Galveston Labor Dispatch (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 28, Ed. 1 Saturday, April 12, 1913 Page: 2 of 8
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Texas Labor Newspapers and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Rosenberg Library.
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2
GALVESTON LABOR DISPATCH
EXXXXXXXxXX[XIX[XIX2IXXIX2/XEX/XX/X1XX1X8[X[X1X[X/X1IXXXIX2X2IX1IXXX2XE[XXI[X2[2[XIXXX|XXIX
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DON’T PUT OFF TILL TOMORROW WHAT YOU CAN
DO TODAY
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PHONE 710
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AND HAVE A CASE OF
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THE DEER THAT'S LIQUID FOOD
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GALVESTON, TEXAS
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Bats, Masks,
Mitts, Gloves, Shoes, Baseballs.
Prices From Cheapest
to Best.
PHONE 3290
2212 MECHANIC STREET
+**********************************+****
J. C. GONZALES!
CHAPTER 11.
IMPORTER AND DEALER IN
Telephone 774
Galveston, Texas
********************±**-*-44****
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F. P. MALLOY & SON
LIVERY AND BOARDING STABLE
Licensed Undertakers and Embalmers
Cor. 24th and Postoffice
K[XX[X[ZIXXXXXxX[XCKXKxlxxxxxxxxxixxxxxlxxlxxxxlxxx[XIX/XCXE[X2XIXIxIXXIx‘xx2xx
of
Economy, bought a pair of
want you always to look upon me
me.
money-
Polite and Attentive Drivers Are Employed.
Church St., Between 22nd and 23rd.
Telephone 321
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She wouldn’t
Then she be-
with care and affection,
part with a stick of it.
gan to fray the edges
Practical
' shears.
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Just Arrived—Everything That’s Late and Good in
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The " White Fly er” Ambulance Always Ready.
Phones 273 and 272.
We Vulcanize Tires and Tubes
on Short Notice.
J. LEVY & BRO.
Livery and Sales Stables
UNDERTAKERS AND EMBALMERS.
(9
Illustrations tv
V.L.BARNES
NEW BASEBALL
SUPPLIES
i
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by
MAYIUTRILIE
COPYRIGHT 1911
BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
CHAPTER 1.
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And Set to Work to Make Her Own
Clothes and Mine.
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FIREARMS, AMMUNITION, FISHING TACKLE, BICYCLES,
And General Sporting Goods
Wholesale Distributer of Dupont Dynamite, Blasting and Sporting Powder
J No. 2122 Market Street
*
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bag.”
Jo put out her hand suddenly, and
the handclasp was like that of two
pals.
“And remember, too, my dear girls,
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your protector and come to
will help, heart, head and
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something hurt, then put out her
hands as if I had tried to strike her.
“I shall do something!” I burst out.
“Surely, Jo, you don’t think I’m a lit-
tle ninny and can’t?”
“You’re too young,” she began.
“Young! Bosh!” I wouldn’t let her
go on with that. “Why, I’m nineteen!”
I said it as if I’d been a thousand.
“My mother was married when she
was nineteen. Why, Jo, when she was
as old as you, you were three years
old.” I was getting rather mixed, I
was so anxious to impress her.
“Poor old me,” Jo sighed, then she
laughed so heartily I know I grew
red again. “And I’ve been thinking
all this time that I was just getting
a look-in on life. Why, I’m an old
70
GALVESTON BRWG 00.
“I Shall Do Something!” I Burst Out.
the whole idea seemed so novel and
possible. She leaned forward finally
and clasped her hands. I knew from
the attitude that she was resigned—
for something.
“The trouble is,” she mused, “it’s
the wrong time of year to begin to
teach. Another month and all the
schools will be over.”
“Good!” I said heartily. “So that’s
out.”
I just wouldn’t think of Jo as a
teacher! She’d grow old and gray,
and have to put spectacles over the
gorgeous eyes, and fall into the habit
of talking theorems and such stuff. I
hate theorems!
