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THE NORMAL RECORD hay or he would have been stiff this morning. Last night was a freezer for such as have no more feathers than him.'' Kind hearted Mother Simpkins took the tiny half-naked creature between her two warm ample palms and placed him in a shoe box, filled with cozy woolen rags. Carefully she pulled the clothe snugly over his head and placed him on a chair behind the kitchen range. With a bent silver teaspoon she introduced some cornmeal, mixed with sweet milK into the yawning chasm of his wide open beak. This process continued until his pangs of starvation had presumably ceased for his bald head began to nod on his threadlike neck and the bulging eyes closed sleepily. With a feeble "peep, peep," he sank back among the billows of woolen rags and he was afloat with Winken, Blinken and Nod. "He is a regular beauty" said the farmer, slapping his knee with his slouchy felt hat, "and as chirp as a sparrow. We'll keep him till next year and he'll make a right smart dish for Christmas dinner.'' Mother Simpkin's warm bed and creamy cornmeal wrought wonders with Buff. His concave sides became convex, so exceedingly so that Buff looked like Mrs. Simpkin's round soup ladel, turned upside down, with his crany neck protruding for a handle. Any day the "thwack, thwack" of Buff's flat horny feet could be heard in the wake of Mrs. Simpkins as he followed always in the hope of getting some stray scrap from her philanthropic hands. Mrs. Simpkins had piled her shining cups and saucers in neat rows in the highest shelf of the china closet and laid her solid silver knives and forks in the drawer with their tines turned scrupulously toward the kitchen door. "Now I must attend to those milk pails. I always do dread the end to the dishwashing. Milk pails are so greasy that I always get clean hot water,'' soliquised Mrs. Simpkins as she poured a steaming flood from the nasal of the black iron teakettle and turned again to her work. "Why where is my soap? I always put it on the aluminum wire soap tray Hiram brought me from town but it isn't there now or else my eyesight is failing. Hiram did say I needed spectacles yesterday when I gave him that shirt with a button off without noticing it. But where is that soap? I must be getting absent minded as well as blind if I carried it into the pantry with me." And Mrs. Simpkins trotted away in quest of the lost article. "Peep, peep," came a shrill discordant speech from under the pantry window. "Why what ails that turkey?" Mrs. Simpkins rushed out to see Buff with a sticky yellow substance dripping over the sides of his mandibles and trailing on the porch. "My home-made soap that I have just been looking for, as I live. That turkey will surely die." But a generous dose of warm water and cayenne pepper worked a miraculous cure. This was the opening act of the long comedy of which Buff was to be chief actor. His next appearence was on the following wash day. Mrs. Simpkins had risen early and been at her washtub betimes. At noon a long line of immaculate clothes was flaunting in the jaunty breeze. Just as Father and Mother Simpkins were sitting down to dinner Hiram exclaimed: "Look out of that window!" Mrs Simpkins turned to see Buff parading triumphantly up and down the clothes line like a trapeze performer at Barnum's. Each time he lifted his foot a sprawling, muddy track was imprinted on the spotless garments. "Buff, you get down. Shoo, shoo!" shouted Mrs. Simpkins, waving both arms and her apron in a vain attempt to depose the monarch. Buff cocked his head on one side, winked his large beady eye at his mistress and calmly continued his pastime of pecking buttons off the array of shirts and dresses. He was persuaded to give up his position
Object Description
Title | The Normal Record. December 1905 |
Original Date | 1905-12 |
Description | The Record. Published by the Associated Students of Chico State College. |
Creator | Chico State College |
Location of Original | Archives |
Call Number | LD723 C57 |
Digital Collection | The Record: Chico State Yearbook Collection |
Digital Repository | Meriam Library, California State University, Chico. |
Description-Abstract | The Record served as both a student magazine and a commencement program for Chico Normal School. In the year 1905 it was published nearly every month. |
Date Digital | 2013 |
Language | eng |
Rights | For information on the use of the images in this collection contact the Special Collections Department at 530.898-6342 or email: specialcollections@csuchico.edu |
Format | image/tiff |
Filename | index.cpd |
Description
Title | 1905_12_NormalRecord.010 |
Original Date | 1905-12 |
OCR- Transcript | THE NORMAL RECORD hay or he would have been stiff this morning. Last night was a freezer for such as have no more feathers than him.'' Kind hearted Mother Simpkins took the tiny half-naked creature between her two warm ample palms and placed him in a shoe box, filled with cozy woolen rags. Carefully she pulled the clothe snugly over his head and placed him on a chair behind the kitchen range. With a bent silver teaspoon she introduced some cornmeal, mixed with sweet milK into the yawning chasm of his wide open beak. This process continued until his pangs of starvation had presumably ceased for his bald head began to nod on his threadlike neck and the bulging eyes closed sleepily. With a feeble "peep, peep," he sank back among the billows of woolen rags and he was afloat with Winken, Blinken and Nod. "He is a regular beauty" said the farmer, slapping his knee with his slouchy felt hat, "and as chirp as a sparrow. We'll keep him till next year and he'll make a right smart dish for Christmas dinner.'' Mother Simpkin's warm bed and creamy cornmeal wrought wonders with Buff. His concave sides became convex, so exceedingly so that Buff looked like Mrs. Simpkin's round soup ladel, turned upside down, with his crany neck protruding for a handle. Any day the "thwack, thwack" of Buff's flat horny feet could be heard in the wake of Mrs. Simpkins as he followed always in the hope of getting some stray scrap from her philanthropic hands. Mrs. Simpkins had piled her shining cups and saucers in neat rows in the highest shelf of the china closet and laid her solid silver knives and forks in the drawer with their tines turned scrupulously toward the kitchen door. "Now I must attend to those milk pails. I always do dread the end to the dishwashing. Milk pails are so greasy that I always get clean hot water,'' soliquised Mrs. Simpkins as she poured a steaming flood from the nasal of the black iron teakettle and turned again to her work. "Why where is my soap? I always put it on the aluminum wire soap tray Hiram brought me from town but it isn't there now or else my eyesight is failing. Hiram did say I needed spectacles yesterday when I gave him that shirt with a button off without noticing it. But where is that soap? I must be getting absent minded as well as blind if I carried it into the pantry with me." And Mrs. Simpkins trotted away in quest of the lost article. "Peep, peep," came a shrill discordant speech from under the pantry window. "Why what ails that turkey?" Mrs. Simpkins rushed out to see Buff with a sticky yellow substance dripping over the sides of his mandibles and trailing on the porch. "My home-made soap that I have just been looking for, as I live. That turkey will surely die." But a generous dose of warm water and cayenne pepper worked a miraculous cure. This was the opening act of the long comedy of which Buff was to be chief actor. His next appearence was on the following wash day. Mrs. Simpkins had risen early and been at her washtub betimes. At noon a long line of immaculate clothes was flaunting in the jaunty breeze. Just as Father and Mother Simpkins were sitting down to dinner Hiram exclaimed: "Look out of that window!" Mrs Simpkins turned to see Buff parading triumphantly up and down the clothes line like a trapeze performer at Barnum's. Each time he lifted his foot a sprawling, muddy track was imprinted on the spotless garments. "Buff, you get down. Shoo, shoo!" shouted Mrs. Simpkins, waving both arms and her apron in a vain attempt to depose the monarch. Buff cocked his head on one side, winked his large beady eye at his mistress and calmly continued his pastime of pecking buttons off the array of shirts and dresses. He was persuaded to give up his position |