“Well, that was in the early part of April. April passed and also May and no sign of that bath tub. So I wrote to you telling you to hurry on up and deliver me that there tub. Nothing was done and so June went by and July and then August. “And now here, when it’s the middle of September and the bathing season practically over for the year, you people are trying to make me take that dern tub.” § 67 Tuesday Would Be Just Like Sunday On the occasion of a local election in a small Tennessee town an old colored man was the only member of his race who voted the Democratic ticket. It was felt that this devotion to the cause of the Caucasian—as it prevailed in that vicinity—was deserving of recognition. Accordingly the incoming administration promptly created a department of street cleaning—something of which the municipality had never seriously felt the need before. This department was to consist of two members, namely, a foreman or superintendent and a staff of one. Naturally, to a white man went the job of foreman but upon the worthy old black man was conferred the honor of being the staff. Now he had the idea, which is not uncommon among other political appointees, that holding a public office meant regular wages and considerable glory and no appreciable amount of manual exertion. Nevertheless on the Monday morning when he reported for duty, as a concession to the conventionalities, he did bring a shovel along with him. But the white man who had been selected as superintendent had a very different idea of the obligations which he owed the municipality. No sooner had the old negro shoveled up one of the accumulated piles of vintage rubbish of the years from the public thoroughfare than the vigilant eye of the boss spied out at least half a dozen more similar mounds which to his way of thinking seemed to require immediate attention. As a consequence it was 4 o’clock in the afternoon before the surprised and chagrined and pained old man had time to blow on the plump, new formed blisters in the palm of his hands or to rub the cricks out of his back. Finally in a lull in the operations he straightened his spine with an almost audible creak, and as he wrung the dew of unwonted toil from his forehead he inquired of his superior: “Look here, mister, ain’t you got nothin’ to do ’ceptin’ jes’ to think up things fur me to do?” “Yep,” said the white man briskly, “that’s all my job—just to keep you busy.” “Well, suh,” said the old man softly, “in dat case you’ll prob’ly be pleased to know dat you ain’t goin’ be workin’ tomorrer.” § 68 A Sort of Circulating Medium, as It Were An auctioneer’s man had been sent to a household to list its contents. Nothing of especial interest, either to himself or to others, marked the course of his labors until he had progressed so far as the dining room. Here, following his routine, he proceeded to enumerate the furnishings in proper order, item by item.