Page 8 Advertisements Column 5

Dunstan Times, Issue 2317, 15 January 1906, Page 8

| ROMANCE AND REALITY. I Surprising: Eiperience of n. Humorist Who Bftlk'veiS In HS« ! Own .loltoo. I He was a professional humorist and was making’ his first call upon a young lady whom he had met at a social gathering. Mr. Farfech was high up in his profession, but his duties we,re so arduous that he had no time for the social amenities of life, and this was his first experience in that line, says the Chicago Tribune. The girl happened to be looking out of the window as the visitor reached the gate, and she observed his movements with considerable curiosity. He opened the gate carefully, paused and then whistled softly'. Then he came up the path slowly, looking to the right and loft over his shoulder at short intervals, and when he reached the porch and laid his hand; on the doorbell he heaved a great sigh of relief. “You are ill, Mr. Farfech?” said she, apprehensively, as she took his hat and coat. “No —o,” he replied, promptly, “but I confess I was a little afraid of the dog.” “The dog?” She looked surprised. “Why, we have no dog.” "No dog!” he repeated, blankly. “Why, I thought —that is- Ah, yea—to be sure.” Hardly had he seated himself when a voice from a distance called “Mary!” Ho gave a little jump, and then smiled. “Your mother, I presume,” said he. “She is coming in to —er—make a few remarks.” “Ma? O, not at all. Why should she?"^ She went out of the room, and during her absence a bright boy r of about 12 made his appearance in the hall. “Ah,” said the visitor, “you are Miss Dolliver’s brother.” “Yes, sir,” said the boy, politely. “I am Mr. Farfe.ch. I suppose you have heard your sister speak of me. Come, now. my little man.” “I do not remember hearing her mention your name,” replied the hoy, as he passed on, leaving Mr. Farfech staring in a puzzled way. Presently the young lady returned and Mr. Farlech was surprised to notice that she did not turn down the gas, and when, after some conversation, he asked her to sing for him, she did so without any excuse or complaining of a sore throat. After an hour of singing and conversation an idea suddenly dawned upon him, and he began to paw under the sofa. “What ia the matter?” aaked the young tody, in apparent astonishment. “Hushf not a word!” said he, with a chuckle. “TMI snak» him out in a minute.” “Snake him O'**? Iloaily, Mr. Farfech—” “That’s all right. I’m on to these tricks. Your young brother is under the sofa, and is going to jump out presI ently and say something rude. They always do.” “Mr. Farfech,** said the young lady, I with dignity, “I have only one broth- ( er. and he has gone to a meeting of the I Philom.athean society. As for hiding under a sofa, I never heard of such a thing.” I Mr. Farfech passed hi« hand over \ his brow and murmured: “I do not j understand this at ail.” Another half an hour passed. The young lady’s mother did not come in, and he felt as one in a trance. Then he brightened up as he heard a gruff voice in a back room. “Your father?” he asked, inquiringly. “Putting on his heavy boots, I suppose?” “Why should he put on his boot’s at this time of night?” asked Miss DoL- ; liver, wouderingly. “Or, perhaps,” he suggested, "H© Is 1 getting down his shotgun?” j “Shotgun? I never knew pa had a gun. Really. Mr. Farfech, you have the most extraordinary ideas.” j ‘‘Pardon me," he muttered, “but all I this is so strange—so different from ' what I- -. Will you sing again?” She did her best! to entertain him, but it was plainly to be seen that he j was ill at ease. He talked almost at ! random, and she wondered where was I that brilliancy which she had so much , admired in his writings. Finally, it I drew on to 11 o’clock, and, as his eye J caught the timepiece, he brightened up I for the last time. I “Well, Miss Dolliver,” he said, as he | arose, "I suppose here is where you i sing ‘Five O’clock in the Morning’ or ‘There Are Moments When We Wish to Be Alone.’ ” “I am not acquainted with either of those songs, Mr. Farfech,” she replied, calmly. “Are you really going? Why, [ it is not late. 0, well; if you must. I | hope you will call again soon.” ) As he passed down the walk, he 1 said, feverishly: “No gun—no kick — , no bad brother—no meddlesome-moth- ! er—gas up high-j-no hints to travail—. [ This is—this must be a dream.” Dtltolomi Apple Salad. I Take half a dozen rather tart apI pies, peeled and sliced, and add a ! Spanish pepper, chopped fine; place I in your salad howl the tender leaves | of a large head of lettuce, and upon j that the apple slices sprinkled with the chopped pepper; over alf pour a dressing composed of six tablespoonfuls of olive oil, two tablespoonfuls of lemon juice and a little salt. Serve with cold meats. —People’s Home 1 Journal, '• A Tirne Hero. [ She—l shall marry no man who is !' not a hero. j He—Say you’ll be mine and I’ll prove I that I am one. , I; “Oh! Adolphus, how?” “I’ll go right iu and ‘ask papa,*”—’ i Philadelphia Bulletin.