isa-normaladvance-1909-00245

Description:	THE NORMAL ADVANCE245play a funeral march, and the guests gaze uponhim. After the guests have looked upon Trimalchio in his glory, and have paid him somecompliment, they pass out of the room and thedinner is at an end.The Candy-Kids BrotherELIZABETH ELLISThe Candy-Kid and the Yaller-Kid, two little messenger boys, performed something, resembling an Indian war dance, when the chiefoperator told them that they were to have ahalf-day vacation on the next day.Just think, a. whole afternoon to do as weplease! exclaimed the Candy-Kid, as he sentthe Yaller-Kid sprawling in a corner. I say,Yaller, lets go out to the park and take ineverything from the figure eight to the parkdonkeys.All right, replied the Yaller-Kid as helaughingly recovered himself.Hope business is good and people are liberaltoday, said the Candy-Kid.How much chink will we need? asked theYaller-Kid.Two or three dollars, calculated the Candy-Kid, and if business is good I can make thatmuch on tips.Lets run a race and see who makes themost money, suggested Yaller.Well, and well call it the Marathon Race.I dont know what that means, but it soundsall right.Inside the office the continuous click of thetelegraph instruments, together with the nervous hitch of the typewriters, promised a busyday. Soon the tinkle of the office bell calledthe messengers from their plan-making, andwith an enthusiastic grin, each took the message given him and started out for the day.After that the messages came fast and the boyshad no time to lounge in the rest-room andmake plans for vacations. They seldom saweach other except when passing on the street.Then the Candy-Kid always held up a numberof dirty little fingers to indicate how much hehad made. But the Yaller-Kid did not seem tobe very successful. He returned once with abroken bicycle and lost several minutes in getting another.Nevertheless, the day passed quickly and theboys were soon turning in for the last time.The Candy-Kid stood in front of the office. Hewas waiting anxiously for his partner and hislittle feet attempted to jig to the music of agraphophone at the Nickeldom across the street.After many seemingly endless moments theYaller-Kid rode slowly up to the curbing. Hisface was yellower than usual and his mouthdrooped sadly.What luck? exclaimed the Candy-Kid ashe rushed to meet his partner.No good, replied Yaller, as he rested on hisbicycle. I dont think Ill take a vacation tomorrow. I guess Ill work.Aw, why? asked the Candy-Kid, disappointed.I av made only seventy-five cents today.How much did you make?Whee! I made two dollars and eight-threecents. One guy gave me fifty cents. Thatstough luck for you, Yaller.Most of my messages were death-messagesor bills, explained the Yaller-Kid, as he looked through the old-cloth record book, you seeno one is going to tip a messenger for bringingthe news that some of his poor relations aredead, or for bringing him word that his billsmust be paid.Both messengers stood calm,—the Candy-Kidanxiously fumbling the coins in his pocket, andthe Yaller-Kid gazing sadly into space. TheCandy-Kid turned to look at his companion,whose dirty fist was taking possession of a venturesome little tear that trickled half-heartedlydown the pale yellow face.
Source:	http://indstate.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/isuarchive/id/34275
Collection:	Indiana State University Archives

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