“But then I may need time for prep-
aration,” she went on, not hearing
me, I guess—at least not paying the
slightest attention if she did. “You
see I don’t know a thing about it, and
then, too, I’ll have to get the posi-
tion.”
“Well, where do I come in in this
scheme of things?” I asked. “What
am I to be doing all this time?”
Jo drew in her breath sharply as if
some tissue paper patterns, and set
to work to make her own clothes and
mine. She allowed us one luxury—
we kept the car.
Now the final blow had fallen. Mr.
Partridge telephoned us to come to
the office. In itself it was not unus-
ual. We always had to go down to
look over the report and sign a re-
ceipt when a dividend was declared.
But Jo ran her forefinger down the
calendar, consulted a little red note-
book, then shook her head. To my
“Anyhow it’s the same thing the oth-
er way ’round. It you were learning
to drive, and he were teaching you?
The position is just the same.”
Jo shook her head.
“A man with diamond rings wouldn’t
be teaching me to drive,” she remind-
ed me. “I won’t argue it. I’d be ex-
posing myself, for I never heard of
a female demonstrator in the auto-
mobile business. I wouldn’t be ex-
posed teaching.”
“You certainly wouldn’t,” I remark-
ed, thinking of the frumpy professors
who—“But then they sometimes do,
Jo—the professors kiss, I mean. I’ve
seen it in the papers.” She had to
agree with me, too. “I’d back you in
any capacity,” I told her admiringly,
“and the novelty of a female demon-
strator might get you the job.”
“A female chauffeur!” she laughed.
“How does it sound?”
And from the way she looked at me
I knew she never had considered the
idea for a single minute. I’m sure I
went red, for I’d been in earnest, and
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| Sam J. Levy Jack M. Levy,
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there if you’ll just notice it. We had
no way of fixing our prospective in-
'come. We tried to aim high and
didn’t know if we could afford the
apartment or not. We might be able
to afford a better one—even the car!
Again: here we were practically pen-
niless, for we had no income and no
profession; yet we stood the chance
of landing something in our ambitious
mood that would make the three
thousand a year look foolish. We had
never worked; we didn’t know what
we could do. It was a problem that
had the Servant Question tied in a
double knot.
Jo, for all her cheerfulness, had a
i hard time to put into words even the
things she wanted to do. I knew
what she wanted to do. She was just
about to do it when the blow fell.
She wanted to take a course in botany
at the Harvard gardens and specialize
in orchids, for she had hope of one
day owning a country place where
she could experiment, though how she
was going to get the country place the
Lord knows, unless she married it,
and she hadn’t counted that far. She
finally swung back and around to
teaching. It seemed the only thing.
“You might,” I suggested, “demon-
strate automobiles. It’s outdoors and
the hours are not long. No new man
just learning to drive can stand the
strain on his back-bone very long.
Sometimes the place is in the country
where the roads are beautiful. I don’t
think it would be wearing, Jo, be-
cause you always know without half
thinking when a person is going to
change gear without throwing out the
clutch. You could make him fix
punctures as a lesson.”
“Perhaps, instead of a man,” Jo
smiled, “it would be a woman, a frail
little creature whom the Lord never
intended to drive a car; and she
couldn’t let off the emergency, much
less jam it on if necessary I’d whack
her and lose my job.”
“You may be cut out for teaching,
after all,” I mused.
“Or,” she went on, “he might be a
fat man with short pudgy fingers,
wearing diamond rings, and on one
of those beautiful country roads we
might reach a secluded spot and he
might—try to kiss me.”
“Whack him!” I suggested. She
is quite capable of doing it, too.
some one were trying to steal me—
which, of course, nobody was—and
patted my cheek.
“You’re game enough, by dear little
sister, but it isn’t only Practical Econ-
omy we’ve got to look out for now—
it’s bringing in something to econo-
mize on.” She turned to Mr. Part-
ridge. “Here’s a girl,”—her voice
broke a little—“a young, attractive,
well-bred girl, who has to get out into
the world and earn her living. We
have to decide the best way she can
do that to reflect credit upon herself
and her- family.”
