Had Money To Wash

The fair metropolitan cashier basadded a new factor to her growing valuation which will not prove so desirable a wile in the eyes of her ernployer as the honesty and' efficiency which have won for her almost a monopoly in the business. It is' the result of the microbe craze, and is nothing less than wasbing all the money she handles and charging her employer overtime too. The discoverer of this new way to enhauce her usefulness and cost is Annie Nesmyth, the money taker of a big down town hotel. Miss Nesmyth serves at night mostly, and, while less money comes in then than in the day, she is generally kept busy enougb. The money is of teu very dirty and to the last degree repulsive to handle. Now, the cashier is a trained nnrse "resting" from her ardnous professional labors. After a sick spell from handling the soiled currency she concluded to resign. She was.persuaded not tp by an increase of salary and permission to wash the money. So every night sees a soup píate of ammonia water at her elbow, into which each note, as it arrivés, is dropped. It gets a quick bath and is then laid out on a piece of flannel to dry as tenderly as if it were her best piece of jewelry. The water has to be changed two or three times in a night. The cashier recently had an offer of another similar job. Being asked what salary she wanted, she mentioned her usual figure, with the proviso that it must be so much more "if there's money to wash. " "Money to wash?" said the astonished would be employer. "Why, I haven 't enough for my hides (he is a leather and tallow dealer), much less to wash." "You see," she said calmly, "your business is dirty, and it's likely the money will be. I won't wash another fellow's money in ammonia water - it's bad for the hands and head - without a consideration in my salary. Different if it were my money!" She says she's "passing the tip along, " and soon all merchants in a business that calis for an unusnal fortitude in the olfactory and perceptive nerves will have to pay extra salaries if they wish to retain steady and efficiënt help. A money washing episode which converted Charlie Bigelow, the actor, and his wife to a belief in banks is worth recording. By dint of great saving and denial the youug couple got together $800 in the first year of their marriage. The money was kept in a cbamois bag, whicb the wife strung around her waist under her corset, and as the fund was a great secret which both tried hard to forget, so that the well known borrov ing propensities of their profession might uot be excited, it was never touched or even looked at for ruonths. But a run of bad luck finally drove the young folks to draw on the chamois bag, when to their intense disruay it was found the money had become perfectly illegible. One by one the eight $100 bilis were laid on the bed, all in the same condition of greasy, uniform black green no color. Husband and wife took turns at trying to restore the attractive greennessof thefilthy Jucre, but in vain. The young wife wept; the saving husband raved. Then together they went to the bank which had given them the bilis. The bank refused torecognize the money, nor could Manager Baker's indorsement make the cashier change his mind. The manager then took a $100 bilí off their hands for friendship's sake and got a managerial friend to do likewise, trusting to their prominence to pass the notes. That was doing a good bit for the young folks, who had submitted to being called stingy mauy a time to gather the fund together. The actor then left his wife at home weeping over the remaiuing $600, while he went down on the Rialto to sell it to any speculator at 50 cents for the dollar. But the wife was "no slouch" at expedients. As soon as be was gone she dried her tears and declared to the girl that, as the money was no good anyway, they would just experiment with it. The girl made strong Mmmonia water, and the mistress took some washing soap and soaked and soaped and washed those six bilis as industriously behind locked doors as if she were perpetrating the regular handkerchief and hose wash in a fourth story room of a hotel where "laundry work in the rooms" was forbidden. Patience was rewarded. Rid of their sliruy coating, the half dozen bilis at last shone feebly out in a wan sort of alive greenness, touched up with brown, as if under the rays of a dying sunset. They looked like autumn leaves after a big gale. When her husband came home with the news that he had sold our bilis at 25 cents on tbe dollar, and would throw the other two in for fear the speculator, an actor friend, would be bitten too badly, she said radiantly, "Quess not," and led him to the table where the six faded, wishy washy governmental promises lay still damp. He rushed out and got the others from his consolers and snbmitted them to the same restorative process. The bank took the whoJe eight