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Show wV liifiiiiiifliliii Barrel of Apples Makes One Peck of Trouble CHICAGO. The motorman's life Is full of vexing problems. After a long, hard winter, full of dillicultles, delays, cold hands and feet and petty quarrels with passengers, he looks forward to the balmy spring days. Then the patrons of the street ears are In a joyful mood and the spring sunshine brings out their good nature. They are not harassed by heavy clothing. The green grass peeping through the earth cheers them up and they murmur "This is the life." With the coming of the warm days the street car chauffeur sees a better world. No more wagons on the tracks, no breakdowns, doors that open easily and everything so happy and gay. But, ' alas, he has not reckoned with the uniall boy. That chap, ever full of mischief, ever watchful of a chance to play a trick that will reap him a good laugh and perhaps a "chase" by the unfort'unate victim of the trick. A Sixty-first street car was merrily bowling along the street. The motor-man motor-man had a wide grin on his face. The conductor was checking up his books preparatory to a quick leave when the car reached the barn. With the right of way clear the popular automobile of the poor people was Insured a fast voyage. ( But alas ! A barrel of apples stood innocently In front of a corner grocery. gro-cery. Along came a small boy. In an instant the barrel was overturned and hundreds of apples rolled into the street. The motorman's grin changed to sardonic laughter. Passengers silently cursed and the conductor knew he'd be late nt home. There were cold suppers that night. The motorman could not start the car until the apples were gathered. "Iu springtime a young boy's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of mischief." Couldn't Get Cocktail Because of Her Uniform NEW YORK. A tall, dignified woman, of what might be termed the Interesting Inter-esting age to avoid trouble, walked Into the Park Avenue hotel's dining room with a couple of friends, and by way of Introducing luncheon ordered cocktails for the party. I am sorry, . madam," said the waiter, "but I cannot serve you." "Why not?" "Because you wear the army uniform." The tall, handsome woman wore the khaki of the Medical corps, and was forsooth an officer in the corps, a surgeon sur-geon bent on going abroad to serve with the Pershing forces. Her blousa was cut English fashion, revealing a tie that sported the golden serpent that is the emblem of the corps.. The lady in khaki refused to be turned jr down on the prohibition issue. She demanded that George C. Brown, who bosses everything around. the place, be called. She laid the case before him. Brown took a peep at the uniform and sustained the waiter. "Women have the same privileges and the same responsibilities that men have now," he said. "The government doesn't know the difference between a warrior in khaki and a warrloress, and they'd send me over for a year for gratifying the most beautiful thirst in America if it wore uniform." At dinner that night a perfectly cool lady in khaki was waiting calmly on a sofa before the dining room for the hapless Brown to come back. Brown, according to a late report, went to his room via a fire escape. Court Rules Woman's Toilet "Trash" Is Necessary RICHFORD, N. Y. Young men call them foolish frills. Husbands call them trash. Women call them make-up. But, hereafter, soap and perfume that are to be found on milady's dressing table are to have legal standing t ' OTi ENOUGH TO 1 ' M THmK aN 0o K l00K f,R7n r iiaPfC-l Without - WfSl ftoiice Art' -11 - In court as "a customary part of a woman's upkeep." The decision was handed down by a village police judge here after weighing every side of the question. And, take it from Louis J. Whelan, who must pay an additional dollar each week to his wife because of it, the judicial finding is one that Is attracting considerable interest in this ' village. Whelan, who is a foreman gardener on an estate near here, was summoned into court by his wife, who declared that the $9 weekly he was paying for her support was insufficient In these panicky times of war and costly living to keep her in the necessities of life. "But she spends it all on trash fancy soap, face powder, and all that trash," began Whelan. Just then the judge cleared his throat, frowned down upon him and brought the complaining husband to a sudden stop. "Yes, they're trash, but they're a customary part of a woman's upkeep." Whelan agreed that he would pay the sum, although the decision had not changed his opinion in the least. Detroit Tommy's Revenge on His Doting Mother TOLEDO. There are no grounds to believe that Tommie McDuffie of Detroit ever read the adventures of that juvenile philosopher "Penrod Scofield" and yet the completeness of his revenge on a mother who favored "middy" blouses" for a thirteen-year-old young man when the young man wanted" ''cord'roys," smacks of that fictional hero's most abandoned crimes. Tommie is in jail in Toledo, and locked up with him is the queerest collection col-lection of clothes that a Detroit newsboy news-boy ever had the patience to gather and the consummate nerve to wear. He appeared in a ravishing gown of rustling silk, neatly pointed low shoes, tvith high French heels, silken hose, a flower-pot ha, that, apparently, had een chosen for its impossible combination of equally Impossible flowers, a vhite silk shirtwaist, somewhat soiled in front where a piece of "lick'rice" had fallen, a green silk parasol, although it was cold and cloudy, a cretonne knitting bag and, crowning his disguise, a blonde wig. In this garb Tommie swept up to the desk of the Park hotel and registered regis-tered as "Miss Evelyn Smith Carew, Detroit." The clerk, after viewing the iteneral effect of the prospective guest, was startled on observing "her" hands. They were red, somewhat chapped, grimy and the knuckles seemed to give mute evidence that their owner had been recently playing marbles In a cinder cin-der pit. The real Tommie asserted himself at the police station, where a large, red-faced and grinning policeman demanded a kiss. "Say, whatcher doin', kiddin' somebody? I'll bust you with this bum-gershoot, bum-gershoot, you big stiff," was the highly unladylike announcement of Tommie, as his fists clenched. A little later, his injured dignity soothed, Tommie explained the mystery of his appearance. ''Mother wanted me to wear middy blouses to sell papers in," the roas-querader roas-querader said. "I wanted a suit of cord'roys. Gee! Those middy blouses are nothing for a fellow to wear. I thought if she wanted me to look like a girl I'd go the limit. I got these things a little at a time and then I hid them in the cellar. After I got everything I put 'em on and started for Cleveland." |