“And yourself? What are you go-
ing to do?” he asked after a minute.
He rubbed his eyelglasses so hard
one snapped and the broken piece fell
to the floor where it lay unnoticed.
“There are a thousand things I can
do,” Jo smiled.
“Don’t try to be too brave, my
dear,” Mr. Partridge replied. “The
reaction will only come harder.” He
could see right through anybody just
as if they were a newly-scrubbed pane
of glass. “Now, I’m not rich, but I
Two Ladies Bereft.
Jo slipped off her gloves and tossed
them on the table where they lay,
long, handsome and rather distin-
guished—there’s always something so
personal in a woman’s glove!—then
she sat down and we stared at each
other. The props had been knocked
from under us, and we had landed
with a good, sound bump, surprised,
astonished, astounded, dumfounded!
But not despairing as yet. The blow
hadn’t had time to benumb us, conse-
quently we hadn’t arrived at the de-
spairing stage.
Jo has gorgeous eyes with long
lashes that sweep her cheeks when
she looks down, and she has a trick
of doing that when she’s thinking.
But she was not looking down now;
she was looking at me plainly per-
plexed—hunted, I’d say if I were in-
clined to be romantic—staring direct-
ly at my nose, which I’m rather sensi-
tive about, with a slight pucker be-
tween her gorgeous eyes. The blow
was beginning to sink in. I could tell
by the droop settling at each corner
of her beautiful mouth.
Two years ago when Jo was just
bursting out of Radcliffe with all sorts
of honors, and I was specializing in
French, voice, expression, art, tennis,
baseball and automobile with no hope
of college and no wish to have and
hope, my father died suddenly. It
had been coming on a long time—for
five years, to be exact—ever since my
mother died. Jo was sixteen then; I
was twelve. Jo mothered him and
myself, as well as the infinite wisdom
of her sixteen years would permit;
read the books he liked, played the
music he wished to hear, followed ad-
vice for motherless girls so that we
would never do the wrong thing and
give him cause to worry. But we nev-
er could fill that aching heart, and
we knew it.
The copper muddle had done some-
thing to his income. It was necessary
to cut down expenses, so we did away
with the footman and six maids, sold
the horses, which gave us no use for
the groom, fired the chef, put Wilkins,
the housekeeper, to cooking, and kept
only one car. It also put an end to
BICYCLE SUPPLIES
Bicyle Repairing. Key Making. T ools and Lawn Mowers Sharp-
ened by Special Machinery.
GALVESTON RUBBER AND SPORTING GOODS CO.
Cummings & Sprue
questions she answered: “Oh, noth-
ing.”
Mr. Partridge was a little old law-
yer, bald and a bachelor. He re-
ceived us with ceremony, bowed us
into his inner office, where he raised
his eyebrows to his stenographer and
she disappeared.—Then he fussed an
unusual time over the papers on his
desk, cleared his throat until I began
to feel like coming forward with a
suggestion about drafts on his poor
little bald head, and fell to rubbing his
glasses abstractedly as if making up
his mind how to say whatever it was
he had to say. Jo began to get sus-
picious. I could see it in the way she
sat quite, quite still and held in.
Then it came! The mine—our mine
—was up to its neck in water with
every prospect of staying that way,
and we no longer had three thousand
a year. Jo didn’t wince when the
blow fell. She’s like a wonderful piece
of steel, anyway. It took me some
little while fully to comprehend, so I
didn’t faint or do anything foolish.
After all, Jo and I had the same
father and mother; it’s the only van-
ity I allow myself.
Mr. Partridge threatened to cry,
instead of ourselves, as he patiently
explained the details. There was no
hope—he didn’t tell us until there was
no hope—the mine was now aban-
doned. An effort had been made to
pump it dry, but it was like trying to
pump out the Atlantic ocean.
“We have the stock?” Jo asked
quietly.
“It’s not worth the paper it’s print-
ed on,” Mr. Partridge replied with a
groan.
“Lock It up just as if it were,” di-
rected Jo, and rose to go.
