The Wahpeton times. [volume] (Wahpeton, Richland County, Dakota [N.D.]) 1879-1919, 1917-10-11
His Moods
Mr.. Jobsoa was pulling 'em On.

Se u"o6SV Janus ueeO preSSl0 4
b grunted, mildly enough for him.
"YesT" said Mrs. Jobson, surveying
them" critically with her head on one
aide. '"They do need a crease, don't
they? BY the way, I notice that a
tailor and clothes repairer has moved
Into that little shop down the street
that has been vacant so long, and he
presses trousers for a quarter"
Trousers, heyl" barked Mr.. Jobson.
'Who said anything about trousers?
You can dispense with that Bostonese
stuff, If you please. I said pants, and
pants is what I meant. And what's a
clothes cobbler down the street got to
do with what I'm talking about, any.
how? I said that these pants needed
pressing. I didn't cay that they re-
quired the services of a tailor. There's
an answer to that. Put your mind to
work and maybe you can guess it."
'Well," began Mrs. Jobson, ''the
charge for pressing a pair of ira
pair Of pantaloons is SO"
"Oh, pantaloons?" snapped Mr.. Job
son. Cant fetch yourself to say
pants, Ell? Too bad about you, it sure
is. Pretty nicey-nicey all of a sudden
aren't you?"
"Oh, don't mind pants in the least"
said Mrs. Jobson with smile. "One's
use Of words, Of course, is purely q
matter of habit. L"
"Well, you don't have to nudge in
any cracks about my use of words, Ell
ther," cut in Mr.. Jobson. "But wait
a minute. Stop this business Of trying
to shunt me off on side line"
swell, as was saying" put in Mrs.
Jobson. "that new little place where
the tailor has moved in is so handy
and only q quarter for pressing pair
Of"
'Oh, that's it, is it?" chopped Mr..
Jobson, Handy, hey? Only quarter,
Ell. Picking it kind O. soft for yourself
these days, aren't you? Getting tired?
Suffering from that thing they call the
sleeping sickness2 Seems to me, now
I come to think of it, that way back in
the antique years, when the world was
young and icthysaurians and diplidoc-
uses and flying dragons and things
were prowling around, you used to
press my pants yourself. Kind of a
hard stretch of memory to bark back
to this remote period, I'll admit. But
sure do remember, as hiking back to
some previous incarnation, that you
did press my pants few times some
where around the glacial epoch. Re-
member it?'
"Why, Of course, pressed that very
pair of trousers-I mean pants-only
a week or SO ago." replied Mrs. job
son. "But Mrs. Spunjerine, next door,
borrowed my ironing board few days
ago and hasn't brought it back yet. and
then when that little tailor moved into
the neighborhood-why, thought tina.
maybe you'd rather"
Il don't know anything about any
little tailOrs, or big tailoTs, either"
growled Mr.. J0bson. Give managed to
stumble along in my mean, ornery,
squalid kind of a way for good many
years without any big Or little tailors
In this neighborhood to hold up my
hands or guide my footsteps, and I
guess I'll try to plug along without
such assistance from now until the
finish. The point is this: Am / to
understand from your harplng upon
the contiguity Of this little tailor as
you call him, that you fatty, firmly, alb
solutely and unqualifiedly refuse, de-
cline and reject the idea that you're
ever going to press another pair of
pants for me? Is that, pray, the Inn
preston that you are seeking to con-
vey?"
Certainly not" replied Mrs. Jobson,
smiling again. "It's not the least trou-
BILE in the world to press your tr-pants,
only thought that when they can be
pressed SO conveniently and inexpen-
sively-only Is cents"
that's the nine millionth time
you've roped in that reference to 25
cents" snorted Mr.. Jobson. Cant
you think of any new stuff? Why have
you got to chirp and chirp and chirp
on a phrase once you get started on
1t? But, since you're such q parokeet
with reference to that 25 cents thing.
permit me to say this: It's not mat
ter of Is cents at all. It's matter Of
principle. It's a matter of whether
you are going to gradually give up do
ing so much as a hands turn for me.
It's a matter Of whether you are go
ing gradually and--as you, no doubt,
hope-imperceptibly to withdraw from
all the useful activities of life around
here, so that you can have all of
your time to sit with your hands in
your lap, staring at the wall or else
reading fiction junk that wouldn't be
found dead with on the eastern branch
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