Chapter X: Part II: Humorous Hits (6)

The scribe jumps up from the typewriter.

"_Write it down! write it down!_"

"I can't!"

"Well, then, I won't pay you."

(_The scribe, gathering up his papers._) "What shall I do with all these sheets upon which I have written your nonsense?"

"You might use them in doing up your _gape-seed_! Good-day!"

LARIAT BILL

ANONYMOUS

"Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine
I wore runnin' the 'Frisco fast express;
An' from Murder Creek to Blasted Pine,
Were nigh onto eighteen mile, I guess.
The road were a down-grade all the way,
An' we pulled out of Murder a little late,
So I opened the throttle wide that day,
And a mile a minute was 'bout our gait.

"My fireman's name was Lariat Bill,
A quiet man with an easy way,
Who could rope a steer with a cowboy's skill,
Which he had learned in Texas, I've heard him say:
The coil were strong as tempered steel,
An' it went like a bolt from a crossbow flung.
An' arter Bill changed from saddle to wheel,
Just over his head in the cab it hung.

"Well, as I were saying, we fairly flew
As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring,
An' I give her full steam an' put her through,
An' the engine rocked like a living thing;
When all of a sudden I got a scare--
For thar on the track were a little child!
An' right in the path of the engine there
She held out her little hands and smiled!

"I jerked the lever and whistled for brakes,
The wheels threw sparks like a shower of gold;
But I knew the trouble a down-grade makes,
An' I set my teeth an' my flesh grew cold.
Then Lariat Bill yanked his long lasso,
An' out on the front of the engine crept--
He balanced a moment before he threw,
Then out in the air his lariat swept!"

He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes;
The stranger listened with bated breath.
"I know the rest of the tale," he cries;
"He snatched the child from the jaws of death!
'Twas the deed of a hero, from heroes bred,
Whose praises the very angels sing!"
The engineer shook his grizzled head,
And growled: "He didn't do no sich thing.

"He aimed at the stump of a big pine tree,
An' the lariat caught with a double hitch,
An' in less than a second the train an' we
Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch!
'Twere an awful smash, an' it laid me out,
I ain't forgot it, and never shall;
Were the passengers hurt? Lemme see--about--
Yes, it killed about forty--but saved the gal!"

THE CANDIDATE

BY BILL NYE

The heat and the venom of each political campaign bring back to my mind with wonderful clearness the bitter and acrimonious war, and the savage factional fight, which characterized my own legislative candidacy in what was called the Prairie Dog District of Wyoming, about ten years ago.

I hesitated about accepting the nomination because I knew that vituperation would get up on its hind feet and annoy me greatly, and, indeed, this turned out to be the case.

In due time I was nominated, and one evening my heart swelled when I heard a campaign band coming up the street, trying to see how little it could play and still draw its salary. The band was followed by men with torches, and speakers in carriages. A messenger was sent into the house to tell me that I was about to be waited upon by my old friends and neighbors, who desired to deliver to me their hearty endorsement, and a large willow-covered two-gallon Godspeed as a mark of esteem.

The spokesman, as soon as I had stept out on my veranda, mounted the improvised platform previously erected, and after a short and debilitated solo and chorus by the band, said as follows, as near as I can now recall his words:

"_Mr. Nye_--

"Sir:--We have read with pain the open and venomous attacks of the foul and putrid press of our town, and come here to-night to vindicate by our presence your utter innocence _as_ a man, _as_ a fellow citizen, _as_ a neighbor, _as_ a father, mother, brother or sister.

"No one could look down into your open face, and deep, earnest lungs, and then doubt you _as_ a man, _as_ a fellow citizen, _as_ a neighbor, _as_ a father, mother, brother, or sister. You came to us a poor man, and staked your all on the growth of this town. We like you because you are still poor. You can not be too poor to suit us. It shows that you are not corrupt.

"Mr. Nye, on behalf of this vast assemblage (_tremulo_), I am glad that you are POOR!!!"

