Hotel Clerks' "Kittie"

1910

Box Into Which Excess Change Is Dropped to Make Up Possible Shortages

"The 'kittie' is the latest thing for the protection of hotel clerks," said John Rohman, chief clerk at the Old Inn.

"The 'kittie,'" he continued, "is a strong box with a slit in the lid in which we drop any excess change that comes along.

"For instance, if a guest overpays his bill and gets away before the mistake is discovered, we drop the extra money into the 'kittie,' which is never opened until some of the clerks find themselves short. The other day one of our boys came up two dollars ahead in his accounts. One of the guests had evidently paid two dollars more than he should in settling his bill. There was no way to locate the guest, and the two dollars went into the 'kittie.' A day or two later I came up two dollars short, so I went into the 'kittie' and got out the two dollars.

"The management of every hotel makes the clerk or cashier stand for any shortage of the cash drawer that occurs on the particular clerk's watch. The 'kittie' is an invention of the clerks at the French Lick hotel, but many hotels have adopted the plan." — Louisville Times.

Good-By to the Train Boy

1901

Good-by to the train boy. On January 1, 1901, on two important American railroad systems, the experiment, heretofore tried tentatively, of excluding from their cars all peddling of popcorn, peanuts, cigars, newspapers, games, caramels, matches and magazines, was inaugurated and the "train boy" summarily done away with.

Against this innovation serious and urgent opposition was expected, for the train boy, with his wares, had come to be regarded, if not as a cherished, certainly as an unavoidable, incident of American passenger travel by railroad.

In the evolution of modern travel to its present point of excellence, the uniformed conductor distinguishable only by his metal badge, the loud-shouting brakeman, and car coupler disappeared, but the "candy or train boy" with his stock of peanuts and confectionery had lingered on, a burden to the patience of many travelers and an unnecessary survival of archaic railroading.


The Time in Spain

When the clock struck twelve on the dawn of the new century Spain inaugurated a change in the methods of computing time. Hereafter the clocks of that kingdom will count the hours from 1 to 24, instead of going as far 12 and then beginning all over again as they did the day before. The Madrid or Barcelona business man will rise at 7; go to work at 8:30; lunch at 12; quit for the day at 17; dine at 18; go to the theater at 20; reach home at 21:30; lunch 22:42; and retire at 23:30. —Exchange.

Are We To Have Half-Pennies?

1900

Department Stores Want Them to Make Exact Chance With

A movement is on foot to put a one-half cent coin in general use in the United States. Several suggestions have been made to the government, and last week a document was presented, signed by the heads of the big department stores of New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Pittsburgh showing the need for this money in making change where articles are sold at 3½, 7½, 12½¢ and at similar prices.

The half-cent coin has been in use in Chicago for the last two years, and last week one of the New York stores ordered 500,000 one-half cent coins. These coins are to be made of copper, size one-half inch in diameter, or just two-thirds of the size of the regular one-cent piece. Stamped in heavy raised figures and letters on one side will be "½ cent," and on the reverse side will appear the name and address of the firm issuing the coins.

Besides, being a convenient change maker, this new coin is considered an advantage from an advertising standpoint, as it carries the name and address of the merchant and would be carried in the purse sometimes for weeks, until the customer receiving it returns to the store where it can be used in making purchases. So far the United States government has nothing to do with issuing this new money. It is put out by individual firms and is only recognized at the store from which it is issued. The proprietors of the big stores are anxious, however, to have the government make and recognize the half-cent coin. — New York Herald.

His Wife Mussed Up His System

1916

Until Married a Certain Man Wore His Shirts in Chronological Order — He Used Tags

I know a man who wears his shirts in chronological order, says a writer in Cleveland Plain Dealer. That is, if he buys a new shirt he tags it with his initials, numbering it at the bottom of the pile. And no matter how much he likes it, he does not wear it until it comes out at the top of the pile. He went into wordy detail about the economy of his system — and he added that he arranged his socks in the same manner.

I told him that he would meet the woman of his dreams some fine day, and that she would knock the spots out of his system. I told him that she would admire a particular shirt, caress its delicate stripes lovingly, and ask why he didn't wear it oftener. And then he would send it to the laundry as soon as it was soiled, and wear it as soon as it got back; and he would forget the system.

"Don't you believe it," he said. "The person doesn't live who could upset my system!"

But I met him a few days ago — for the first time in a year. He was hurrying to catch a car, so I had only time to ask him how he was and how things were going. And he didn't have time to explain — he only shouted over his shoulder, jubilantly: "I'm wearing 'em every which way!"

And I hadn't even heard he was married!

Funeral Customs – Old Fashioned Woe Being Replaced

1903

Funeral Reforms Needed

Old Fashioned Parade of Woe Gives Way to Better Customs

It accorded with old beliefs, remarks the Brooklyn Eagle, that a funeral should be a scene and occasion of gloom — absolute, hopeless gloom. The front room, with its dismal ornament, its black hair cloth furniture chairs and "sofy," its framed wedding certificates, its wreaths of flowers preserved from other funerals, was reduced to darkness by the lowering of the shades and closing of the blinds, so that guests fell over one another's legs when they entered and fumbled their way to the chairs. The deceased was dressed in black, nailed into a black coffin that rested on a black bier, and all the company dressed in the blackest things they could dig up from their wardrobes. No light, no air, no color, and from the minister little comfort. His voice creaked for the occasion. Then the company went away in darkened carriages to a bleak burying ground where the last rites were as dismal as might be.

This was the Yankee way. Some other people did differently. The wakes held over the remains were comforting to the survivors and added much to the reputation of the departed for hospitality. And the German fashion of going to a hotel after a burial and ordering unlimited beer proved that there was still a few solaces left on earth. Americans reverence their dead too much to make a funeral a scene of festivity; but they are mitigating the gloom of these occasions to a degree. Flowers and music take the edge from grief, and it is no longer necessary to darken the windows. White is more and more used in place of black for dress and decoration, and in placing the body in the casket — or, better, on a couch — there is avoidance of the stiffness of attitude that suggests a pose before the old fashioned photographer.

Reform in these matters comes, in part, through the holding of funerals in other places than the home. Some undertakers have mortuary chapels as part of their establishments. Cemeteries have buildings for a similar purpose. Mount Auburn, in particular, has a beautiful little chapel, near the gate which replaces the gothic structure in the middle of the grounds, now become a crematory. In this chapel, with its organ, carved oak roof, stained windows and electroliers in the form of funeral torches, the bier is so easily movable that it can be turned by a single hand: hence much of the struggle to place and carry away the casket is foregone.

But what especially marks the difference between the funeral here and the home funeral, between the now fashion and the old, is the lack of mourning emblems and the presence of plants and palms. The chancel is a mass of green — kentias, rubber trees, oleanders, and smaller plants, in rows and groups, so that the casket, with its usual burden of flowers in the center, suggests a great bloom itself in a whorl of leaves than the depository of a dead body. The clergyman delivers his address from a pulpit at one side, and if he is a wise clergyman it is a hopeful and encouraging address; in preference to the old fashioned threnody. When that is over there is music form the organ — a fine instrument — and the company files out into the sunlight. It is far better than the old fashioned funeral — that type of absolute woe.