Shiner Gazette (Shiner, Tex.), Vol. 41, No. 51, Ed. 1 Thursday, December 6, 1934 Page: 3 of 8
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SHINER GAZETTE, SHINER, TEXAS
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MISS ALADDIN
• . . By Christine Whiting Parmenter ...
Copyright by Christine Whiting Parmenter
WNU Service
CHAPTER X—Continued
“I say we keep right on to the first
ranch. That school was six or eight
miles back; and when we passed I
noticed particularly that the bus had
left. Perhaps they closed at noon to-
day.”
A stinging flurry of snow was on
them now, cutting across their faces
like a whip. For a moment it took
Jack’s breath away; then he replied:
“I guess you’re right. There was a
ranch somewhere along here. I re-
member seeing the gate and mail box.
Help me into this jacket, will you? I
don’t want to stop the car. Gosh!
Nancy, we’re headed straight into this
storm. That’s it” (as she struggled to
get his arm into a sleeve), “don’t
bother about the other. Get into your
own coat quick—or wrap it round you.
Look at this snow! The windshield’s
covered already. I’ll have to get out
and wipe it off.”
“Are there any side curtains in this
old car?” cried Nancy as they started
on after a short delay.
Jack shook his head as he bent
tensely above the wheel.
“Darned if I know; and you couldn’t
put ’em on in this wind anyway. Keep
you eyes peeled for that mail box,
Nance. We mustn’t miss it. We—we
can’t miss it. Do you understand?”
Nance understood only too well.
There followed a mile or so when
neither spoke. Twice Jack got out to
wipe the glass, while his sister, staring
Into the wind-swept space, fought ter-
ror. Snow was descending fast and
furiously now. Indeed, as they kept
on doggedly it seemed incredible that
this was the same bare road they had
traversed so short a time before with
friendly sunlight dappling the plains
on every side. It might, thought Nancy,
have been snowing here for hours and
hours. Could it be possible that they
were off the road? Straining her eyes
into the drifting white, watching in
desperation for the wayside mail box,
visions of frozen cattle rose up before
her, and the girl’s heart thudded.
At last Jack said, not looking at his
sister: “We’ve missed that ranch,
Nancy. It can’t have been as far as
this. What say we turn back now and
try to reach the schoolhouse? The
wind would be behind us anyway;
and as it is I can’t see four feet ahead.
It looks to me as if our best chance
was to—”
The words were silenced by a cry
from Nancy, a cry of warning that
came too late. Jack jammed on the
brakes so suddenly that his sister was
thrown forward against the windshield
just as the car collided with the en-
gine of a big school bus, which stood,
its back wheels resting in a snow-filled
gully as it extended crazily across the
road.
As Nancy righted herself again, her
eyes met Jack’s, a glance of stark
despair passing between them.
“I’m afraid that crash has finished
this old car,” he told her; then added:
“Why, Nance, I think that bus is full
of children!” v
“Hi, there!” came a voice almost at
his elbow. “Had a smash up, didn’t
ysu. Did you meet Clem?”
Jack turned to see a boy of perhaps
eleven standing amid the swirling
snow.
“Skip back into that bus, kid,” he
shouted, “we’re coming, too.”
He was already out, stretching a
helping hand to Nancy, and together
they fought their way to the door of
“Wake Up, Tommy! I Need You."
the stalled bus, the youngster calling
over his shoulder: “Watch where you
go there! Don’t step into that deep
rut, Miss—you gotter jump it.” Then
as the door flew open to admit them
and Nancy, exhausted, sank into the
nearest seat, he continued with a cap-
tivating grin: “We got company, kids.
These folks is changing cars at this
station. Say” (turning to Jack), “did
Clem Johnson send you after us?”
Jack shook his head, and glancing
about the bus, inquired: “Is he your
driver?”
“Just for today. Our regular
driver’s sick,” explained the boy.
“Came down with an awful pain when
he was sweepin’ out the bus this morn-
ing, and his wife got Clem to drive
us. Teacher closed school early be-
cause there’s some sort of convention
in Denver tomorrow, and she wanted
to take a train this afternoon. The
storm came awful sudden, after we
left; and when we got this far Clem
said we’d better get back to Bartlett’s
ranch as fast as we could. ’Tisn’t
more’n a few miles east of us; but
when he tried to turn, the wheels went
into that gully and somethin’ broke.
Clem worked for a long time and
couldn’t fix it.”
“So he went for help?”
