THE TROUBLES OF MRS JONES.
Thby- Threw him into a Very Un-
pleasant Stats of Mind,
His Conduct Was Not ov a Better
Hs Found, However, That the World
Had Somb Compensations.
Jones' wrath was on the rise. The leavening process had begun with a toothache at about 5 o'clock in the morning. During the diversion of walking the floor he had stepped on the .business end of a tack, knocked the globe off the gas light and spilled the last drop .of toothache medicine in trying to rescue it. About five in the morning he fell asleep again, and several hours later awoke with a start.
" Great heavens ! Half-past nine, and I had an engagement at the office at nine o'clock ! Mary, what on earth did you let mc Bleep so long for?" he roared to his wife, but Mary wasn't within hearing distance. Jones got up with a bound, landed on the foot that had lately been invaded by the tack,, and was instantly deluged with horrible recollections of the night. His temper already registered a high degree of heat, when he rushed to the speaking tube and blew a blast that almost knocked out the whistle. " Mary !" he yelled, "where are you ?" •"Here I am in the kitchen, dear." ■•'-' What on earth' did you let mc oversleep, for?" " Because, dear, breakfast will be a little late. The cook seems to have left." "The cook gone '." roared Jones, thinking of his prospective breakfast. " Well, if that doesn't fit in with my luck !"■ The first'thing Jones saw when he went I back into his dressing room was a two-days' growth of whiskers. He, of course, started in to make preparations for sweeping them off. . . 1 "Not a drop of hot water," he yelled, >"turning wae'about to t-baUece' the deficit 'gifa ,»,. few mild oaihs, when Mrs Jdnos appeared in the door. "I don't see why i wasn't born without whiskers," he grumbled. "Why, you were, dear," put in hie wife demurely. Jones lost the point in a chase for a collar button and soon appeared, in a very ruffled mood, at the breakiast table. "Well, Mary," said he looking at the chops, '.'you'd better pound up this.meat and use it for tooth-powder—it's burned to charcoal? And there's butter enough on those potatoes to grease all the wheels in town. What do you call those things over there—cakes ?" eaid he, spearing several with a fork. " They look as if they'd been punched out of tin plate with a biscuit cutter! Great heavens ! Such fodder, Mary. How do you expect mc to eat it? ,.
" It's good enough for bears," answered his disheartened wife, " and if it is bad to eat, it's a good deal worse to cook it. I didn't marry you to do the servants'work anyhow." And with a haughty toss of her head she left the tablfe.
Jones then turned to read bis morning's maiL <, " How'a this—sso for remodelling sealskin coats," he said to himself. '•Mary," he yelled* • "have you had your coat made over ? " '
n Why, certainly," she answered. .' " Didn't I buy you a new sealskin cape this winter ? "
■'* Certainly," said she disdainfully, " but I had to have my coat, too." ' "Pffty dollars," sighed Jones. " Well, if that isn't enough to make a man swear i" ," Just read it five, dear," called out his wife. "A cipher is nothing, you know." Jones then opened a gas bill, upon which he dropped so many sparks of indignation that an explosion of temper was the result. So grabbing his hat, he banged the door behind him and started on his way to his place of business.
. He got to the corner just in time to miss a car, and -was decorating the atmosphere the conventional hue, when a friend joined him to wait for the next car.
" Why, I thought you'd gone to Europe." His friqnd -seemed suddenly to have been infected with the depression of Jones' mood. , " Well, I was going," he said, suddenly, "but 1 had an accident."
*• You did, eh," rejoined Jones, mechanically, for it made no difference to him.
;■ "Yes," continued hie friend, "I drew out $2,000 in bills and was counting ifc over, the sight before I was to start, ~% was sitting in front of the grate, and had it spread out on my knee, when some idiot opened the outaide door, and the draft blew the whole wad into the fire before I had time to think what had happened." "Humph," growled Jones. "Hard lack." " Yes, I thought so." - " Just then the car passed the smouldering remains of a big fire. "What's the matter heret" said Jones, interested for the first time. . "Why, fire, of course. Haven't you heard of it? The morning papers are full of it. Place been burning all night. Big loss, too. Insurance ran out a week ago and hadn't been renewed. . Poor Parsons is bankrupt. How's that for luck ? " It was just beginning to dawn on Jones that he- was not the only man in the world who had troubles of his own, when he arrived at hie office. He hadn't been there long when a man came in hurriedly, and asked if lie had disposed of a certain piece of property. •« No," said Jones regretfully, " I was to have sold it this morning at nine, but I was late for the engagement aud missed my man."
'< Well, I'm glad of that," said the other man., " I want that piece of land, and will givtf you $8000 for it. Iβ it a bargain ? " Jones felt himself swelling up with the satisfaction that goes along with a lucky .strike. ,Was ifc a bargain! Well, rather, for him. Had he met his deplored 9 o'clock engagement it would have been sold for $2000 less.
The change that Jones* disposition suddenly underwent was a wonder, He had now worked back to the pristine state of. good humour for which he was noted among his friends, and immediately began to try hard to .persuade himself that be had not, bepn obnoxious to everybody for the last few hours. Bnt the only way he could do so seemed to be' by way of a little practical aid. He began by beaming on the office in* so lavish and uncalled for a manner tf Hpy all began to wonder what was up. L_ >d the elevator boy, without any f™*--..,. *oing so, and suggested an extra
much to that gentleman's surprise—wKo accepted, however, without inquiring into the cause. Then after considerable skirmish"ing with belle and phones, he called the oflice boy, and told him to deliver thift note: My Darling Wife,—l send you three dozen jack roses and tickets for the opera. Meet mc at the box office at eight o'clock—Yours devotedly, Walter Jones. —Detroit tra Press.
Permanent link to this item
THE TROUBLES OF MRS JONES., Press, Volume LIV, Issue 9733, 22 May 1897
THE TROUBLES OF MRS JONES. Press, Volume LIV, Issue 9733, 22 May 1897
Using This Item
Fairfax Media is the copyright owner for the Press. You can reproduce in-copyright material from this newspaper for non-commercial use under a Creative Commons New Zealand BY-NC-SA licence. This newspaper is not available for commercial use without the consent of Fairfax Media. For advice on reproduction of out-of-copyright material from this newspaper, please refer to the Copyright guide.
This newspaper was digitised in partnership with Christchurch City Libraries (1921-1945).