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With such thoughts coursing through his brain he was far from being attractive. His downcast looks made his children shy; they did not care to climb upon his knee as they were wont to do, but tried to get out of his sight. He retired earlier than usual and soon fell into a restless sleep, and his wife would hear him muttering, as he rolled uneasily from side to side, “Discount,” “Discount,” “Blue Pup,” “White Dog,” “Wild Cat,” “Forty-seven Cents,” “Thirty-nine Cents” and “Seventy-three Cents.” “Oh, cear Jane, such a government to pay a man in rags for hard labor faithfully performed! It is too much for flesh and blood to bear!" His wife tries to awaken him from his troubled sleep, but he only mutters, "discount," "discount."

He awakes in the morning with a headache; his wife doesn't know whether to be affectionate or not, but feels deeply the trouble that is weighing her husband down. He partakes of his breakfast with as little relish as he ate his supper, and then goes forth to earn some more "discount.'

This is a faithful picture of many a home in "Wild Cat Money Days.” How different the picture is now. A man gets his money and has nothing to do but to turn over the corners of the bills to see if there is the right amount, roll it up and put it into his pocket, knowing he has been paid for honest labor in honest money-money that has no pet names and no discount.

Boys, don't Run Away from Home.

HROUGH cities, towns and villages,

No matter where we roam; SThrough gorgeous frescoed palaces,

There's not a spot like home.

We bid farewell to home and friends,

To sail across the briny foam, To view the land by Israel trod,

But our hearts will yearn for home.

The youthful lad who spurns control,

And with strangers loves to roam, Will stop and think in his reckless course,

Of the loving ones at home.

Now, boys, no matter what's your lot,

For trials you have some; Don't think you'll top the stair of fame,

By running away from home.

In choosing a guide, take my advice:

Don't counsel with those who roam, And cause your mother dear to weep;

By running away from home.

She's toiled from morn till dewy eve,

Her life is naught but care, Till on her brow the trace is left,

And in her silvered hair.

The rosy tint has left her cheek,

She's cared for you so long; So while you're a boy and needing care,

Don't run away from home.

Take my advice: her counsel heed,

And ever strive to give her rest; Then your conscience will not smite,

When the clay falls on her breast.

You cannot find in a time of need,

No matter where you roam, A friend so true, and a spot so dear,

As a mother, and a home.

So when the tempter lures you on,

And dazzling lights have shone, Just ask your mother if 'tis best

To run away from home.

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