“That’s it. He thought he’d get
there easy; but the wind got somethin’
fierce after he left. We told him not
to go, but he said we’d freeze to death
out here and ’twas up to him to get
us somewhere safe. He’s been gone a
terrible long time though, Say, what’s
your name?”
“Jack Nelson; and this is my sister
Nancy. What’s yours?”
“Tom Osgood. I’m the oldest feller
here; but two of the girls are older’n
me. What do you s’pose became of
Clem? He ought to be here.”
At the front of the bus two children
began to cry; and looking about at all
those helpless youngsters, Nancy for-
got herself. There must be fifteen of
them; and two lovely little girls, obvi-
ously twins of seven or eight, wore
only sweaters over summer dresses.
How cold they must be!
“Look here,” she said, rising to
speak quietly, “these poor kiddies are
getting frightened. We must divert
them, Jack—play games of some sort
—keep them moving as much as pos-
sible in this crowded place. Why, I’m
cold already even with this coat, and
not one of those children is dressed as
warmly! Let’s start romping soon as
I put my sweater on one of those little
girls.”
This worked for a time, and the
smallest children, not realizing their
plight, laughed with delight at the
games Nancy invented. The older
ones,' however, grew noticeably quiet
as time passed, trying to. peer out of
the snow-covered windows, and. speak-
ing together in low voices.
At last Jack and Tom Osgood start-
ed some wrestling matches at the rear
of the bus; while the older girls roused
themselves In an effort to keep the
others occupied. They danced, jumped
up and down, and did gymnastics; but
despite this exercise they were grow-
ing colder every minute, and when
during some roughhouse, a small boy’s
elbow went through a pane of glass, a
cry of dismay arose from one and all.
It was then that Tom Osgood had
an inspiration. Stored under the back
seat and carried for just such emer-
gencies, were canned food and a small,
portable stove.
“I’ll say we were pretty dumb not
to think of ’em before,” he observed
clisgustedly, “but we’ve never had a
chance to use ’em, and I guess every
one forgot.” He had been rummaging
about on his hands and knees, and
now stood up, a bewildered expression
on his manly little face. “Why they’re
not here! Not anywhere! We’ve al-
ways carried ’em, and extra blan-
kets, too. Say! I bet I know what
happened. Joe took ’em out when he
cleaned the bus this morning, and for-
got to put ’em back when he had that
pain. He always sets ’em in the har-
ness closet out o’ the dust; and may-
be Clem s’posed they was right here,
or p’raps he didn’t know they’d ought
to be here. Gee! I’m hungry, and
some o’ that canned soup would have
tasted good.”
There followed another fruitless
search, the children watching with
strained, unchildlike faces.
“Don’t cry, kiddie,” said Jack, as a
small girl burst into frightened tears.
“I’m going to make a stove out of
this milk can. We’ll soon be opening
windows to cool off!
Nance forced a smile at her broth-
er’s attempt at cheer, and lifting the
crying child onto her lap, wrapped
her coat about the small, cold legs.
The bus was shaking with each gust
of wind, and though every window was
thick with frost, she knew the storm
had increased in fury.
Where that empty milk can came
from they never knew; but for a while
it created not only diversion, but a
feeble warmth that was dearly wel-
come. With the aid of a pocket knife
Jack ripped the leather covering from
the seats, and used excelsior stuffing
for a fire. School books came next,
but not until darkness was descend-
ing and all hope of seeing the missing
driver was given up.
“I’d go for help,” Jack told his sis-
ter grimly, “but even if the road
weren’t drifted, I’d never make it with
night coming on. We’ve bfeen here
about four hours, haven’t we? It
seems a lifetime already, and these
youngsters have been here a good
while longer. If things aren’t better
in the morning I’ll have to go, Nance.
Have you noticed” (he lowered his
voice), “those twins are getting drowsy,
both of ’em; and so’s Paul Evans. I
can’t tell whether they’re just sleepy,
or—or—Look here, Sis! It’s up to us
to keep them moving!”
Darkness came fast; but slowly, ter-
ribly slowly, it seemed to Nance, hour
after hopeless hour dragged on. Wild
wind still raged about them, and at
the back of the bus a snowdrift had
collected, sifting in through the broken
window and making their cramped
space smaller still. Though all worked
desperately to keep the fire burning, a
sudden, especially fierce gust had
blown it out; and there were no more
matches. Jack had long since relin-
quished his sheep-lined jacket; and
Nance’s knitted skirt was pinned se-
curely about a shivering boy.
