SHE WANTED IT IN RED TYPE!

Dunstan Times, Issue 770, 19 January 1877, Page 3

SHE WANTED IT IN RED TYPE!

Soon after noon yesterday a very fat woman, going on 50 years old,” toiled up the four pairs of stairs, rested her breath a while, and then wanted to see the “ head reporter.” “ I’m all alone in the world,” she commenced, as she sat down and pulled out her handkerchief. “ A widow, eh V’ queried the head reporter. “ Yes, a poor strividing widder, whose husband has been dead these 14 years,” “ Death is a sad thing, madam. It crushes hoper, severs ties, and breaks hearts ” “He was such a good man !” she sobbed, covering her face with her bandkercheif, “ and such a good provider. We allers had meat and 'taters, and wood, and preserves ; and do you know r , he never gave me anunkind word.” “He must have been an excellent man.” “He was—he was He’d got up at nights and cover up the children, and shake down the stove; if his meals wasn’t ready, or he found buttons off his shirt, he’d never open his mouth.” “ And your grief is yet strong—your sorrow just as deep V “ Just the same as the day he lay dyin,’ and took my hand and whispered— ‘ Cortilda, don’t take on so.’ Yes, I’m grieving just the same, or I wouldn’t care what folks said. That’s what brought mo up here—folks arc talking about me ” “ They are, eh ? Yes, they are. They’ve said that I was after a widower ; that I fell in love with one of the boarders; and that I was keeping up correspondence with an undertaker, and that I was dead in love with a dozen men.” “ And it is not true ? “ True, young man 1 Look at me ! Great heavens ! do I look like one who wanted to get married.” “ Well, n -o.” “ How could I get married again 1 she exclaimed. “ How could I forgot that dear form beneath the sod, and smile on another man 1 Marry ? Great stars ! young man; but how could they start such stories I” “ And you want them denied 1 ?” “ That’s it. Here’s ten cents, and I want you to come out to morrbw in a piece so long, and say that I’ll prosecute these slanderers if these stories don’t cease. Put it in red type, mister—and big letters at that. A Detroit widder can’t escape the vile slanderers, no matter how well she behaves. I marry again ! —think of it, young man ! “ But widows often do re-marry.” “ Alars ! they do, young man. Sumhow it seems lonesome to be a widder, and,have no one to defend you, and be all alone—but I couldn’t think of taking another husband—unless he was rich!” And she wiped her eyes again and felt her way down stairs. Detroit Free Press.