Joe Cone
Cambridge,
Mass.
How
“Wifey” Helped
A Cambridge man began a novel scheme January
1908, the result of which may be interesting as well as profitable. He was an
inveterate smoker and wished to break the habit, not only because his wife
wished him to, but as a matter of economy. He didn’t know exactly how to go
about it in order to keep a just account of his savings, but finally hit upon
an original plan. In his coat pocket he carried a mite box and every time the
feeling rushed upon him that he must smoke he dropped a dime in the box. The
first day the strong desire for a smoke happened about every half-hour, and by
the time he was ready for bed he had dropped nearly three dollars in the box.
The second day was nearly a repetition of the first, and the man realizing that
he couldn’t save three dollars per day out of his earnings began to think it
would be less expensive, and certainly less inconvenient,, to smoke. But he
struggled away and kept dropping dimes in the mite box, denying himself many
other luxuries, and towards the end of the year his hunger had subsided to
about the usual state, three times a day, after meals, whereby he was saving
thirty cents per day. He was happy in his victory and the knowledge that he had
a snug little sum laid by.
As the mite box grew heavy he would turn its contents over to his wife supposing of course she was adding it to their bank account from time to time. At the end of the year she came to him and said smilingly, “James, you have been good and brave and I appreciate your struggle and I am going to reward you. I have taken the money and bought for you a beautiful smoking jacket, cap and slippers, the cutest smoking table you ever saw, and set to match, and one dozen boxes of the very best cigars I could find at the drug store. Come into the den and see how it all looks!”
GOVERNMENT
PROPERTY? SURE!
Jim belonged to a detachment
which had been brought from the city to guard a certain bridge somewhere in
---------. And Jim was some sentry. In less than two days he was in the guard
house for leaving his post and becoming engaged in a fist battle with a fellow
private. Inasmuch as Jim had emerged victorious it was quite natural that the
sergeant should inflict upon him the heavier punishment. For a long time the
prisoner asserted that he was simply carrying out his general orders. The
officer found out that a pretty girl was at the bottom of the affair and was
puzzled to know what she had to do with Jim’s general orders. Under a threat of
severer punishment Jim was induced to speak.
“General order number
one, sir,” said Jim.
The sergeant nodded.
“It tells me to guard
all government property in view, sir, does it not?”
The officer was forced
to acknowledge the truth of the statement.
“Well, sir, this guy
here was bothering Miss ----- against her will. She had a date with me when my
time was up.”
“Well, how does that
clear you?” snapped the sergeant.
“General order number
one, sir; she’s the post-master’s daughter!”
__________________________________________________________
FOOLING
THE SPARROWS:
Several years ago
when I left the stress and confinement of the big city I purchased a run down
country place – perhaps a small farm. I think I purchased this particular place
for two reasons – because it was run down, and I might have the pleasure of
building it up again, and because it was possessed by a scraggly old orchard.
At once I could imagine bluebirds flitting through the old trees. We took the
place in May. Instead of doing what I should have done at first, perhaps,
fixing up the trellises and the like for the gentle madam, I built 12 cages for
the bluebirds and hung them from the orchard branches. They came, 12 pairs of
them, and we had a most delightful blue and green summer. Those bright flashes
of blue we will never forget.
Early fall came and
the bluebirds with their young disappeared. Then
came the pirates, the idlers, the noisy good for nothing, the English sparrows.
They took possession and looked forward to a prosperous and snug winter. “Never
mind,” we argued, “when our friends the bluebirds appear next spring they will
put the usurpers to rout.” Spring came and so came the bluebirds, but the
foreigners refused to be routed. We tried the “Shooing” process, and in fact
about everything except actual murder, in our efforts to assist the bluebirds
to regain their rightful property. It was a hopeless task. Possession appears
to be about 10 points of the law with the English sparrow. We tried blocking
the doorways of the cages for a time, but while that hindered the sparrow, it
didn’t help the bluebird. And the sparrow was always the closest by to make a
dash when the barrier should be removed.
During a heavy blow
one of the cages came down. I removed the bottom, emptied it of its contents,
repainted it on the outside, and putting on a stronger wire, hung it up again.
In this instance a pair of bluebirds got there first! They went in, looked
around and appeared to be satisfied. The same rule of possession appears to be
true of the bluebird. They stayed. The
battle lasted for days, but the sparrows finally withdrew. This gave me the key
to the situation. Now, every fall, I take the cages down, house them for the
winter, clean them and freshen them with a coat of paint and put them out at
the first sign of bluebirds in the spring. Not in every case do the bluebirds
get there first, but a large percentage of them do and we still have the joy of
seeing them dash across the lawn and hear their refreshing melodies in the morning.