Pretense at games—prancing up and
down the aisle—anything to keep blood
circulating in those small, cold bodies,
was kept up valiantly; but as night de-
scended the children wTho were not
crying had dropped asleep, huddled to-
gether in a corner, and tears of fright
and pity dimmed Nancy’s eyes as she
looked down at them.
Through that interminable night a
grim and silent Jack kept moving con-
stantly, stopping at every turn to rub
the legs or arms of some small sleeper.
Nancy, exhausted, sat for a time, hold-
ing within her coat a boy of seven who
whimpered with the cold. Later, when
a semblance of warmth returned to
him he dropped asleep, she too arose
to move about the crowded quarters,
and like her brother, chafe numb hands
and feet.
Dawn came at last, and the storm
had not abated.
“But we’re alive,” said Nance, teeth
chattering as she tried to speak.
“We’re all alive.”
Jack faced her suddenly. Almost it
seemed that he was angry.
“And how long will we last? How
long, I ask you?” He raised a foot
and she saw a bare leg above the shoe.
“I put my socks on Joey Miller three
hours ago when you were nodding.
That boy’s all in, Nancy; and some of
these little girls won’t live the day
through unless help reaches us. If
we had food it might put new life into
them; but every lunch pail’s empty
and—”
He stopped, silenced by a moan
from some one in the huddled mass,
and lifting a child, worked at her stiff
legs in desperation. It was, Nance
saw, the twin who wore her sweater;
and suddenly the girl was pulling off
her woolen stockings while Jack pro-
tested: “You keep those on, Sis! Say,
are you going crazy? Do you want to
freeze to death? You’re in your thin
silk undies now. I know it. I saw
you sneak out of that knitted thing
a while ago. D—n you, Nance Nelson,
you keep those stockings on!”
Nancy said nothing. Jack was, she
understood half crazed with anxiety
for all those helpless children and her-
self as well. Slipping bare feet into
her shoes again, she knelt to pull her
warm hose over the icy legs of the
small sufferer; while one of the
girls, watching in silence, struggled
out of her coat and buttoned it about
her little sister.
Nance threw a smile, a drawn, sad
smile that Cousin Columbine wouldn’t
have recognized.
“Come help me, Evelyn,” she said
gently. “We must wake some of the
littlest ones and keep them moving.”
One after another they got them to
their feet, those weary youngsters.
Some, unable to understand, protested,
weeping. Others did their brave best
to help. It was nearly noon when, as
the wind subsided, Jack said the
words that struck terror to his sister’s
heart.
“I’m going now, Nancy.” His voice
trembled a little. “As I see it, there’s
no other way. Keep up your courage;
and for God’s sake, Nance, keep fight-
ing. Unless the wind starts up again
I’ll reach that ranch in a few hours.”
“And—if you—don’t?”
Their eyes met, and Nance knew her
brother realized how slim a chance
he had. Her lips trembled; but he
made a gesture toward the children.
“I know—but I can’t let them die,
Nancy, while there’s a chance to save
them. Bill,” (turning to the boy who
wore his jacket), “I’m going for help
and it looks as if I’d have to take that
coat. No, I won’t need the socks” (as
the little boy stooped bravely to re-
move them). “Tom Osgood, you keep
the kiddies moving. I’m counting on
you older ones to help.”
“Look here,” spoke up the boy sud-
denly, “you find a fence, Jack, and
follow it if you can. Dad told me
once that if ever I got caught out in
a blizzard, to find a fence and just
hang onto it. And if you run into a
mail box you’ll know a gate is some-
where near. Gosh! Jack, I—I sort a
wish you wouldn’t go.”
Jack forced a smile.
“Now don’t you worry, kid. I’ll get
there sure, so long as the wind stays
quiet. You just help Nancy every way
you can; and whatever happens, don’t
go to sleep. Keep thinking that by
night we’ll be safe home. Good—
good-by—every one.”
He did not look at Nancy as he
strode away. The girl knew that he
did not dare to; and in another mo-
ment his tall form was blotted out.
What fate would meet him, alone on
those terrifying plains, she wondered,
tears stinging her eyelids. And (with
a clutch of fear), was the wind rising?
Time passed, interminable hours
that seemed unending. The dreaded
wind died down, returned, and died
again, not to return. No one could
say just when the blizzard ceased,
fbr one by one the children were suc-
cumbing to the portentous drowsi-
ness. Once Nance succumbed herself,
to be aroused by the frantic, pounding
fists of Tommy Osgood.
