Newspapers / The Roanoke Beacon and … / July 3, 1914, edition 1 / Page 3
Part of The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.) / About this page
This page has errors
The date, title, or page description is wrong
This page has harmful content
This page contains sensitive or offensive material
J jf ....... . Wj vV.'ifT 1 -.. . : -V , wmmmmmmMMmmmmm i. m I .... i ' I jM0vjVJ,itti.Miya. '-u.-.r. wwwjvxM.t;.. - .,.,.,. i . ... t , IM, MB - r Photograph by Frank Fournler, Staff Photographer. , ( HUMOR OF THE DAY The "Glorious Fourth" Consid ered in Lighter Vein. Looking Into the Future of Willie and Johnny Some Thought of the , Celebration Safe and Sane Father. GRIEF. "Why are you weeping, my poor toy?" . ". s . "Boo-hoo! My p-p-paw said I mu-mu-mustn't spend more'n half of m-m-my money fer firecrackers, bu-bu-bucause we might need the rest for the doc-doc-tor. Boo-hoo." ALL USED UP The Torpedo I feel bang-up! How about you? The Cracker Oh, I'd feel better if I wasn't busted. TOO BAD. "I'm sorry that it is no longer fash 1onat' to have fireworks on the Fourth if July." "Why should you care?" "My wife's old maid sister, who has been living with us for the last 15 years, has just become engaged to a willing widower, and I'd like to cele brate without letting the neighbors know just why." UNNECESSARY. "io you always take off your hat when the flag goes by?" "Nawi I'm net runnin" for an office." WITH THE FLAG THEY AFTER THE BATTLE "The search among the slain." WHERE, OH, WHERE? "Willie has his pistol ready, Willie's heart la full of glee; He has bought a little cannon and his breast from care is free; "Willie counts the passing moments as they slowly drag away Where, oh, where, will little Willie be in two weeks from today? . Johnny's little bank Is empty, he has squandered every cent, With a giant cracker Johnny will begin the merriment; He possesses all the fingers and the toes he should but, stay! Where, oh, where, will Johnny's digits be in two weeks from today? HIS SAFE AND SANE FATHER. "Father, didn't you ever shoot off firecrackers when you were a boy?" "No. I couldn't afford to burn up money in that way." ''And didn't you ever have a toy can non?" "Never. I did my celebrating in a safe and sane way." "How was that?" "Well, I used to get a piece of gas pipe, plug one end of it, fill it with powder and then touch a match to it. Talk about noise. It beat any toy can non I've ever heard." HIS FATHER A STANDPATTER. "Well, my little man, I see you are carrying a flag. Do you know why we are celebrating today?" "Yes. 'Cause Huerta didn't bust the country." INDEPENDENCE. This is the day on which the average man shows his independence by doing foolish things without having gained his wife's permission. -7, if L LOVE A wet Fourth makes a lean grave yard. The fool and his digits are soon parted. The sticks fall alike on the just' and the unjust. A thumb on the hand is worth two In the alcohol. It is better not to take a dare than to get your hand scorched. The boy who doesn't get too gay may celebrate another day. It isn't always the firecracker with the longest fuse that makes the most noise. Remember that the giant firecracker is always just getting ready to go off when you bend over it to see what is the matter. Let us then be up and Bhooting, with a heart for any fate, lighting fuses and then scooting Uam to stand aside and wait. SAFETY AND SANITY MADE EASY. Little WilUe's sick a-bed, Mumps have put him to the bad:. Do we view his case with dread? No, in fact," we're rather glad. Doctor warns him not to stir; In his bed he must remain; This will make it easier For us to be safe and sane. PUZZLE PICTURE Find the boy who had two whole dol lars to spend on fireworks. NOT WORRYING. "My goodness! I shouldn't think you would permit your little boy to have such big firecrackers. Aren't you at all afraid?' "Oh, no, not a bit I'm only his'step mother." 8. E. KISER. ROCKETS AND CRACKERS. t 5iyrRiD5Virr DITH had so brooded over Vi eiAna tit Vi on V at Q s. IX tion would finally have I to do lunea ou iuo uiai- L-X-y ter, that she shrank with every nerve, sunenng as she saw that her husband had finished his morning chores at the barns and was coming up the .path ready for breakfast. . "We'll have to hurry up and get ready or it will be a case of taking the other fellow's dust all the way into town," he called enthusiastically as he stopped at the bench outside to wash. The girl kept mechanically at the pans on the stove. "It's going 'to be a great day for the 'Fourth,'" he continued. "There ain't a cloud in the sky." He came in whistling to stop short at the look on his wife's face. - "I guess I won't go, if you don't mind," she said with an effort, her face, white and her eyes meeting his as she turned around, staring in frightened fashion. "It's going to be so hot and besides I've been to so many Fourth of July celebrations." He waited until she had placed the