If anyone tells you that birds are loth to enter a painted cage you must not believe them entirely. I was brought up in that belief. We have scores of cages of various kinds on our place and every one of them is painted. Usually they have green sides with red roofs; some have white sides with green roofs. None of our cage living birds appear to be hesitant to enter a painted house.
(undated)
Joe Cone
Saybrook,
Conn.
Discarding
Emerson
The other day we
called on Amos Hepburn. We hadn’t seen Amos in the village for some time, and
his absence had given us cause for worry. He was seated dejectedly on his back
steps. After the usual greetings Ame said, abruptly: “Say, do you believe
everything you read in books? I don’t. Now I allus s’posed Emerson hit
somew’ers nigh the truth, but no more Emerson for me!”
“What’s up, Ame?” we
queried breathlessly.
“Waal, Em’ says
something like this in his book: ‘If a man make a better rat trap the public
would wear a path to his door though he live in a forest.’ That’s what Em’
says. Bosh! I’ve made a better rat trap than anybuddy ever thought of, an’ do
you see any path leadin’ through the forest to my door? No, the grass an’ weeds
are gittin’ thicker ev’ry year, an’ not on’y that, I’ve been threatened that if
I don’t stay on my own premises with my rat trap I’ll be tarred an’ feathered
an’ rid on a rail off’n a barb’ wire fence! I’ve still got faith in my rat
trap, but I’m all done with Emerson!
Joe Cone.
(undated)
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
Joe Cone
Old
Saybrook, Conn.
P.O.
Box 47
“Regular” School Days
By Joe Cone
“Sam, Sam, the funny
old man,
Washed his face in
the frying pan;
Combed his hair with
the leg of a chair,
Sam, Sam, the funny
old man.”
Thus ran one of the
many playground classics of the regular, old time schooldays. That was when “How
Many Miles to Barbaree” and “Duck on the Rock,” to say nothing of “Puss in the
Corner” and “Snap the Whip” were in vogue. That was when the hard, but well
carved benches ran three sides of the room with the big, roaring wood stove in
the center. The school marm boarded round in those days, playing havoc with the
hearts of the grown up boys of the neighborhood.
THE PRETTY LADY
By
Joe Cone
The pretty lady came
to board at the next house. She seemed a long distance away, however, from the fact
that we weren’t on speaking terms with our next door neighbors. I never could
understand why we didn’t speak to the Olivers, or why they didn’t speak to us.
I had never dared question my parents because they frowned so when the name Oliver
was mentioned. But I was only 12 years old and wasn’t supposed to know things.
Uncle Jack created
consternation in our household by one of his blunt remarks. It was about the
pretty lady. He was sitting on the porch. After the pretty lady passed he
turned to my mother and said: “Thank heaven, at least there is a handsome woman
in town!” To say the least this was not very complimentary to my
mother and my two aunts, for they were considered extremely good looking. I had
often thought that if I had been a young man when my mother was a girl I should
certainly have worshipped at her feet. And next to her came her two sisters, my
aunts. They were still in their twenties, and were beautiful to look upon. So,
with them, I felt that Uncle Jack’s remark about the pretty lady was unjust and
cruel.
Uncle Jack was a
bachelor, and was down from the city. He hardly seemed to know what to do with
himself until the pretty lady came. After that he appeared to take new interest
in country life.
BOS BOSTON POST ROAD
Old Saybrook, Conn.
P
. O. BOX, 47
WHAT
OF THE WOMAN?
I found him lying
prostrate amongst his books and papers. He did not even look up as I entered,
but limply raised his right hand. I doubt if he even knew who I was. His vision
appeared to be dimmed, and his voice bearing had passed beyond the range of the
human voice. The library was in great disorder. Evidently there had been a
struggle. I glanced hurriedly at doors and windows. He must have divined my
thoughts for he muttered feebly:
“No, I am the only
one responsible for this.”
After that he lay
still for some moments. Evidently he was trying to gather strength for further
explanation. I held his had and waited.
(unfinished?/undated)
by Joe Cone
The rabbit takes to his hole and
the fox to his burrow when danger approacheth, but fool grins defiant and rolls
a cigarette in the teeth of the storm.
No comments:
Post a Comment