Mr. Limberquid then said:

"Sir:--What do we care for the vilifications of the press--a press hired, venial, corrupt, reeking in filth and oozy with the slime of its own impaired circulation, snapping at the heels of its superiors, and steeped in the reeking poison and pollution of its own shop-worn and unmarketable opinions?

"What do we care that homely men grudge our candidate his symmetry of form and graceful, upholstered carriage? What do we care that calumny crawls out of its hole, calumniates him a couple of times and then goes back?

"We like him for the poverty he has made. Our idea in running him for the Legislature is to give him a chance to accumulate poverty, and have some saved up for a rainy day."

Several people wept here, and wiped their eyes on their alabaster hands. The band then played, "See the Conquering Hero Comes," and yielding to the pressing demands of the populi, I made a few irrelevant, but low, passionate remarks, as follows:

"Fellow Citizens and Members of the Band:--We are not here, as I understand it, solely to tickle our palates with the twisted doughnuts of our pampered and sin-curst civilization, but to unite and give our pledges once more to the support of the best men. In this teacup of foaming and impervious cider from the Valley of the Jordan I drink to the success of the best men. Fellow citizens and members of the band, we owe our fealty to the old party. Let us cling to the old party as long as there is any juice in it and vote for its candidates. Let us give our suffrages to men of advanced thought who are loyal to their party but poor. Gentlemen, I am what would be called a poor but brainy man. When I am not otherwise engaged you will always find me engaged in thought. I love the excitement of following an idea and chasing it up a tree. It is a great pleasure for me to pursue the red-hot trail of a thought or the intellectual spoor of an idea. But I do not allow this habit to interfere with politics. Politics and thought are radically different. Why should man think himself weak on these political matters when there are men who have made it their business and life study to do the thinking for the masses?

"This is my platform. I believe that a candidate should be poor; that he should be a thinker on other matters, but leave political matters and nominations to professional political ganglia and molders of primaries who have given their lives and the inner coating of their stomachs to the advancement of political methods by which the old, cumbersome and dangerous custom of defending our institutions with drawn swords may be superseded by the modern and more attractive method of doing so with overdrawn salaries.

"Fellow Citizens and Members of the Band:--In closing let me say that you have seen me placed in the trying position of postmaster for the past year. For that length of time I have stood between you and the government at Washington. I have assisted in upholding the strong arm of the government, and yet I have not allowed it to crush you. No man here to-night can say that I have ever, by word or deed, revealed outside the office the contents of a postal card addrest to a member of my own party or held back or obstructed the progress of new and startling seeds sent by our representative from the Agricultural Department. I am in favor of a full and free interchange of interstate red-eyed and pale beans, and I favor the early advancement and earnest recognition of the merits of the highly offensive partizan. I thank you, neighbors and band (_husky and pianissimo_), for this gratifying little demonstration. Words seem empty and unavailing at this time. Will you not accept the hospitality of my home? Neighbors, you are welcome to these halls. Come in and look at the family album."

ONE AFTERNOON

ANONYMOUS

The events narrated in the following story take place about the middle of the twentieth century. At that date the institution known as the department store had reached its full development. There was not a single article of any kind that could not be purchased at one of these mammoth emporiums. It is well to bear this fact in mind, for the whole action of this story takes place under the roof of Sniggle Scooper's Department Store.

SCENE THE FIRST. When Charlie Hussel entered Sniggle Scooper's refreshment department on that beautiful summer afternoon, he had no more idea of getting married than most millionaires have of paying full taxes on all their property. Charlie sat down at the counter and ordered a plain soda. He had been at the club the night before and his nerves were somewhat unstrung. While waiting for his soda he noticed a young lady by his side toying with an ice cream soda marked down from seven cents to four and a half. She was as fair as a poet's dream and the young man's heart beat tumultuously within him as he gazed at her. He longed for an opportunity of speaking to her and at last it came. She dropt her purse,--whether by accident I leave you to conjecture. Picking up the pocketbook our hero handed it to the young lady with a bow. She took the pocketbook, but returned the bow.

"Thank you," she murmured; "you are very kind."

