodd, as she followed the
school teacher out into the basement
hall, 81 wouldn't remain here day
longer only Mrs. Munson is an excel
lent cook and as neat as wax-person-
ally she is impossible." She pounded
her gold-headed cane on the stairs as
she mounted.
Ida Wingfeld slipped into her warm