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Show Uncle Walfe A GREAT HELP T SUPPOSE you do your own A washing, ma'am?" Inquired the seedy stranger. "Yes, I do, although I don't see that It's any of your business," replied re-plied Mrs. Curfew, with some warmth. r x "I suppose you'll be tolling me that you're collecting statistics for a government bureau, bu-reau, or maybe for the state board of health. It seems that the authorities: are greatly Interested Inter-ested in family matters that don't concern them nowadays, and every day or two somebody: comes along asking impertinent questions ques-tions a9 to how many children I have, and my maiden name before I was married, and whether there's insanity In the family. "I'm sick and tired of answering such questions. If my old friends want to dig Into my family history, I'll give them all the Information they want, although I may consider their conundrums in bad taste, but when a perfect stranger comes along and asks, me If I do my own washing, I feel that the line must be drawn somewhere. Every Jack In office asks questions. It used to be that the assessor would come to the door politely, and inquire how many dogs we kept, and take our estimate of the value of our property prop-erty without looking as though he knew we ought to be prosecuted for perjury. But now he must know the color of your grandfather's side whiskers, whis-kers, and if you tell him that you keep no dogs he goes out and looks under the house, and In the barn, and when he comes back he warns you that the penalties for giving false information are severe. "Mr. Curfew,! says that the next time the assessor comes, he is going to throw him over the back fence and kick him down the alley for a distance dis-tance of seven blocks, and I hope he'll keep his word." "I didn't mean to offend you," said the stranger. "I'm Introducing a washing wash-ing powder that saves half the labor, and dispenses with soap altogether. With this marvelous powder a woman can do the week's washing and have her clothes hung on the line, inside of two hours." "Well, mister, you take a package of your marvelous powder down to the creek, and give yourself a good scrubbing, for you look as though you had been fishing out of somebody's dustbin. Your whiskers are full of sawdust, and your face Is covered with grime. If you were Introducing bituminous coal, there might be some excuse for your appearance, but a man who is selling washing powder ought to be like the driven snow, or nobody will have confidence in lilm. "And I wouldn't have anything to do with your washing powder If you offered to bring me a wagonload for twenty cents. I make my own soap of lye and grease, and although It Isn't indorsed by the crowned head's of Europe, or by prelates or vice presidents, pres-idents, it's the best soap ever made, and I know the ingredients are whole-some. whole-some. even If they don't comprise barks and buds and healing herbs. "When I use my own soap, I know the things' I wash won't be any the worse for It, but the washing powders sold by agents are made of dynamite and lunar caustic, and a garment once washed with them will never be fit to use again. "Last spring I was feeling too poorly poor-ly to make the usual batch of soap, so I bought a package of washing powder from an agent who had his pockets full of testimonials showing that he was a man of high moral character. char-acter. It happened that week that all of Mr. Curfew's white shirts were in the wash. Mr. Curfew is very particular par-ticular about his shirts. They must be as white as arctic snow, or the way he raves around the house is a dis-srrace. dis-srrace. Well, I wish yon could have seen those shirts after they were washed. They had an old gold color.' and have been getting yellower ever since, and Mr. Curfew never sits down but he speaks about it and makes things uncomfortable. "So you had better toddle along and sell your washing powder to some woman who doesn't know how to make good soap." |