CASE OF HEARTBURN.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 17, Issue 3, 13 January 1903, Page 7

CASE OF HEARTBURN.

MRS. WELLS WAS BADLY STRICKEN WITH THE MALADY.

And Naturally She Was Greatly Relieved When She Discovered n Remedy For It In the Very Thing: That Had Caused It.

Mr. and Mrs. Wells were a model loving couple. Mrs. Wells would have shaken hands on a bet with anybody that her husband was the very standard of goodness and honor and that his affection for her was of the undivided variety.

One evening after tea Mrs. Wells excused herself and vanished into tho kitch ■ en to give her maid orders for tho morrow. This done, she returned to join her husband. Beyond the dining room into tho library sho could see Mr. Wells peering through his spectacles at a piece of paper in his hand. The gleeful spirit within her conceived the idea of tiptoeing noiselessly up behind her husband, whoso hearing was none too keen, and taking him unawares.

Half way across the library floor her eyes bulged, and she stopped. The paper in tho hands of Mr. Wells was a violet tinted sheet of note paper. On his knee lay a square envelope to match, upon which sho saw distinctly his name and business address, traced in a dainty feminine hand, and the atmosphere of the room was fragrant with a sweet, delicate odor of violets. Fora moment Mrs. Wells felt benumbed.

Her first impulse was to rush forward and snatch tho letter from his grasp, but he deliberately returned it to tho envelope, slipped it into his coat and smilingly gazed at the new wall paper. So, unseen, unheard, Mrs. Wells retreated to the darkness of the dining room for an instant, then audibly rustled back into the presence of her innocent looking spouse.

All the evening she thought of the lavender hued missive in her husband’s inside pocket. Ho had but one female relative, his mother, and nothing could ever ternptliertouse anything but plain, white stationery. '‘You’d better leave that coat at home tomorrow," suggested Mrs. Wells most eagerly. “It has an ugly sp«t down the front. I’ll clean it for you." “Ve-ch! All right," answered Mr. Wells, half asleep before the fire, yet dreamily appreciating the thoughtfulness of an excellent wife.

The next morning Mr. Wells was reminded to “wear some other coat,” which he did, and, being in a rush to get off to business, evidently forgot all about the sealed letter, to the delight of Mrs, Wells. The moment her double hearted semiself slammed the front door and was gone she raced up stairs to the captive coat and drew forth the sweet scented, pale purple mischief maker. All the wrath within her surged and raved at sight of the fashionable penmanship, all angles and straight lines. Sho thought of a few meaningful things to say to Mr. Wells as sho jerked the love message from hiding, and hero is what the billet doux revealed: "Our violet wafers will euro acute heartburn. Give them a trial.”

Mrs. Wells caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and, as she confessed to her bosom friend, sho actually had not the nerve to look herself square in the face. She slipped back to tho breakfast table and drank cup after cup of coffee, while she undid the kink in her estimation of guiltless Mr. Wells.-

An Atrocious Fnn. Do sparrows ever grow old?” she asked him. Sho was from Boston, and the sparrow war interested her. ‘‘l suppose so,” ho answered, “everything else does. ” “And do you think there are any especially old ones among them?” “Lots of ’em,” ho answered flippantly. “Why do you say that?” “Because most of them are westers!" Then she went away and hid herself, for she was a true Boston girl, and puns jarred on her fibers.—Cleveland Plain Dealer, Her Impression. “Do you like violets?" asked the sedate girl. “Yes, Indeed," answered the frivolous

“I think there is nothing more charming than to wander out into tho woods and Helds”—

“Woods and floldsl" was tho disappointed rejoinder. “Oh, dear! I thought you were talking about bonnet trimmings.

He Explains.

Mrs. Peck-—Henry, what is this manifest destiny they’ve been talking about? What does it mean?

Mr. P.—Well, to give you a homely il lustration, it was a case of manifest destiny when you set your cap for mo At last accounts ho was still running.-

A Happy Trio.

Three little boys from school are we And just as happy as can bo. The teacher said wo were so bad We needn’t come back. Geo! Ain’t we glad? —New York Journal.

Degenerate Age.

Dr. Pilse—The debasing spirit of commercialism has affected even our profession. Wallace —Quacks and all that?

“I wasn’t thinking of that so much as of the way classical learning has fallen into disrepute. Nine times out of ten nowadays a rich man is not impressed in the least by one’s giving hia complaint a Latin name. Used a Gan. “I’ll tell you what it is,” exclaimed the editor of a yellow journal, “the days are mighty few when we don’t make a hit.” Whereat a bystander quietly interposed, “Of course yon use a fowling piece?' Self Restraint. “Admiral Dewey,” said ho, “I’m In the retail trade.” “Can’t help It,” replied the hero of Manila. “I treat all classes alike.” “But,” persisted the stranger, “I have never made a pun on your name and hung It ns a sign outside my store. ” He got « pass to the Insurgent lines.— Vim.