He Is Not a Howling Success at Inside Decorating.
There were several little things I wanted done about the house this fall, and so the other week I engaged a colored man to come and work for a couple of days. It so happened that he came one morning before Mr. Bowser had left the house, and was greeted with:
"Well, what's up now?"
"I'ze dun bin hired to work, sah."
"Who hired you?"
"De lady, sah."
"What to do?"
"Jobbin', sah."
"Well, the lady has changed her mind and doesn't want you."
After the man had gone, Mr. Bowser came into the house and asked:
"Did you hire a colored man?"
"Why, yes."
"What for?"
"I was going to have him whitewash the vegetable cellar, take down and clean the laundry stovepipe and do some other jobs."
"H'm! Mrs. Bowser, I don't believe in encouraging such people. He'd have done about one hour's work and charged you for a whole day. I don't believe he knows any more about whitewashing than I do about playing the harp."
"But he said he did."
"Certainly. Did you ever see a negro who wouldn't say anything to fit the occasion?"
"Well, but—-"
"There is no 'but' about it. If there are any little jobs about the house I've got plenty of time to do them. In fact, I need just such exercise. Such work is a diversion to me, and the doctor recommends it."
"Do you mean to say you will do the whitewashing?"
"I do. I don't do it to save a dollar, but for my own benefit. I always like the smell of lime."
"I wish you wouldn't do it. You will get lime in your eyes, and you will blame me for it, and—-"
"There you go! Blame you! What would I blame you about? If I get lime in my eyes it's my own fault. Mrs. Bowser, you are getting to be a good deal of a crank lately."
"Well, if you are determined on it, don't say that I asked you or encouraged you."
"That's a funny way to talk to me, Mrs. Bowser! Are you getting ready for the insane asylum? I think I run my own house yet. If I'm willing to peel off and do these odd jobs, I ought to be encouraged instead of insulted."
I was quite sure how it would end, but I said nothing more, and in the course of half an hour he got into his old clothes and went down cellar. I followed him down to give him a few last words of advice, but he didn't need them.
"You go right upstairs and sit down and enjoy yourself," he said. "Here's the brush and here's a pail of lime, and if I don't white-wash more cellar in ten minutes than Moses could in all day, I'll never try it again. Besides, Mrs. Bowser, whitewashing is not the slouch work you imagine it to be. It has got to be done by a person of taste and intelligence or it won't stand. I want a little blueing to give it a tinge."
"You understand," I said, as I got what he wanted, "that I did not ask you to do this work."
"Ask me! What on earth ails you, Mrs. Bowser? You are making fuss enough over ten minutes' work to warrant a year's job."
"It must be well done."
"Certainly."
"Two coats all around."
"Just so."
"Even if it takes you all day?"
"Even if it takes me over half an hour, which it won't. I'll show you a job here that will make a black man turn green with envy. Just run upstairs and make yourself comfortable."
I retreated up the stairs to the kitchen door and waited for results, which I knew were sure to come. Mr. Bowser dipped and dished and sozzled and stirred until he had the liquid to his liking, and as he began on the stone wall I heard him chuckling:
"I said fifteen minutes, but I'll go slow and take twenty. The idea of a colored man sloshing around here all day to do this work. Let's see. I believe I'll take the overhead first."
I held my breath in suspense for a long minute. Then a yell arose from that cellar which jumped the cook out of her old slippers and made her cry out:
"For heaven's sake, Mrs. Bowser, have we been struck by another cyclone?"
There was a second and a third yell, and as I hurried downstairs Mr. Bowser stood in the middle of the cellar, hands out-stretched and jumping up and down as if he had fire under his feet.
"For heaven's sake, what is it, Mr. Bowser?" I asked.
"Whitewash—lime—fire!"
"Where?"
"In my eyes! I'm blind! I've burned them out!"
I got hold of him and led him out to the laundry tubs and set the water to running. He had indeed got a dose in his eyes, but it was more painful than dangerous. He could hardly see daylight after we had washed out all the lime, and as I led him upstairs he said:
"I shall never see again!"
I washed his eyes with milk and got him to lie down on the lounge, and in a couple of hours he was pretty near all right. His eyes were sore, but no great damage had been done. He was very gentle until he discovered this. Then he suddenly turned on me with:
"Mrs. Bowser, what possible excuse can you urge in extenuation of your conduct?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do I mean? That's a cool question to ask me! In view of what has transpired what have you to say?"
"I say that you were foolish to undertake the job. I warned you how it would turn out."
"Mrs. Bowser!" he shouted, squirting tears of lime water out of his eyes, "do you pretend to deny that you didn't encourage me to undertake a task which you knew would put my whole future happiness, if not my life, in peril?"
"I do, sir. I did all I possibly could to dissuade you."
"And you are not to blame?"
"Not in the least."
"Mrs. Bowser, this is too much—too much! I could forgive one who had wronged me, if penitent, but when they attempt to brazen it out it is time for action. We will settle on the amount of alimony right here and now."
But we didn't. After blinking around for half a day he went down town, and when he came home to supper he was as good-natured as pie. I got a colored man to come and do the work, and two or three days later, when Mr. Bowser happened down cellar, I heard him saying to himself:
"Yes, it's a mighty slick job I did on this, and I'll tackle that stovepipe to-morrow morning."
—Detroit Free Press.
Mr. de Teeze (returning late from the smoking room, and seeing for the first time the hose stretched)—Wha-wha-whash thish mean? Awful bad, thish time! Oh, I shee. I unishtan. 'Sh all ri. No worsh'n ush'l. Shnakes on shore, shea sherp'ns on ships. Or ri'. Qui' proper too.
—Ocean.
New York can't decide upon a site for the world's fair. An excellent place to hold the fair, after the old folks have retired, is on your lap. P. S.—So we've been told.
—Norristown Herald.