dish on the table, the anticipation gone out of his being an embit tering suspicion creeping in "Not going!" he echoed. "And I've been counting on it ever since the Clarion said Hamp ton was going to celebrate this year counting on both of us going in to gether. It's the first time since we sot married that we ve - been any where together." Instead of responding she sought refuge at the window. The stuffy midsummer morning seemed to be lending an atmospheric depression in keeping with her spirits. The sickening sun was fairly blaz intr against the side of the big, red barn, the shadows from the row of willows seemed half-hearted in their effort to relieve the sizzling landscape, and the fan at the top of the tall wind mill was motionless. He crossed to where she stood and put a sunburnt hand on her shoulder. "You've got to tell me," he said evenly. "I've never paid much atten tion to this neighborhood gossip, but is it true are you ashamed to go to town with me?" When she still refused to answer a hardness came into his voice as he went on. "I, was all right to take you home on Friday nights when you came out here to teach school. I was all right to build your fires on cold, winter mornings. My father's farm that he left me here was all right. It was the farm, was it, and the fact that you were tired of teaching school that you gave in to marry me? You were tired of the small pay, and the foreign kids, and the trouble with the directors. That was why you married me, was i? Other folks have been saying these things. I'm beginning to believe them now." . With a sob she turned until she was in his arms. "No! No!" she hysterically, de fended. "Then you'll go," he concluded, the tenderness coming back. '- Li won't be bo hot with the top on the buggy." He drew himself away to get the answer, but ,it was not forthcoming. She was at the .-j i i m winaow again, oer )f fingers at her lips. It would be all right to go in her sort of way to be onlookers rath er than a part of the clownishness, but, as a girl in town, she could distinctly remem ber Henry coming in with a bunch of companions on such occasions. It was a differ ent sort of man she had married a man in keeping with the great stretches of fields and the big plans of growing things. But the thought of being dragged by him before her old friends from an ice-cream parlor to a dance hall had made her decide J H sin SSI mi PATRIOTISM It isn't the flag that floats proudest Or highest above the green earth. And it isn't the cannon that's loudest Which expresses the patriot's worth; ' It isn't the pomp or the shouting. And it isn't the musical blare That leaves us no reason for doubting That the future we face shall be fair. Think not that vainglorious vaunting Shall strengthen the might we possess. And it isn't by foolishly flaunting Our banners that we shall progress; It isn't the challenge, the fearless ; Defiance imposingly hurled. That shall keep us undaunted and peerless. The wonder and hope of the world. It isn't the riches or splendor That the few or the many display Which shall fit us to rule or engender. Belief in our fitness to sway; The faith that our forefathers gave us, . The honor for which they could die. Alone shall have virtue to save us And keep our star bright in the sky. S.E. KISER. against going to the celebration when he had first mentioned it. "You are ashamed of me," he inter rupted. "You're saying so with your actions if you won't speak. But you bet I'm not going to have my fun spoiled. I'm going anyway." When he came down from upstairs a few minutes later his overalls and big straw hat had been-changed for a suit of ill-fitting black, a faded derby was placed low over his long crop of hair, and a handkerchief protected his celluloid collar. When men dress up but seldom the tricks come clumsily. Neither spoke during the breakfast. He ate sullenly, and she made no pretensions of an appetite. A half- hour later he drove with a dash to the door, the horses groomed, the buggy shining, a bow of patriotic rib bon from some former occasion tied to the whip. She knew it was his final Invitation. "I'm coming," she called from the doorway with a half sob. "It won't take me but a minute." How deeply she loved him waa Im pressed on the verge of his really go ing without her. As she changed her dress hastily a sort of pang came with her woman's intuition that the skirt was too full for the change of style that had come with the new season; the white of her collar was con trasted with t the tan in her face as n' cue ii a. u never uu- ilreA it hpfnro . .i i j That Henry did not notice, she knew full well, as she felt his admir ing gaze upon her as he helped her into the buggy. As the horses t swerved madly into the main road, Edith became aware of how oth ers were on their way to the county seat. The knee-high cornfields, robbed now of every trace of morning dew, shimmered beneath the blue sky as