"No," said he, "I am not kind. I'm a selfish brute!"

"Then why did you trouble yourself to pick up my purse?"

"Because, to tell the truth, I wanted to hear your voice."

"And now that you have heard it?"

"I wish I could hear it always. Consent to be my wife. You love me, do you not?"

"Yes! What is your name?"

"Charlie Hussel,--and yours, dear?"

"Mildred Uptodate. Now, Charlie, you must ask father's consent."

"All right, Mabel. There is a telephone on the next floor. Come along and I'll ask him."

They ascended by the escalator.

SCENE THE SECOND. Mr. Uptodate readily gave his consent, for he knew of Charlie Hussel in a business way.

"Now, Mildred, let us set the time for the wedding. It is now five minutes after one. Suppose we say four o'clock?"

"Oh, dear, no, I can't possibly get ready before to-morrow afternoon."

"Of course you can. Why, you can get everything you need right here in this store."

"Well, Charlie, if you insist, I suppose I must yield. But it seems a terribly short engagement."

"Yes, sweetheart, but then our married life will be so much longer. Run along, now, darling, and get your wedding-gown, while I get a suit of clothes and attend to the license. Meet me in the chapel on the top floor at half past four sharp."

At the appointed hour the happy couple were made one by the department store clergyman. A few minutes later they were seated in the café enjoying their wedding dinner. How happy they were as they planned for the future!

SCENE THE THIRD. Dinner was over and the happy pair went hand-in-hand toward the transportation department to arrange for their wedding tour. As they passed a bargain counter, the bride exclaimed rapturously:

"O Charlie, I see some lovely bargains over there. Do let me have two dollars."

A moment later the proud husband was watching his wife as with the ease born of long practise she fought her way through the crowd and reached the counter. After a little while she returned waving triumphantly a folded paper, exclaiming:

"Wasn't I lucky? I got the last one they had."

"What is it?"

"Why, don't you know? It's a divorce!"

The young man grew pale.

"I thought," he said, "you loved me."

"Why, of course I love you, but I simply couldn't resist such a bargain as that."

She pointed to a sign. Charlie looked at it and read:

THIS DAY ONLY!
OUR REGULAR DIVORCES MARKED DOWN
FROM $2.75 TO $1.69

NOT IN IT

ANONYMOUS

They built a church at his very door--
"He wasn't in it."
They brought him a scheme for relieving the poor--
"He wasn't in it."
Let them work for themselves, as he had done,
They wouldn't ask help from any one
If they hadn't wasted each golden minute--
"He wasn't in it."
So he passed the poor with haughty tread--

When men in the halls of virtue met
He saw their goodness without regret;
Too high the mark for him to win it--
"He wasn't in it."
A carriage crept down the street one day--
"He was in it."
The funeral trappings made a display--
"He was in it."
St. Peter received him with book and bell;
"My friend, you have purchased a ticket to--well,
Your elevator goes down in a minute."
"He was in it!"

A TWILIGHT IDYL

BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE

One summer evening, Mr. Ellis Henderson, a popular young man, went out walking with two of the sweetest girls in town. Mr. Henderson wore a little straw hat with a navy blue band, a cutaway coat, a pair of white trousers, a white vest, a buttonhole bouquet, and fifteen cents. The evening was very hot, and as they walked, they talked about the baseball match, the weather, and sunstrokes. By and by one of the young ladies gave a delicate little shriek.

"OO-oo! What a funny sign!"

"Ha--yes," said Mr. Henderson, in troubled tones, looking gently but resolutely at the wrong side of the street.

"How funny it is spelled; see, Ethel."

"Why," said Ethel, "it is spelled correctly. Isn't it, Mr. Henderson?"

"Hy--why--aw--why, yes, to be sure," said Mr. Henderson, staring at a window full of house-plants.

"Why, Mr. Henderson," said Elfrida, "how can you say so? Just see, 'i--c--e, ice, c--r double e--m, creem'; that's not the way to spell cream."

