Mrs. Jones with effusive enthusiasm felt that Eddie dear would appreciate her endeavors to prepare for him a batch of biscuits. That she followed the rules and directions set down in her text books is not questioned, but one bite from the lead-like disks was enough, and getting the dear little creature from the table by subterfuge he throws a full dozen of them through the window, pretending to have eaten them upon her return. Of course she is delighted at his apparent appreciation and when he has departed for the office she puts up a package of them and takes them there, placing them on his desk. Jones is not present at the time, he being in the adjoining room in the throes of indigestion. Visitors to his office, he being a theatrical agent and they hungry actors, espy the inviting looking dough boulders and partake greedily. In a short time the assemblage is a writhing, struggling, screaming mob. Meanwhile, at the Jones domicile the iceman, a housebreaker and the cop who trailed him all fall victims. Well, for a time it looked as if Mrs. Emma Jones was guilty of wholesale manslaughter. The trouble subsides, however, the victims convalesce and peace is restored when Mr. J. hurls, though with reluctance, the pernicious pabulum into the street.
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