Gilpin observer., 1917-08-23

aBuluI cut Al NArs JOoSou' OC6AhAA"S
to hop about the room. DANCED II it
isn't maddening the way you women
chew and chaw and MUNICH and masti-
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 1t 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. II !
can get away with having it done. But.
Of course. If you're curling up on all
that stun, II you've made up your
mind to buck and kick. If 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 L"
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 1t, 60 ahead and make a
martyr Of yourself about 1t !" snapped
Mr.. JObsOn. Pull that slOw-music
stuff on me. Look abused. Look Inn
posed upon. Look bullied 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 I'm brutalizing you or sep
arating you from the higher and nObler,
or robbing you of your frame, or any
thing like that when 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 hav-
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 an
ungodly howl, such an unearthly wall
of-a-lost soul squeak over doing lit
tie pressing for her husband as you
do. AS matter of fact, I'll bet"
"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 a diversion.
mo, I can't, and. what's more,
wouldn't If could" grOwled Mr.. Job
son. 'It's heap you care, anyhow,
whether my pants are pressed or not.
You'd as leave See me hiking around
this town looking like bulgy, down
at-the-heels, unbrushed. unkempt, un-
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: "Fll pay
you to press my pants, see? You say
1t costs 25 cents to have pants pressed
at that little tailor's down the street
that you're plugging so strongly for7
All right. I'll make it four bits-5O
cents. Every pair of pants that you
press for me henceforth will set me
back half a 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 mOOching around
here with that dismal, abused, out
ragged expression Of cOuntenance. So
Just remember: Fifty cents for every
pair Of pants that you put crease in
for me. Get that3 Four bits. Then
you won't be abused. You won't have
to gloom and glover around as II
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
arouRd-the-house clothes as soon as he
came home, and Mrs. JObson picked up
the trousers that he took of and start
ed down to the basement with them.
"What's coming OF now?" sang out
Mr.. JobsOn. cheerily. "Whatcha going
to do with those pants, my dear7"
"Press them while the iron Is hot"
replied Mrs. JobsOn.
"Oh. no you amt" said Mr.. Jobson,
taking the trousers from her. mot on
your daguerreOtype. I guess you've
earned rest from all that sort Of
thing after nil thesa vaars I'm not