“Have you thought”—Mr. Partridge
blew his nose rather inelegantly to
give vent to his feelings—“what you
are going to do to replace that three
thousand a year? Two young, attrac-
tive women left- to make a living?”
“I’m going home, sit down and
think what we’re going to do,” re-
plied Jo.
I began to examine some Japanese
prints on the wall which I knew noth-
ing about, just to get command of my-
self. I was shaking as you do when
you go to your window in the middle
of the night to see the fire-engines
pass.
“I don’t mind for myself—”
Jo paused and raised her eyebrows
toward my back. I saw it quite plain-
ly in a mirror set at just the proper
angle. I turned around.
“I’ve been studying Practical Econo-
my, too, Jo.” I said bravely. “Don’t
you think I’m going to be game—too?”
Jo swept me into her arms as if
AxX[X/[221X/X2IXXXXIXI[X[X[KIEIXIXA[X[XX[XIAXXIXIXA[XIXX[XX[X/X[XIX[XK|X[XK2IXIX/XXKXIxIx
that the better looking a woman is
when she’s battling with the world,
the harder it is for her to keep her
footing. Remember!” This very
solemnly. “Now let me kiss you each
on the forehead just as if I were your
father, and don’t fail to send for me
morning, noon or night if you need
me.”
He jokingly climbed upon a has-
sock to deliver the kiss and even then
Jo had to stoop, but it left us feeling
that after all we were not so terribly
alone in the “world. I’ve often-won-
dered why he never married.
So, Jo and I sat staring at each oth-
er across the room and tried to pre-
tend that losing three thousand a
year income wasn’t anything at all;
only so much as a broken vase, to be
mended when we could get our breath.
Jo’s eyelashes swept her cheeks and
I knew she was beginning to think.
“It’s like so many keys on the
piano,” I said finally, breaking a si-
lence that threatened to be tragic.
“You try to pick out the ones that will
give you the prettiest melody. And
it’s awfully hard,” I ended, suddenly
aware of it.
“I suppose I’ll teach,” Jo said, and
then she gave way just a little. “I
never wanted to think I’d have to
teach.”
I went down on my knees, took her
hands and made her look at me.
“You’re not going to do anything
you don’t want to do,” I said firmly.
“You’re not going to do all the sac-
rificing in this family. You’re good,
and firm, and strong, Jo, and I want
to obey you, but away back in my
get-up there’s a good, strong will of
my own, and I’m going to have some
say about this. Wait! There are
many more keys on the piano; that
tune jangled a bit, didn’t it, dear?”
“Let’s play a game,” she suggested.
“Let’s prospect. We will begin with
the things we would like to do and
see how practical they are, then—”
“Or,” I interrupted, breathlessly,
“write a lot of things on a piece of
paper and stick pins in to see how
they come out.”
“Perhaps that’s as good a way as
any,” she answered much to my
amazement. Jo has a dear sense of
humor.
She got up and put aside her hat,
then she picked up the gloves and
pulled them through her fingers while
the long lashes swept her cheeks
again.
“The car wn have to go,” she said
firmly. That Practical Economy cer-
tainly had seeped into Jo.
“It’s not so much the money the
car will bring, but the saving of its
keep,” I said, just to prove that I
knew something of Practical Econo-
my myself.
Jo nodded like a teacher does when
you’ve answered the question proper-
ly; then a smile parted her beautiful
lips.
"Loulie, you’re a dear,” she said. “I
was afraid to say so for fear—you’d
be terribly disappointed.”
I don’t know why she paused unless
she wasn’t quite sure just what
she was afraid of, although she’s al-
ways so sure of everything. But,
goodness! There are street cars to
the Country club.
“Perhaps I am,” I replied, “but Jo,
I’m not one, two, three beside you.”
any social ambitions Jo might have
had, and didn’t; and placed us on a
lower plane in everything except our
self-respect.
