Nobody Ever Had an Aristocratic Looking Moving!
-By O. O. M’INTYRK.
Tho other day I moved. It was
just from one floor to another, tyit
I never knew how poor I was un
til It happened. You may have the
most expensive looking what-not in
the world but wrap an old quilt
around it and see what happens.
No cat could drag in anything so
terrible.
After I had assembled our belong
ings in boxes, trunks, grips and
flower pots I wanted to call in
the Junk man and have him make
me just an offer. If he had gone
more than a dollar and a quarter
I would know he was not on the
road to become a Junk King.
Isn't it funny how yiJb dislike
to throw things away when you
move? I pondered for a half-hour
over tossing a pair of moth-eaten
garters into the wastebasket. After
all I might need them some time
in a hurry. If there is anything
you ever need in a hurry a garter
is it.
I sneaked up a back hall stairs
with my arms loaded down with
clothes. Just before I got to my
new quarters a group of fashionably
dressed young girls stepped out
from the elevator and came toward
me. Now these were perfectly good
clothes—dresses from Paris and
suits from Fifth avenue—let me
brag a little—but I felt like Moe.
th Ole Clo' man.
Avoided I.ike a Plague.
The way they walked around me
one might think I was carrying a
brand new bundle of typhuB germs.
If I had stumbled I know there
would have been^hysterical wails.
"Why is It everything looks so
shoddy when you move? I don't
believe I-ouis the something or
other could have had an aristo
cratic moving out of the palace %t
Versailles.
The true test of domestic cor
diality is revealed in moving. I just
want to see the married couple who
can move without a tiff. They don’t
belong in this world. Movies could
be Written about them.
I started cut with the second
load and my wife called me back.
Wives will call you Aack, boys.
“Better take this," she suggested.
Both arms were loaded so she hung
»« ****** t— K T.
He got hold of the ends of the laundry bag ribbons and cried,
“Did up, horsey!” ' <
a laundry bag filled with pictures
around my neck. I was all right
on a straight path but making a
turn was something else again.
The laundry bag got In between
my—are they railing them limbs?
I said "dang, dang," or something
like that and a little boy playing
In the hall thought I w*as trying
to nmuse him. He got hold of the
ends of the laundry bag ribbons
that were hanging down my back
and cried: "Did up. horsey!" That
Innocent child does not realize how
nearly he came to a great catastro
phe. I almost forgot I was a horso
and if I did not kick hack like a
mule it shows I still have self re
straint.
Then its a crowning humiliation
a bright young fellow—who had
never met mo socially or other
wise—passed and gave birth to this
amazingly brilliant discovery:
“Well. I see you are moving!" I
wanted to say: "No. indeed, kind
sir, I am picking oysters for but
terflies,” but the laundry strings
were choking me beyond the
speaking age.
Going back for the third trip my
sympathy for strikers reached high
tide.
Honeyed Words.
"I don't care if we never get
moved,” I said. "I’ve been made
a pack horse for the last time.
Somebody else can do the dirty
work.”
"Hut, dearie,” said my wife—
and whenever she says “dearie” it
means I’ve got to do something I
don’t want to do—"surely you
won't let porters and bellboys carry
these things and perhaps break
them. Here, like a good boy”—
and she handed by a Chinese vase
that is either of the Ming or Sam
Lee period, I don't know which.
”I'I1 take It,” I said, "but not
another thing.” So I lifted it to
my shoulder and started out the
door. This time there was another
wise cracker. He was walking with
a lady.
"Ah,” he said, "Diana at the
well!” _ •
I never wanted to bust a fellow
in the face with a Chinese vase so
much in my life. I hope some day
he has to carry a stuffed bear from
Columbus circle to the Battery, the
big whatyoumaycallit.
Well, to make a long story
longer, I made about a dozen
more trips and we began to unpack.
That, men, is where the real
trouble begins.
"Where is my typewriter?" I In
quired, diffidently. “I want to go
to work.”
From another room came the re
ply: “It is in the bottom of the
trunk—the big one.” And then be
gan the hunt for the trunk key. It
had completely vanished. I storm
ed up and down—searched through
every pocket and went back to the
other quarters for a complete
search. It was nowhere, so we
sent for the locksmith—end those
birds place a high value on time.
He came with enough keys to sink
the Leviathan.
Domestic Felicity.
He found the key in the trunk
lock. Then he departed and I open
ed the trunk.
"Did you find the key?” asked
the Mrs.
"No.” I said In my sweetest tone,
but with just a faint tinge of sur
casm, "we opened it with a shoo
horn.”
“O, you did, did you," she said
with just as much sarcasm, "well,
look what you are sitting on.” It
was an open box of candy and the
day was hot.
"If you would Just go away and
let me alone. I could do this mov
ing.” I said with vigor. She left,
and there I was paying, the penalty
of those who speak In haste and
repent in leisure.
My landlord willing. I never ex
pect to move again. It has been
two weeks now and every day
something is missing. If moving
from one floor to another could
cause such a rumpus I don’t sea
how it is possible for a Xew Yorker
to move to California.
Just yesterday I was reading the
evidence in a divorce trial. The
judge asked the husband when the
first marital difficulty developed.
He Knew How It Was.
"Well, Judge,” he said, "last
spring when we were getting things
ready to move”—I didn’t read any
more. I know how it all came
about.
I am wondering just who It was
started this moving business any
way. Whoever he was he certainly
spoiled a lot of happy homes. He Is
the original home-wrecker, and I
know where he is now and I hope
they never let him move.
