University of Virginia Library

AN ACCOMMODATING REPORTER.

IF there is a vacancy in the reportorial department of any of our contemporaries, we know of a

party who can fill it, although we do not know the party's present address. He came to Danbury two weeks ago to report happenings for the local edition of "The News," and proved to be an unusually acceptable man for the place. He was a pale-faced young man, of strong nervous force, but a calm exterior. The expression of his features was of that peculiar kind which implied either purity of purpose, or impurity of liver. He had been here two weeks. He was sitting alone in the editorial room last Friday, when a knock at the door summoned him. He opened it, and let in an elderly lady of fleshy mien, who had been so cut in breath by getting up the stairs, that she could say nothing until she had taken a seat.

"Is the editor in?" she finally asked.

"No, ma'am," replied the reporter with his deferential look. He stood near her, with one hand resting on the back of a chair, with an expression of tender attentiveness on his face.

It may be well to explain here, that Danbury contains more fast horses than any town of its size in the world; and, in consequence, fast driving and accidents are of daily occurrence. "The News" is located in that part of Main Street where it suddenly sprawls out as if to make a square, but unexpectedly changes its mind and comes back again. At this point, swift flying teams are constantly passing.

"I'm sorry for that," observed the old lady, speaking slowly because of the trouble with her breath, "because I wanted to see him very much. An' then I had such a time to get across the street for the teams! I declare, I never saw such driving in all my life. I should think your authorities here would put a stop to it."

"They try to," said the reporter; "but it is no use. Are you acquainted with Mr. Bailey?"

"Land, no! I never saw him, an' that's the reason I come in. I live in Ohio, and am visiting a friend in Brookfield; an' I thought, as I was so near Danbury, I would come here an' see him. But it 'pears I have had all my trouble for nothing."

"I am real sorry," said the new man, his face singularly brightening as he spoke. "But he don't come here very often. Age is telling on him."

"He is old, then, is he?" said the old lady. "Well, I might ha' knowed it. But how does he get across this street, with all the teams a-coming as they do? I should think he would be run over and killed."

"Well, I don't wonder you think so. Everybody expresses the same surprise. And it is wonderful. By Jove, madam!" continued the young man, his pale face lighting up with a glow of animation, "you would be astonished to see the old gentleman come across that street. He comes down that street there" (pointing up White Street, opposite);

"and, when he gets to the corner, he stops and looks as carefully and intelligently across the road as you could wish anybody to do it. Then he takes off his wig, and wraps it up in paper, and puts it down the leg of one of his boots"—

"Well, I declare!" broke in the old lady. "He wears a wig?"

"Oh, yes! The salt-rheum carried off every hair from his head, which is as bare as a door-knob. Then he takes out his teeth—two plates"—

"Mercy sakes!" cried the listener. "No teeth, nuther?"

"Not of his own, ma'am. Took so much sulphur for the salt-rheum, that it carromed on every tooth in his head, and left his mouth as smooth as a new culvert. Then he takes out his teeth, and puts them down the other boot-leg, and watches for his opportunity. Pretty soon he sees an opening, and then he just bends down his head like this" (suiting the action to the words), "and goes kiting across, throwing both hands over his head, and yowling at the top of his voice, 'Looh haw! Looh haw!'"

"Mercy sakes!" gasped the old lady in astonishment. "What does that mean?"

"What, ma'am?"

"Looh haw."

"Oh, that would be 'Look out!' if it had teeth in it; but his teeth are in his boot-leg, you know. Just

as he reaches this side, two men appointed for that purpose catch him in a quilt, and carry him right up here, because the exertion exhausts him so that he has no life. Then we rub him, and put in his teeth, and slap on his hair, and fix him against the desk, and he goes right to work as natural as anybody."

"Well, I declare, it is wonderful!" observed the old lady. "How I would like to see the old gentleman! But I can't stay. Please give him my best regards."

"I will, ma'am," said the pale young man.

"Good-day, sir. I am much obliged to you."

"Not at all, ma'am. Good-day." And she was bowed out.

He left Danbury shortly after—on foot. He wouldn't wait for the cars. He said he might as well be walking as standing up in a car.

WE never can tell exactly where we lose our umbrellas. It is singular how gently an umbrella unclasps itself from the tendrils of our mind, and floats out into the filmy distance of nothingness.