And Mr. Henderson, who was praying harder than he ever prayed before that an earthquake might come along and swallow up either himself or all the ice-cream parlors in the United States, looked up at the chimney of the house and said:

"That? Oh, yes, yes; of course, why certainly. How very much cooler it has grown within the past few minutes. That cool wave from Manitoba is nearing us once more."

He took out his handkerchief and swabbed a face that would scorch an iceberg brown in ten minutes.

"Is it true, Mr. Henderson," asked Ethel, "that soda fountains sometimes explode?"

"Oh, frequently," said he, "and they scatter death and destruction everywhere. In some of our Eastern cities they have been abolished by law,--and they ought to do the same thing here! Why, in New York, all the soda fountains have been removed far outside the city limits and are now located side by side with powder houses."

"I am not afraid of them," said Ethel, "and I don't believe they are a bit dangerous."

"Nor I," echoed Elfrida, "I would not be afraid to walk up to one and stand by it all day. Why are you so afraid of them, Mr. Henderson?"

"Because once I had a fair, sweet young sister blown to pieces by one of those terrible engines of destruction while she was drinking at it, and I can not look at one without growing faint."

"How do they make soda water, Mr. Henderson?"

He was about to reply that it was composed chiefly of dirt and poison, when Ethel read aloud four ice-cream signs, and said, "How comfortable and happy all those people look in there."

Then young Mr. Henderson, who had been clawing at his hair, and tearing off his necktie and collar, and pawing the air, shouted in tones of wild frenzy:

"Oh, yes, yes, yes! Come in; come in and gorge yourselves. Everybody come in and eat up a whole week's salary in fifteen minutes. Set 'em up! Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, pineapple, raspberry, lemon, peach, apricot, tutti frutti, nesselrode pudding, water-ice, cake and sherbet. Set 'em up! The treat's on me. Oh, yes, I can stand it. Ha, ha! I'm Astorbilt in disguise. Oh, yes; it doesn't cost anything to take an evening walk! Put out your frozen pudding! Ha, ha, ha!"

They carried him home to his boarding house, and put him to bed, and sent for his physician. He is not yet out of danger, but will recover. The exact trouble is a mystery to the doctor, but he thinks it must be hydrosodia, as the sight of a piece of ice throws the patient into the wildest and most furious paroxysms.

LAVERY'S HENS

ANONYMOUS

Michael Lavery, a thrifty Irishman, lived in a small cottage, on Devarsey Street, South Side, Chicago. It had no yard in front, and the rear was ditto. It had a cellar, however, and it occurred to Lavery that he might make something out of it by using it as a hen-house; but one cold night, during the following winter, the water-pipes burst, flooded the cellar, and drowned the chickens. Friends of Lavery told him the city would make good his loss if he made proper application. So Mr. Lavery went down to the city hall, and entering the room of the clerk, said:

"Good marnin'. Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

"What's that?"

"Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

"What's that?"

"Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

"The water came in and drowned your chickens; what will you do?"

"Yis, sir."

"Well, you step into the next room and see the mayor. You will find him at his desk; tell him what you want."

"All right, sir, I will." (_Exit Lavery to next room._)

"Good marnin'. Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

(_Gruffly._) "What, sir?"

"Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

"What's that?"

(_Very loud._) "Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

"I don't understand one word you say, sir!"

(_Very softly and sarcastically, and working up into loud voice._) "Me name is Michael Lavery, and I live in Devarsey Street, on the South Side, and I kape chickens in me cellar, and the water came in and drowned thim; what'll I do?"

"The water came in and drowned your chickens; what will you do?"

"Yis, sir."

"Well I can do nothing for you, so good-morning, sir!"

(_Clerk whispers to Lavery as he is passing out._) "Well, Mr. Lavery, what did he say to you?"

"_Kape ducks!_"

LISP

ANONYMOUS

Thome folks thay I listhp,
But then I don't perthieve it.
Juth listhen while I call the cat:
"Here Pusthy! Pusthy! Pusthy!"
Now thee I don't listhp.

THEY MET BY CHANCE

ANONYMOUS

They met by chance,
They had never met before.
They met by chance,
And she was stricken sore.