The cold was still intense when that
second dusk approached the prairies;
but the whimpering voices were hushed
in an ominous silence. Most of the
children had given up by now, com-
pletely spent with cold, and hunger,
and even fright. For there had been
strange happenings since Jack’s de-
parture. Twice they rejoiced at the
sound of approaching horses, only to
find that their ears must have de-
ceived them. Two of the children had
“seen” the schoolhouse, and, as the
mirage faded, burst into tears of dis-
appointment.
Working courageously on icy arms
and legs, Nance knew, a sense of ter-
ror creeping through her, that she was
giving out. Her eyelids kept closing
against her will. At times it seemed
impossible to drag them open. Her
hands were numb; her bare legs curi-
ously lifeless.
Tom Osgood, stripped to his over-
alls and cotton shirt, was putting his
clothes on the boy who had given up
Jack’s coat. Without Tom’s help,
Nance told herself, she could not en-
dure much longer. That boy was a
hero! How many times had she seen
him, when on the brink of dozing, pull
himself together valiantly to help the
younger ones? Why, he was drowsy
now, poor darling! His task accom-
plished, he had slumped onto that hud-
dled mass upon the floor. Oh. he
mustn’t go under! Not brave little
Tom Osgood! Nancy dragged herself
up, shaking the boy with all her fail-
ing strength.
“Wake up, Tommy! I need you!
We must help these children. Don’t
go to sleep, Tom. . . . Keep fight-
ing . . . fighting. . . .”
*******
An hour later when the bus door
snapped open and Matthew Adam, his
uncle, and two grim-faced fathers
stepped fearfully inside, Nancy’s fur
coat was covering a mound of chil-
dren, while the girl herself, almost
too spent to realize that help had
come, sat on the floor amid a drift of
snow with only a child’s thin sweater
covering her thin silk underwear, nod-
ding, nodding, as she rubbed mechan-
ically at a small boy’s frozen feet.
CHAPTER XI
Such events are “news” to the Asso-
ciated Press. On the morning after
that momentous blizzard James Nel-
son arose early, for Margaret was con-
valescing from an attack of flu, and
the woman who had been coming in
to help was also ill. Hence it de-
volved on Dad to get the family break-
fast ; but before beginning this unac-
customed duty he stopped to take in
his morning paper.
Spring had come early to Edge-
mere. The air, James noticed, was al-
most balmy. He had a melodious
whistle, and Mendelssohn’s “Spring
Song” was on his lips when, suddenly
realizing that time was fleeting, he
turned toward the kitchen.
“Hello, there!” greeted Phil on his
way downstairs; and smiling, James
tossed him the paper without looking
at it.
“Take that up to your mother, Phil.
She may like to glance at the news
before I gQ. But come right back,
sonny. I need a cook’s assistant! And
ask how much coffee I ought to use.”
Margaret looked up happily as the
boy entered her room.
“It’s good to hear Dad’s whistle,
isn’t it?” she said, recalling the long
months when that cheerful sound was
silenced. “I feel like a slacker lying
here while he turns a cook; but the
doctor says I’m not to stir for another
week. Thank goodness Aunt Louise
will be out tonight! Don’t stop to
read the paper, Phil; and tell your fa-
ther a heaping tablespoon—”
“Look here!” The small boy’s eyes,
were bright with interest. “There’s
been a’nawful blizzard in Colorado!
I wonder if it was near Cousin Colum-
bine’s.”
Margaret reached for the paper, con-
tinuing almost automatically: “A
heaping tablespoonful to every cup,
Phil.” Then as he ran to join his fa-
ther, her eyes fell on these arresting
headlines:
“Terrific blizzard sweeps Colorado
plains. Bus full of school children
saved by heroic efforts of two young
people after the driver, going in
search of help, became confused and
died in the storm.
“Denver, Colo., March 27. (AP)—A
story of heroism and self-sacrifice was
enacted yesterday afternoon in a
school bus stalled on the Colorado
prairies, when Nancy Nelson, nine-
teen, popular sub-deb, daughter of
Mr. and'Mrs. James C. Nelson of Bos-
ton and cousin of Miss Columbine Nel-
son, pioneer resident of Pine Ridge,
Colorado, stripped to her underwear
in order to put her clothes on children
who were freezing to death before her
eyes; while her brother Jack, seven-
teen, facing the storm in hope of bring-
ing help, succeeded in reaching a dis-
tant ranch where he collapsed after
giving news of the whereabouts of the
missing bus. Without the heroic ac-
tion of these two young people, sixteen
children would undoubtedly have per-
ished. Frantic parents—”
Margaret read no further because
her hands were shaking so that she
could not see the type; but she man-
aged to call, a call that somehow
startled her husband; and at that very
moment the front door bell rang.
