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Show THE REPORTERS' IDLE MOMENTS. "There goes a 'story' for you," said a round-the-town man yesterday to a Times reporter. "Where?" asked that perignatiug interrogation interro-gation point. "There; don't you see that lady and gentleman," gen-tleman," said the informer pointing with his index finger at a couple that was going quietly up Main street. uVho are they?" "Ah!" he said, long-drawn-out, "that's a different question." "Well, let's have the story f . "Don't get so impatient, the world 'wasn't made in a day " "No," broke in the scribe, "but newspapers news-papers art." " They say mind you, I say that they say that couple eloped from the east anil are on their clandestine honeymoon to the golden west. Now, there's an article for you." "Ves, bu'. what else!" "What else? What else? Why, ain't that enough?" "No, no. Give us the facts is he millionaire million-aire or was he her father's coachman? Is she a poor working girl or a bank owner's only child? What does the 400 " " There, there, my good fellow," interrupted inter-rupted the round-the-town mau, "don't grow facetious. All I know about the affair is second-hand intelligence. 1 hey say that he is pretty well encompassed with this world's goods and has a wife and child iu the Empire state whom he forsook for this woman. It seems the joy promised before the runaway has not materialized. Their temperaments do not harmonize he is too old, she too young. They have almost quarreled and she has tried to induce him to return to hia family. That's the whole story." "l'ut their names ?'' "Excuse me, but here comes my car." "Where are you stopping?" "At the Blank hotel, on Main street," said the informant as he hurried away. "What hotel?" anxiously asked the re- i porter. But the noise cf the car drowned the re-ply. re-ply. "There are some men who make me awful weary," he said, as he lazily leaned back in his chair aud ignited a match on his shoe solo. "Now ijiere's old man Jones (of course, that isn't his name), the Second South street merchant. lie is the most superstitious su-perstitious man I ever saw. Why, do you know, I was coming down town with him the other mornin g when he met a red-headed girl. Now, I meet a red-headed girl nearly every day, but 1 only look for the white horse. What did this superstitious old fogy-do fogy-do but turn riirht around aud go home and take a fresh 6tart lie said that it was bad luck to meet a red-headed girl on your way to business, don't you know," and he lautrhed heartily at the old gentleman's idiosyncrasy. idio-syncrasy. Yet. the reporter knows of several such phases of superstition. There is a druggist not a thousand miles from Main street'" who considers it an ill-omen ill-omen to walk under a ladder which leans against a building. A colored boot-black uu Second South always al-ways keeps oue eye closed while shining; a cross-eyed man's shoos. l'BHTIXEXT PENCILIXGS. The gooseberry pie is ripe. Chief Paul hasn't a gray hair in his head yet. The summer girl is not a success this season. sea-son. The wise man eats fauit and drinks little ice water. Sporting in Salt Lake has succumbed to the climate. An electric niotorman will marry an Og-deu Og-deu heiress. Fishing in the mountains is one of the popular pop-ular pastimes. Fred McGurrin is thinking of a vacation-trip vacation-trip to Manitoba. The zealous fisherman looks wistfully at City creek and yearns. A bookmaker has been characterized as a man who separates a chump from his money. Salt Lake ministers who are popular with their congregations give short sermous on hot Sundays. All kinds of gr"j have bad their innings, except the girl who rides the bike. It's time she bad a chance. "If there is anything that would draw the brine out of the lake," she said, "it's a fat man in a slim man's bathing suit." The licleua base ball club will play a series se-ries of games iu Ogden. The manager of the Salt Lake club should secure the Montana Mon-tana tosscrs for three game3 here. Even a newsboy is not always to be depended de-pended upon. Sometimes his "cry" is misleading:. mis-leading:. One of this class stood near the postofrice the other morning shouting: "Here's your morning Scrwher '. All about the death of Mayor Baskiu." |