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Show Yeh, ain't that soft with nothln' on his mind until the coming dawn. John S. Critchlow. Up sharp at 10:00 a. m. into the cold water and off with the coal dust. (, Down he rushes to the furnace, starts to put in I coal, then charitably remembering that that -may j have a tendency to raise the price, and also rec ollecting that its the home furnace refrains. j Rushes to the kitchen, and begins to build the fire with coal, but thinks in time and eats a lump. Out he rushes to the car, his face aglow with boyish pleasure. Weather twenty degrees below zero. He grabs the tram, and enters, saying briskly, "Fine morning." "Fine morning, -my eye," reply the prisoners in the grip of the coal trust. It is now eleven o'clock, and time to raise the price of coal. This done, the manager goes over i on the west side and sweeps out the coal yard. , v He then assists in gilding some of the larger lumps for Brigham street customers, and goes I back to the office, where he finds an indictment 1 with something about restraint of trade. He lunches in a reflective mood at Spiegel &' Mie-I Mie-I gels', returning to count his money soon after masticating his partridge. The money partially I : counted, he con. to the joy of the news- I j paper readers of day to come he says so himself then calls uis chauffeur or the driver ' of a blue wagon, and after instructing one or I the other where to meet hi'm, takes his place , with the boulevardiers until it is time to dine. 1 Dinner over, the Clicquot glasses taken away and the "ponys" and cigars at hand, our hero loves to recall them days when coal was closer to $10 the ton, and life was all a barcarolle. After dining, , he is forced to go to the theatre or to some resi- ' dence where the hostess In gratitude for the , warmth he nas made possible, has insisted on his presence, and at the midnight hour he orders ham and eggs, and then flits homeward to delve in his library of works on combustibles, and eventually sink to dreams of the land of King Coal, with a -piayer on his lips that it will snow again before I he awakens. Some job that for a little fellow. Well rawther, nothin' to do till tomorrow. |