if, somehow, the occasion in town had affected nature itself. Among the other vehicles of a more old-fashioned sort an automobile chugged past. v "We'll have one of those, too, one of these days," commented Henry as he reined the horses from their fright. "It's Sid Koffmeier and his girl. Did you notice the paint on her face?" "I was looking at the country," an swered Edith, arousing herself. "I'm afraid we don't appreciate what Da kota is coming to." ' "I like a big day In town myself," mused Henry, cracking the whip as a signal to the horses. "I haven't missed a 'Fourth' since I was a kid. Used ta get sick usually on candy and lemon ade and from walking around on the plank sidewalks in a new pair of shoes. Last few years there's been a gang 6f us go in together. Sid and I and a bunch of us have had some great times together. The dance is about the best part of it." The girl turned her gaze to the road side vegetation the mullein and the foxtail mixed with the buffalo grass in which the insects kept midsummer chorus. The old fear seized her. Per haps she had made an awful mistake as her aunt and her girl friends in town had predicted a girl of educa tion and refined tastes marrying an uncultured "rube." Soon after their arrival in town they parted, and Edith decided she would go to her aunt's. It would be cool there and quiet, and away from the crowds and anything Henry might do before them. Aunt Ja-'e was in her garden back of the little white house, puttering about as if there were no Fourth of July celebration. She glanced up from her cabbage and potato beds with surprise and joy at seeing her niece. "Yes, we came in this morning," 7m . Ayr '-'"oM'i mm'iiiii' Ii"'Pnri hastened Edith. "Henry is down town. We're both well. Yes, I sup pose he may come down for dinner. I I want to rest just a little while la the house." Somehow she spent the day In the darkened, old-fashioned rooms, while her aged aunt, who had cared for her since her early girlhood,' fussed wlta the cooking and the house cleaning as her rheumatism would permit. . Occasionally, as the long afternooa went by, a strain from the band down town in the park was borne through, the maples by the hot breeze, and the explosions of the firecrackers came in muffled reports. And with each hint or the celebration she found herself Jerk ing as she wondered what part Henry was taking in it all. She could not help but picture him as going even farther with his good time as a result of their quarrel, mere had been times in the past when he and members of his crowd had gotten Into fights and been arrested. Evening came in the stealthy way that she had lately become accustomed to seeing it creep over the farm. Some of the country folk began going past on their way home. It caused a great lonesomeness tor their own plate for Henrv to come over her. She began chiding her self for her sensi tiveness her fool ish pride. After all, it fwas he she loved. She could have stood any thing he could have done. She went to the, organ, but instead of her fingers touching the yel low keys, her arms dropped across them and she buried her head with a sob. Twilight without made the shadows thick in the room, yet he must have been able to make her out from the doorway, for the screen was shut noise lessly and he had her in hia great, strong arms before she could look up. "Henry!" she breathed hysterically, as she struggled to get free. "You've not gone without me, and you're not hurt!" He did not speak for a time, but his presence was comforting. "No, I didn't go without you," he answered finally. "I understand It all now. I couldn't mix In on the old kind of a time. You've changed me, Edith." ' "Oh, I was prudish and selfish," she interrupted. "I should have trusted you." "No," he went on; "I came in with the plan of doing all the things that I used to. I found out I was changed just after I left you and joined Sid and his girl. But there was nothing to it The dance hall was just cheap and foolish, and the thought of booze dis gusted me.' Between everything I saw you, somehow." . She had loosed herself from his env brace and had started for her hat. "Come on, Henry," she called rogu ishly. "If we don't hurry up and get down town we might miss part ot the 'grand display of fireworks.' " What Salvation Is. Salvation is not the petty concep tion of personal Bafety from some far off doom. It is the saving of the whole man; it is 'the domination of the higher nature over the lower; it is the education of the spiritual, the development, the evolution of the God to us, that divine spark in all human ity that can never be . wholly extin guished. William D. Little. THE SPIRIT OF THE DAY. - Photograph, by Frank Fournler, Stall Photographer. Iff 11 I b , 'ViH.' .TO !3 I . 0 ) J ; ...
The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
July 3, 1914, edition 1
3
Click "Submit" to request a review of this page. NCDHC staff will check .
0 / 75