|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 55
"I reckon I kin pay the same as Mr. Dimmidge did for HIS," said the
lady complacently. "I didn't see your paper myself, but the paper
as copied it--one of them big New York dailies--said that it took
up a whole column."
The editor breathed more freely; she had not seen the infamous
woodcut which her husband had selected. At the same moment he was
struck with a sense of retribution, justice, and compensation.
"Would you," he asked hesitatingly,--"would you like it illustrated--
by a cut?"
"With which?"
"Wait a moment; I'll show you."
He went into the dark composing-room, lit a candle, and rummaging
in a drawer sacred to weather-beaten, old-fashioned electrotyped
advertising symbols of various trades, finally selected one and
brought it to Mrs. Dimmidge. It represented a bare and exceedingly
stalwart arm wielding a large hammer.
"Your husband being a miner,--a quartz miner,--would that do?" he
asked. (It had been previously used to advertise a blacksmith, a
gold-beater, and a stone-mason.)
The lady examined it critically.
"It does look a little like Micah's arm," she said meditatively.
"Well--you kin put it in."
The editor was so well pleased with his success that he must needs
make another suggestion. "I suppose," he said ingenuously, "that
you don't want to answer the 'Personal'?"
"'Personal'?" she repeated quickly, "what's that? I ain't seen no
'Personal.'" The editor saw his blunder. She, of course, had
never seen Mr. Dimmidge's artful "Personal;" THAT the big dailies
naturally had not noticed nor copied. But it was too late to
withdraw now. He brought out a file of the "Clarion," and snipping
out the paragraph with his scissors, laid it before the lady.
She stared at it with wrinkled brows and a darkening face.
"And THIS was in the same paper?--put in by Mr. Dimmidge?" she
asked breathlessly.
The editor, somewhat alarmed, stammered "Yes." But the next moment
he was reassured. The wrinkles disappeared, a dozen dimples broke
out where they had been, and the determined, matter-of-fact Mrs.
Dimmidge burst into a fit of rosy merriment. Again and again she
laughed, shaking the building, startling the sedate, melancholy
woods beyond, until the editor himself laughed in sheer vacant
sympathy.
"Lordy!" she said at last, gasping, and wiping the laughter from
her wet eyes. "I never thought of THAT."
"No," explained the editor smilingly; "of course you didn't. Don't
you see, the papers that copied the big advertisement never saw
that little paragraph, or if they did, they never connected the two
together."
"Oh, it ain't that," said Mrs. Dimmidge, trying to regain her
composure and holding her sides. "It's that blessed DEAR old
dunderhead of a Dimmidge I'm thinking of. That gets me. I see it
all now. Only, sakes alive! I never thought THAT of him. Oh,
it's just too much!" and she again relapsed behind her handkerchief.
"Then I suppose you don't want to reply to it," said the editor.
Her laughter instantly ceased. "Don't I?" she said, wiping her
face into its previous complacent determination. "Well, young man,
I reckon that's just what I WANT to do! Now, wait a moment; let's
see what he said," she went on, taking up and reperusing the
"Personal" paragraph. "Well, then," she went on, after a moment's
silent composition with moving lips, "you just put these lines in."
The editor took up his pencil.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|