Baltimore Evening Sun (29 December 1911): 6.
A Smithfield ham to any Christian Science “healer” who can remove the Malicious Animal Magnetism from the Medical Trust, without using a hammer and cold chisel.
Overheard the other day at a Baltimore street soda fountain:
Them boneheads down in the City Hall ought to be blowed up.
Can it be that treason invades the osseocapital camp—that the boneheads turn upon their own prophets—that a new and horrible jacquerie arises?
First they presented them there stuffers and now they go to work and indict ’em, but so fur nobody ain’t heerd nothin’ about none of ’em goin’ to no coop.
From some anonymous instigator of deviltry:
Why don’t you print something about the rotten service of the United Railways?
For the good and sufficient reason, dear fellow, that the service of the United Railways is not rotten. On the contrary, it is excellent—the best, indeed, in any large American city, as all know well save those who never fare afield. If the street-car service in Baltimore were as bad as the service in New York, or Philadelphia, or Washington—to consider only the three cities nearest—a delegation of 10,000 Baltimoreans would go bawling to the Legislature and the Hon. William A. House would be chased out of town.
The United Railways, of course, has its faults. Some of its suburban lines are open to improvement. Even within the city limits it still has a number of stuffy, antiquated cars in service. Again, its new pay-as-you-enter cars offer a gratuitous (and I suspect illegal) insult to smokers. (On this point I am now seeking the advice of learned counsel.) Yet, again, it carries too many fish baskets, plumbers’ furnaces, buckets of paste, whitewash outfits and other such offensive things on its car platforms, to the annoyance and damage of passengers.
But for all that it gives us very good service. It has made an honest effort during the last six or eight years to improve its roadbed and rolling stock. Most of its lines now have roomy, high-speed cars, and plenty of them. Even in the rush hours it handles traffic with reasonable dispatch. Despite our narrow streets and our laws favoring obstructionary wagon drivers, its cars are seldom held up. And its conductors, all things considered, are as affable as it is in the nature of car conductors to be.
Let us cheerfully admit all of these things. Let us not fall into the habit of denouncing the company merely because it is a corporation. It is savagely eager, true enough, to collect every nickel—I myself have not been able to beat it once in more than 10 months—but a good many of these nickels are spent in improving the service. Compare the cars and tracks of today with the cars and tracks 10 years ago and you will see what has been done.
And while this mellow mood persists, and even corporations seem swathed in the benevolent whiskers of Santa Claus, let us agree upon a kind word for the Chesapeake and Potomac Telephone Company. Ten or 12 years ago its service was atrocious; today it is excellent. Fully 95 per cent. of its operators are polite, fully 85 per cent. of them are efficient and fully 75 per cent. of them, so my spies tell me, are beautiful. If you ask for a number, you get it the same day. If some ruffian cuts in on the line, he is promptly collared and thrown out. If you loose now and then a stray “damn,” the dear girl professes to be deaf. And when your bill comes in at the end of the month it is usually so low that you can pay it without mortgaging your house.
The Chesapeake and Potomac Telephone Company, I believe, is a trust. It has gobbled and digested all competition. It has us by the throat. But let us admit frankly that its squeeze is gentle; that it does not quite cut off our wind; that it does not pop our eyes; that if it takes our small change it at least leaves us our watch. It might be worse. It might, indeed, be a great deal worse.
When Harry Preston gets done with them boomers down to Annapolis they’ll be mashed as flat as pancakes.
From a current account of the grand preprations now under way for establishing a central booming works:
It is the purpose to raise $50,000 for the maintenance of the bureau. Of this amount the State Legislature will be asked to contribute $25,000.
In other words, those taxpayers who, being doubtful of the value of wind music, refuse to contribute voluntarily, are to be forced to contribute by taxation. Laugh, suckers, laugh!
The Hon. Thomas G. Boggs, cameriengo of the Worshipful Company of Honorable Pallbearers, prints the following letter in the current issue of his Baltimoreische Blaetter, with evident (and quite justifiable) satisfaction:
Baltimore Public Schools.
Thomas G. Boggs, Secretary:
Dear Sir—Please send me copies of “A Brief Budget for the Busy Bee, by Boggs.” We are teaching in our schools Baltimore as a commercial city. The leaflet I ask for was a great help. Thanking you in advance for your courtesy in this matter I am, sincerely,
Assistant Supervisor of Practice Teaching.
A sincere tribute to the statistical virtuosity of the Hon. Mr. Boggs—and an interesting specimen for the connoisseur of mixed cases.
Tips for the Mrayland Anti-Vivisection Society, the ardent, the argumentative:
At the Johns Hopkins Hospital, early yesterday morning, 40 poor creatures of the genus Maleagris were forced to submit to laparotomy, without anaesthetics, and then stuffed with bread crumbs. Dr. William H. Welch, president of the Medical Trust, recently admitted, in conversation with a New Thoughter, that salvarsan was an extremely dangerous and questionable remedy for chilblains.
Six cheap but clean cigars to the Hon. Henry J. McMains for each and every name of an undoubted M. D. who belongs to the League for Medical Freedom, Maryland branch.
Baltimore is the roasting pullet and the Legislature is the nocturnal blackamoor. Laugh, taxpayer, laugh!
Boil your drinking water. Mallet the fugitive Blatta orientalis. Save your pennies for the tax-Mahon.
Only 1,236 days more! But time enough to launch 13 more plans for tunnels under the harbor and 36 more plans for concrete bridges over it.