Jo set herself to studying Prac-
tical Economy, and housekeeping—
and pounded it into me—did the mar-
keting where we paid nothing for
style, and began to cut out those
pages in the Sunday newspapers that
tell how to use the left-overs. Then
came a time when something hap-
pened that we could fully understand.
A customer, old, reliable, absolutely
safe, ordered stock and failed to pay
for it when it slumped, and poor old
Dad went down in the ruins. He saved
bls reputation, but it was the end.
He was too old and heart-broken to
recover; even his faith in friendship
was gone. He came home, went to
his room and died.
After we laid him beside our mother
To took an inventory. We found we
had a home, elegant and imposing in
the most exclusive section of Boston,
packed to the garret with mahogany,
most of which had come down to us
from the wonderful supply on the
Mayflower, and all of it mortgaged up-
to the hilt. Everything else was
swept away. It had been going grad-
ually for five years while poor old Dad
simply drifted. Also we had some
stock in a western mine that gave us
three thousand a year. Our personal
assets consisted of our name, some
family portraits and jewelry, old-
fashioned and elegant enough, but
worth little to any one but ourselves;
To had a good education, I had a
smattering of everything, and both of
us had the advantage of two years
abroad, and good, sound, robust,
healthy bodies. I am not counting
Jo‘s beauty or those gorgeous eyes of
hers, because Jo never would use
those eyes except to see with.
I don’t know how she managed, ex-
cept that she was a born manager, to
pull out so much from the wreck. She
exchanged our equity in the house for
the mortgagee’s equity in the fur-
niture, rented a modest apartment in
the best neighborhood we could afford,
put in as much of the mahogany as
we could crowd into it, and sent the
remainder, to a storage warehouse
guaranteed fire-proof, and locked it in
ecrelary
of Frivolous
Affairs 88&
maid! And here I’ve never even had
a thought of getting married.”
And, sure enough, she never had.
She never had had as close . as a
fourth cousin connection with a ro-
mance. I looked at her suddenly and
wondered how in the world she had
managed to escape; how she had
kept some one from running off with
her bodily.
“I suppose I’ve wasted my time,” Jo
went on. “I know I have thrown away
chances. I might have married long
ago and settled the future for both of
us.”
“You might have,” I agreed, “but
introspection, dear, won’t take the
place of our three thousand a year.”
Which argument must have made
Practical Something or other sit up
and take notice. “Now just don’t you
speak to me for ten minutes, and I’ll
tell you at the end of that time what
I am going to do.”
I put out my hand toward the news-
papers just to brush up on the things
there are to be done in this world.
After consideration I selected a held-
over Transcript as I wanted the very
best advice going. The first thing
that met my eye was: “The dancer
who is supposed to have caused the
downfall—” I turned over hastily.
After all I was looking for the want
column. Two minutes had not passed
before I landed on the very thing:
Wanted—Companion. Wealthy wom-
an recovering from nervous pros-
tration, wants young, good-looking,
well-bred, well-educated, well-read,
tactful girl for companion. Must
speak French, bridge, foot-ball, base-
ball, automobile and golf. Prefer a
musician who sings. Name your own
salary.
“Well, I’m it!” I exclaimed with
conviction, and passed the paper on to
Jo. “You would think that woman
had known my qualifications when she
put that in the paper.”
Jo read it, and I do believe she
would have whistled if she had known
how. From her expression I thought
she thought it was the very thing.
(To be Continued.)
The Utility or Uselessness.
Before the morning was over Jo
was sure on what she’d economize, al-
though she wasn’t sure what she’d
economize on. There’s a difference -
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Galveston, Texas i
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W. N. FRITTER
2425-2427 Market Street
Furniture and Stoves
ON EASY PAYMENTS.
HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE BOUGHT & EXCHANGED
Moving Vans, Storage Rooms
Phone 1146 Galveston, Texas
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Young, J. W. Galveston Labor Dispatch (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 1, No. 28, Ed. 1 Saturday, April 12, 1913, newspaper, April 12, 1913; Galveston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1459592/m1/2/?q=%22%22~1: accessed August 15, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Rosenberg Library.