Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1937-12-17
"Chirps'' ~
from the
Democrats Pen

0~112O~4 ~ - S11
Well, Sir, I've got one of these old
fashioned clocks over to my house
one of these shelf clocks; reckon it's
a sort of grandson to a grandfather
clock. It's pretty old-old enough for
me to be rather interested in knowing
its exact age.
So, wrote to a town Down East"
1 guess that's what they'd call those
New England States where so many
clock makers live, to find out if there
was any record of the firm that turn
ed out the old time-piece. address
ed my letter to the postmaster.
It wasn't very long before I re-
ceived a reply, naming a man who
posed as an antiquarian. 1 sent him
a Letter making an inquiry of my
relic. He replied and told me just
enough to whet my appetite for me,
and concluded by saying he was in
the business of searching out the pedi-
grees of antiques, and if 1 wanted a
full and complete history of my treas
ure, he would furnish it for one hun
dred and fifty dollars.
Well! That took my breath for 9
while, but when my respiration did
reach normal, I wrote him that ]
didn't see how I could absorb that
much knowledge about the clock, and
we'd have to call off all negotiations
of all sorts and kinds whatever until
my mental development had advanced
to that stage where it could keep ster
with his valuation. Further-some.
more, as the old piece had cost me
just dollar and 80 cents, 1 could not
see where an expenditure of one hun
dred times its value was very prudent
economy in these days of depression
or recession, whichever it may be. So,
have my old clock yet, and I am
still in ignorance of it's famous ances-
try.
But that isn't what I started to tel
you about this old curiosity. It's q
temperamental old hussy. Whenever
the hands turn around to the hour OF
five, it's not satisfied with five strikes
but gets in hurry and goes on tc
strike the next hour-six; then, wher
it comes to the hour six, it strikes sew.
en-one hour ahead.
When it makes it's round of twelve
hours, it picks up another hour-anc
every time it goes around the face OF
the dial, it gains one more hour. AL
I have to do is to sit pretty and after
awhile it will pick up five hours anC
come back to where it started. Re
minds me of young kitten playing
with its tail; or one of these foot bal
players who break thru the line anC
tackle from the rear the ball carrier
throwing him for a loss.
How-some-ever, you can't blame the
thing for being cranky, when I tel
you who owned it for many years
Of course, when I do name him, il
won't mean anything to a big major.
ity of the people here who won't know
who he is. He was old Bill Matthews
Bill was a cobbler and lived OF
Fourth treet corner of Maple. He
cobbled while and then went off anG
tippled, and he tippled more frequent.
ly than he cobbled, the result was, he
tippled himself into his grave.
My last recollection of Bill was 9
meeting between US in Baltimore.
wonder if any of you remember the
old Maltby House on Pratt Street. BY
the way, speaking of antiques, that
old hostelry was crammed with 'em
Every room in the building was q
store house of curious old furniture
It all went up in smoke in the great
Baltimore fire.
Out in front of the Maltby. was 6
porch extending skyward as many
stories as the hotel boosted. An iror
rail was on the first floor, and this
was favorite place for guests to sit
They rested their weary bodies in 9
chair, and parked their feet on the
railing. There was, one Summer.
day. While so occupied-or unoccu
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