John set the coffee pot on the stove,
and said “You answer that bell, son.
I’ll see what Mother wants.”
Margaret was lying back against
the pillows, her face colorless. One
hand still clutched the paper, and a
limp gesture told her husband he was
to read it. He sat on the bed, and,
strangely, his daughter’s name stared
up at him as he took the sheet, even
before he saw the headlines.
“. . . Nancy Nelson . . . stripped
to her underwear . . . brother Jack.
. .. collapsed. . . .”
“It’s a telegram!” cried Phil, burst-
ing into the room in great excitement.
“Maybe it’s from Cousin Columbine
asking me to visit her. Open it quick,
won’t you? Why—what’s the matter?
Is Mother sick again? Gee! there’s
the telephone. What’d it have to ring
for now?”
As he sped away, his father stared
down at the yellow envelope. For a
moment it seemed as if he could not
face its contents. Then, bracing him-
self inwardly, he tore it open, eyes
seeking the signature before he read:
“Don’t be unduly alarmed by reports
in papers Stop Jack making good fight
against pneumonia and all possible be-
ing done Stop Telegraph if coming
Stop Will wire again at noon after
talking with doctor Stop Am proud
of your children Columbine Nelson.”
Margaret, watching his tense face,
cried out: “Is—is it—”
“Not that!” James broke in quick-
ly. “Not that, dear!” and read the
message, his voice trembling. Then
the small boy was back, calling as he
ran up the stairs: “It’s Aunt Lou on
the telephone. She wants you, Dad.
Where’s that telegram? Was it—”
When James returned five minutes
later there was a bit more color In
Margaret’s face, and Phil, avidly perus-
ing the story, lifted his head from the
newspaper to exclaim. “Gee, Daddy!
Jack wasn’t wearing any socks! He’d
put ’em on a little feller that was
freezing. And Nance had given her
stockings to some one, too, and her
dress’n her fur coat and everything.
She just had one o’ the kid’s sweaters
over her slip. She got unconscious
soon as they found ’em. One of those
Adam fellers got there first. They’d
been to his uncle’s ranch and got
‘caught in the blizzard on the way
home and collided with that bus. It
says they showed un—unbelievable
heroism; and the driver was found a
mile off the road under a snowdrift.
Nancy’s legs are frozen to—”
TO BE CONTINUED.
Massasauga Ranges Far
The swamp rattlesnake, or massa-
sauga, ranges the farthest northward
of any of the venomous snakes, inves-
tigations made by naturalists indicate.
OUTLINING THE STORY FROM THE BEGINNING
Ruined financially, James Nelson, Boston merchant, breaks the news to his household. A short time before, an elder-
ly cousin of Nelson’s, Columbine, had suggested that Nance, his daughter, nineteen, come to her at Pine Ridge, Colo., as
a paid companion. Jack, Nance’s brother, seventeen, urges her to accept, to relieve their father of a financial burden,
and offering to go with her so that she will not feel too lonely. They write to Cousin Columbine. She wires a wel-
come, and it is arranged that the two shall go. Met by Cousin Columbine, they are somewhat dismayed by her uncon-
ventional attire and mannerisms, but realize she has character. Mark Adam, son of a close friend of the old lady, is
introduced. The desolation (to Nance’s city ideas) of Pine Ridge appalls the girl. The newcomers meet Aurora Tubbs,
Cousin Columbine’s cook, and Matthew Adam, Mark’s older brother. Cousin Columbine explains her reasons for desiring
Nance to come to her. Nance gets better acquainted with Matthew Adam, and is impressed by his good sense—and his
good looks. An absence of interesting reading, both in the house and in the community, gives Nancy an inspiration.
Writing home, Nance outlines an idea for a public library at Pine Ridge. The family makes plans to comply with her
wishes. Cousin Columbine invites friends to celebrate Nancy’s social “debut,” the girl having confided to her her disap-
pointment at having had to forgo that. She has a delightful evening, and goes to bed with a feeling of greater content-
ment with Pine Ridge. With the gathering of the books the library opens, Nance being the “librarian.” It is an immedi-
ate success. She admits to Matthew that she will leave Pine Ridge with some regret, which the young man shares. With
Matthew and Jack, Nance visits an uncle of Matthew’s next day, and after their departure there is indication of a se-
vere snow storm. On their way home, without Matthew, the brother and sister are overtaken by a blizzard.
