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Show I 1 s s s j Mrs. Bowser : I Tells It j a Bowser Goes Out to I I Hunt the Chestnut I I. (Copyright, 1917. by the MoCluie Newspaper Newspa-per Syndicate.) By M. QUAD. For several days I have observed a spirit of restlessness about Mr. Bowser, Bow-ser, aud I had made up my mind that he was longing for a trip out into the country. In his conversations he spoke of the chestnuts and acorns; lie mentioned men-tioned the rabbit; he spoke of the fall apple, and so I knew that he would take a day off soon and refresh his boyhood memories. Mr. Bowser came down to breakfast break-fast one morning prepared for a jaunt and he said to me : "I think I will take a little trip out into the country today. I want to saunter around and see farm scenes. I want to pick up the great brown chestnuts uiuler the trees. I want to pick the golden pippin right off the apple tree. I want to buy a quart of buttermilk of some farmer and drink it down without stopping to breathe. It seems as if it would almost make me over to spend the day out in the country." coun-try." ."There's nothing to hinder you from going," I replied. "In fact, I want you farmer was at his gate as I got oft the car, and the first question I asked him was : "Is Mr. Bowser dead?" "Why, no, ma'am," he replied. "Come right in and you'll see him alive. No need to be alarmed about him." I went in and found Mr. Bowser in bed. That is, I supposed it was Mr. Bowser, for it was some time before I was certain of his identity. I had a few words to say in praise of the man and he went on : "I have four hives of bees. I wanted to move them to a new place ' to pass the winter. I mentioned it to Mr. Bowser and he offered to help mo. Two men can carry a beehive very nice. All you have to do is to place a piece of paper over the hole where they come in and go out. Then you can carry the hive between you. Mr. Bowser told me that he was not afraid of 'bees, but he had always loved them and they seemed to love him. He was very anxious to help me, and, of course, I was willing he should. We had to pas3 over some rough ground to reach the new place and I warned him that we must go slow and carefully. We had got half the distance with the hive all right when he strikes his foot against ..-something in the grass and down he goes and down goes the hive, for I couldn't manage it alone. You can imagine, ma'am, what happened then." "Yes," I said. "The hive went down with a crash, and the bees came pouring cut. I was scared, which I shouldn't have been, and I took to my heels. Mr. Bowser got up and took to his heels also, but he ran into a currant bush "He Ran Into a Currant Bush and Got Tangled Up." and got tangled up. The bees didn't see anybody else around, and so they went for him. There were 5,000 of them, I reckon, but not more than 1,900 got a bite at him. I rescued him as soon as I could and got him into the house and undressed him and put him to bed, and there he is, lying before your face and eyes. That's about all, ma'am, except that he doesn't talk much, and the reason is that his lips are swelled out like a stuffed chicken." Mr. Bowser had various swellings that stood out like toads on a log. Just how many, I did not dare count. His eyes were shut, and I could not I to go, for you look a little weary. Will you bring home some chestnuts and apples?" "You bet your life, and don't forget for-get to let me take a basket along. Maybe I will gather some mushrooms, also. At any rate, I will make a day of it and come home feeling as frisky as a darling colt." "You will telephone if anything happens hap-pens to you? Most of the farmers have telephones." "Oh, nothing will happen to telephone tele-phone about. It will be a very quiet day with me." In half an hour Mr. Bowser was off, carrying a market basket on his arm. He was as pleased as a boy on his way to a circus. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon after-noon when the telephone rang me up and a strange voice asked : "Is this Mrs. Bowser?" ' , "Yes." "Mrs. Samuel Bowser?" "Yes, that is correct. Who are you, please?" "My name is Ballard, and I'm a farmer about ten miles from the city on the old Boston road. Can't you take the trolley car, which runs right by my door, and come out here?" "But why should I come out there?" I asked, a chill of fear coming over me. "Because there's a short, fat, bald-headed bald-headed man here who says he's Samuel Sam-uel Bowser, your husband. He isn't dead, so you needn't be alarmed, lie has simply met with an incident and rnaybe you will have to stay for a day or two, but I'll make it as pleasant as I can. Mr. Bowser sent you his love and thinks you'd better come out." "Do you mean that an accident has happened to Mr. Bowser?" I asked. "Well, you might call it an accident, but I call it an incident. An accident is where you cut your foot with the ax, but Mr. Bowser hasn't cut his foot. An accident is when you fall out of a tree and break both legs, and Mr. Bowser Bow-ser has had no fall and no bVoken legs. You had better put on your bonnet bon-net and come out." I tried hard to get the farmer to tell ' me just what bad happened, but he seemed to have good reasons for holding hold-ing back the truth. This Increased iny fears, of course, and I soon got ready for a trip. All the way out to Farmer Ballard's I was so pale and nervous that all the passengers on the cur noticed no-ticed me, and three or four women rauie over to me and said they hoped that nothing serious had occurred. The "I Want to Pick Up the Great Brown Chestnuts Under the Trees." offer him a hand glass that he might see what a beauty he was. The only thing to do was to apply things to take out the poison and reduce the swt-ilings, and to help the farmer as I could until his wife got back. I stayed stay-ed there all that night and most of. the next day, and, when I left for home, Mr. Bowser could partly open one eye and utter grunts through his swollen lips. It was four days before he came home, and then several passengers pas-sengers on the car asked him if a tree had fallen all over him. He didn't say much when he reached the house. All ho did say was : "Mrs. Bowser, if this tiling occurs again I will see my lawyer and you will see yours, and we will arrange for n quiet divorce. We huve reached the dead line at last I" I realized that Mr. Bowser must blame someone beside himself, and I didn't "suss" back a single word. |