The Wahpeton times. [volume] (Wahpeton, Richland County, Dakota [N.D.]) 1879-1919, 1917-10-11

to hop about the room. .panged II Il
int maddening tho way you women
chew and chaw and MUNICH and mast.
cate a bunch Of words once you get
them rattling around back Of your
teeth. And let me tell you once more,
II you can understand plain English
speech, that it isn't the matter Of the
hardness, either. When it comes to
that, it's pretty handy to have my
pants pressed right in this plant, If I
can get away with having it done. But,
Of course, If you're curling up on all
that stuff, If you've made up your
mind to buck and kick. II you've de-
cided that you just won't render any
little services Of that sort for me any
more, why, Of course, that puts diff
ferent complexion ON things, and T."
Lets not talk about it any more"
mildly suggested Mrs. Jobson. you
know very well that I've never left of
doing your pressing for you. I only
suggested the tailorshop down the
street. OF course, If you don't care to
patronize the little tailor shop for
your pressing, I'll"
"Oh, that's it, so ahead and make q
martyr of yourself about it" snapped
Mr.. Jobson. Pull that slow-music
stuff ON me. Look abused. Look inn
posed upon. Look bullicd and bully
ragged and cowed and all like that.
Fine. Looking cowed is the best little
thing to do. But you're not going to
get away with that cowed gag this
time, let me tell You that. don't con-
slider that Pm brutalizing you or Sep
arating YOU from the higher and nobler
or robbing you of your frame, or any,
thing like that when I gently request
that you see to the occasional press
ing of my pants. There are thousands
of men in this town who can buy me
and sell me and send me to the Stag
heap when 1t comes to possessions who
don't make the least bones about hay
Ing their wives press their outer gar
ments for them, and I'll bet that in all
Washington, this morning, there isn't
woman, either, who puts up such IN
ungodly howl, such an unearthly vail
of-a--lost soul squeak over doing q lit
tie pressing for her husband as you
6n a or( n ho&
"Can't you wear some other pair of
tr-pants today and leave those behind
for me to press?" suggested Mrs. job
son to create diversion.
"No, I can't, and, what's more, I
wouldn't If could" growled Mr.. job
Son. ITS heap you care, anyhow,
whether my pants are pressed or not.
You'd as leave see me hiking around
this town looking like a bulgy, down.
at-the-heels, unbrushed, unkelnpt, UNI
pressed slob as not. But look here.
Since you're bent on putting up that
martyred map and looking sad and
sweet over this little business I'll make
little proposition to you: "I'll pay
you to press my pants, see? You say
1t costs 25 cents to have pants pressed
at that little tai!or's down the street
that you're plugging so strongly for?
All right. I'll make it four bits-5O
cents. Every pair of pants that you
press for me henccforth will set me
back half dollar. I'll be glad to dig
up just to keep peace in the family.
I'd rather pay 81 per press for pants
than to have you nlOoching around
here with that dismal abused, out
ragged expression of countenance. So
just remember: Fifty cents for every
pair of pants that you put a crease in
for me. Get that? Four bits. Then
you won't be abused. You won't have
to gloom and glover around as if
somebody was engaged all the time in
throwing Jumps Of anthracite at you,"
and then Mr.. Jobson bounced down the
stairs to the breakfast table and the
matter, for that morning, was closed.
Mr.. JObson was in a fine, whistling,
chirpy mood when he got home that
evening. He even went so far as to
chuck Mrs. Jobson under the chin
when he entered the vestibule and to
tell her that her skin certainly did look
fine. He changed into his knock
around-the-house clothes as soon as he
came home, and Mrs. Jobson picked up
the trousers that he took Off and start
ed down to the basement with them.
"What's coming off now?" sang out
Mr.. Jobson, cheerily. "Whatcha going
to do with those pants, my dear?"
"Press them while the iron is hot"
replied Mrs. Jobson. q
"Oh, no you amt" said Mr.. Jobson,
taking the trousers from her. mot on
your daguerreotype. guess you've
earned a rest from all that sort of
thing after all these years. I'm not
going to have any woman connected
with me pressing pants for me when I
can get that job done for two bits by
IL