ROGERS
BEVERLY HILLS—Well all I
know is just what I read in the papers.
Been buckling down pretty hard at the
old Studio, after
prowling around all
over for so long. I
had to make a lot
of faces at the old
Camera. Movie bus-
iness feels pretty
good now.
They had a couple
of scares here late-
ly. They are the
darndest people to
getupascare. Here
you remember not
long ago they were
all so excited over the fact the Churches
were going to make em clean up. Well
you would have thought that they had
had been told there wasent going to be
any more film made, that they had run
out of the stuff they made it out of.
Well they lived through it, and are just
doing fine, and its all forgotten about.
But they sure did take it serious for
awhile. Then right about the time they
could go to bed without looking under
it, along come the scare of Sinclair
being elected. Well they was off again.
The business was to be ruined, they
was going to have to move to
Florida, or C.laremore, or some other
place. Well in the first place the fellow
wasent going to be elected, and the
next place he maby dident intend to
ruin the business, and in the third
place he couldent have done all these
things if he had wanted too. You have
to have a Legislature with you. Huey
Long is the only one that can do things
with no advice, help or visible aid from
anybody but Huey.
But now we are over all the scares,
and everybody is working hard, and
are happy. California says they are in
for quite a little better times, and I
guess its like it is everywhere else,
they are feeling a lot better.
This Election changed a lot of folks’
idea on things. They have kinder be-
come reconsiled to the fact that the
folks are not so excited about this
great debt that is being piled up a3
they thought they were. Course there
is lots of em that think we are just so
far in debt that there will never be
any head above water again, but the
most of em seem to think that its not
so terrible. This thing of worrying
about what our grand children are go-
ing to have to pay, well most folks
say, “Well our children seem to think
they are smarter than we are, so if they
are the chances are that their children
will be smarter than they are, so if
they are that smart why maby they
can think of some substitute for money
that they can pay off their national
debt with, and they will wonder why
we dident have a bigger one. Maby we
wont print the money, but they will, so
what difference does it make to us?”
Why I had the most surprising thing
the other day I was reading that in
Iowa. During the Election they had
voted on an old age pension, and in
order to pay it all the tax payers had
to do was to pay two dollars a year,
everybody who is of age. Now can you
imagine that? Every old person in the
state gets a pension, if everybody else
will pay only two dollars a piece.
Why there is dozens of great humita-
rian things that could be done at a
very little cost, if the tax was properly
applied. Its the waste in Government
that gets everybody’s goat. I see now
Borah is after em on a lot of that. Now
1 dont know how you all feel about Bill
Borah, but I think he is just about one
of our biggest men. He is a great fellow
is Bill Borah, and he can put the finger
right on many a festering place. And
I think you will see an investigation
and they will cut out a lot of that.
Course the way we do things, al-
ways have done things, and always will
do things, there just has to be so much
graft. We wouldent
feel good if there
wasent. We just
have to get used to
charging so much
off to graft just like
you have to charge
off so much for in-
surance, or taxes,
or depreciation. Its
a part of our
national existence
that we just have
become accustomed
to.
It will be very interesting to see just
what,the new Congress does do, or
rather it will be very interesting to see
what it is he has thought up for them
to do, for I guess no bunch of men ever
come to a Congressional Mess Hall
with any less idea of what they was
going to order to eat. They are all just
coming and saying, “Well I had no
idea I would be allowed to order myself.
I just figured I come and sit down, and
I eat what they bring me. Why I dident
know I would be asked to order.”
But I expect thats the best way after
all. You can look at half the guys
stomachs in the world, and you can see
they dont know how to order for them-
selvs.
© 1934, McNaught Syndicate, Inc.
Dublin, Ireland
Dublin, the capital of Ireland, is said
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uated cities in Europe. The city is the
seat of Irish culture. A European capi-
tal today, popular legend says that the
city was founded 300 years after the
deluge.
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Lane, Ella E.; Plageman, Cecile & Plageman, Annie Louise. Shiner Gazette (Shiner, Tex.), Vol. 41, No. 51, Ed. 1 Thursday, December 6, 1934, newspaper, December 6, 1934; Shiner, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1148054/m1/3/: accessed June 26, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Shiner Public Library.