There are professional movers
who for so much a move promise to
have everything in ship shape. Just
turn over your stuff to them and
they will do the rest.
Well, I tried that once. And it
was just perfectly elegant except
they moved me to the wrong ad
dress and I had to move ail over
again. So, if you have, to move,
there is only one way—do it your
self, but send your wife to the coun
try, tra la !a!
While I was writing this a friend
of mine called me on the phone
from Stamford.
“I’m moving.” he said.
"How's the Missus?” said I.
“I don't know,” said he.
"Whadda you mean, you don't
know,” I inquired.
“We are not speaking.” said he.
”1 understand.”
(Copyright 19221
THE CONDEMNED _r,«*Tw*-) By Courtney Ryley Coopei
• snarling bark. Again—again.
Then a chorus came, excited, tense:
"Quick! . Grab that dog—grab
that dog! That bull's going bod
•gain!"
Jard Brace seized the snapping,
yapping mongrel and ran with him
out of the ring at elephants and
men.
"Keep on going with him—take
him over to the tent and keep him
there!"
Back in the elephantcar. Rajah
bellowed and raged. For he had
seer\!. He had recognized a being
win m he hated, bearing away the
one thing in the world he possessed
and loved!
Vainly they strove to enter ths
car. Then shouts! Steam shrieked
from the whistle of the rear switch
engine. Then the engine began to
pull, striving by main machine
strength to throw the great beast *o
the floor and hold him there. But
a new shout of warning sounded, a
new milling of men:
"Ease up .there! This knot’s slip- '
ping! This knot's—”
The switch-engine whistled In
warning—at the jerk of the release
of a heavy load. Rajah kicked and
padded with his bleeding hind hoofs,
freed them, then with one crash
struck the side of the car with his
full weight, and tore through!
In vain they strove to block his
path with the other elephants. An
opening showed, and through It he
went, in a straight, rushing drive
toward the one thing in the world
be hated. Just fading under the side
wall of the menagerie tent, still
with Rags in his grasp.
The storm broke. The great tents
swayed and bellowed, dripping
figures clung to the guy-ropes.
' Planks crashed. Straight on Rajah
•went—on to the side-wall and with
in.
One thing stood before him, arms
wide, face white, ghastly. The
great trunk swung high and laced
downward; hoofs stamped; long
tusks drove deep, and yellow Ivory
dripped carmine. Again—then
turned, at a frightened yelp. Above,
something crackled; ropes gave way
in the gale. A quartorgmle fell,
then a second and third. The tent
sagged; the center-poles began to
sway.
Rajah wheeled and trotted to his
little companion. He pushed at him
gently with his trunk, and the dog
crawled toward him. Then slowly
the lilg brute first settled to one
knees, then the othor, and finally
to a crouching position on all fours,
while the little mongrel crawled to
the protection of hie heavy breast
and nestled there, whining no
longer.
A center-pole crashed downward,
against the thick-boned head of the
elephant. But it did not touch the
warm, fluffy little thing against his
breast. And slowly, softly, the can
vas came down and covered them
from the wind and lightning and
slanting rain.
j When a Feller Needs a Friend
By BRIGGS.'
Frederick Phrtesrue Fink, age Id, has decided to Inform Ida father that school life lias become In suf
ferable; I hat he Intends leaving it forthwith and entering at onre upon a business raraer; that he will be nias
ter of his own destiny henceforth. . . , Fred Is assuming a fiercely determined expression In order lo con
vince his father that he means business, that nothing ran alter his purpose!
■ ' - I
The storm passed. Drenched
workmen, hurrjing to the rescue
of the animals. Jerked the canvas
from a high piled mound, to stand
staring at a little dog sheltered be
neath the bulky head of Rajah.
Mathews, the superintendent, was
summoned on the run. Then th*-v
heard:
"Don’t you red light me, Mason''
It was a high pitched, frantic voice
from somewhere beneath the can
vas. "I had to hook that bull. I
tell you! Don't you lay a hand
on me—I’U kill you—111 kill you"'
"Tear off that canvas! Quick''
Ma’thews knelt bestde a torn, red
marked thing, whose eyes stared
but saw not, whose foam-specked
lips repeated again and again
“I'U kUl you, Mason—I'll kill
you!"
"Brace—what arc you talking
about?"
"The hook-mark's gone! They'll
never see It—never know but win at
—tell 'em he's gone bad—bad
told Mason to leave me alone—had
a right to beat Rajah—right—
they'll nev-"
The voice ceased Mathews rose.
"That's all right, boys," he said
tersely. "CJo on with jour other
work. Guess I can handle this
bull by myself."
Isate that night the torches
gleamed on the lot of the World's
Amalgamated. Horses, hook-roped
by the dozen to hub-deep wagons,
struggled and pantod and coughed,
while down at the runs a great
beaat in a rope harness pulled
wagon after wagon Into place for
the Journey. Reside him walked a
tired man who turned now mid
then to pat him. There was kind
ness in the man's voice as lie
spoke:
"Good old boy! That's it—taka
'er away there. Take 'er away.
That'e the stuff—slack up now. old
boy! Just a few more trips—then
you'll hit for the hay."
Mathews walked on again, while
behind him a great animal fol
lowed. faithfully, placidly, limping
slightly, and still farther In th-i
rear there trotted a cocky, fluffy
little nondescript dug.
(i-opyrisM i»m >
ASTHMA
Cuwd Mow You Pa;
i£SrauiS£i'