They never met again,
Don't want to, I'll allow!
They met but once:
_'Twas a freight-train and a cow!_

THE BRIDEGROOM'S TOAST

ANONYMOUS

(_Speaks while seated._) "I know a story,--what? (_Laughs._) I know another story,--eh? Oh, don't ask me. I never made a speech in my life. I am willing to do anything to make you fully enjoy--(_This is broken by applause, which the reader may imitate by rapping on a chair, or on a table._) I will only make a fool of myself--(_Attempting to get up. More applause. Sits down again._) I would rather not. (_After much difficulty and persuasion he rises to his feet and begins._) Ladies and gentlemen, I have been suddenly called upon to propose a toast, which I think you will admit,--I am suddenly called upon,--very suddenly,--to propose and--(_Sits down. More applause. Rises again._) Ladies and gentlemen, you are very kind (_clears throat_) and I will do my best, and I only hope that unaccustomed as I am to public houses,--speaking,--I sometimes find I have some difficulty in the,--of course I don't mean to say,--I don't mean to say what I mean when I mean what I say! At all events, ladies and gentlemen, I am very, very much obliged for the kind remarks in which you have drunk my health. (_Sits down. Rises again._) I am called upon to propose a toast (_makes a motion as if someone has thrown something at him from behind striking him on the head_) upon--to propose a toast, but have forgotten it. Considering it is the most important toast of the evening you will understand--(_Aside: 'What is the toast?'_)--the toast of the ladies. Of course we all know (_runs his hand up and down the back of the chair_) whatever may be said against them,--whatever people may say about the ladies, there is no doubt the ladies are really a very excellent--institution! I don't agree with those people who--I think, I say, that far from being a uniform success they are the reverse. I am bold enough to say, I don't agree that they are very nearly as good as we are. I know (_again he is hit in the back_) there are few drink the health of the army and navy,--I mean ladies. Shakespeare says that 'when a woman' (_hit again_)--I had it just now. Shakespeare says, 'When a woman,'--oh, yes, the immortal bard says, 'We won't go home till morning!'" (_Sits down in great confusion._)

REHEARSING FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS

BY STANLEY HUNTLEY

"Now, my dear," said Mr. Spoopendyke, opening the book and assuming the correct dramatic scowl--"now my dear, we'll rehearse our parts for Specklewottle's theatricals. I'm to be Hamlet and you're to be the queen, and we want this thing to go off about right. The hardest part we have to play together is where I accuse you of poisoning my father, and we'd better try that until we get it perfect. I'll commence:

"Now, mother, what's the matter?"

"Well, I was thinking whether I had better wear my black silk or my maroon suit. Do queens wear----"

"Will you be kind enough to tell me what pack of cards you got that idea of a queen from? Do you suppose the queen sent for Hamlet to get his opinion about bargains in dry-goods? When I say that you must say, 'Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended!'"

"Oh, I understand, I thought you asked me what I was thinking about. I didn't know you had commenced to play. Try it again."

"Well you be careful this time, this is a play, this is. Think you know the difference between a play and a bankrupt sale? Know the distinction between a play and a millinery-shop opening? Now, I'll begin again and you try to do it decently."

"Now, mother, what's the matter!"

"There's nothing the matter now; go on, dear. I understand it now."

"Say it, can't ye! Haven't ye studied this business? Don't ye know your part?"

"What shall I say, dear?"

"Say! Sing a hymn! If you don't know your part, get off a psalm! Didn't I tell you what to say? Look here. Have you ever read this play? Have you conceived any kind of a notion of what it's all about?"

"Why, yes, you come in and stab Mr. Specklewottle behind the ears and I scream. Isn't that right, dear?"

"Hear her! Stab Specklewottle behind the ears! That is all right; now you scream! Scream, why don't you? You know so much about your measly part, why don't you play it?"

"We-e-e-e-e! I knew I could do it right as soon as you showed me how. Will that do?"

"Oh, that was queenly! Just do that again! Four of those dramatic efforts will make this play the greatest of modern entertainments! Do it once more!"

"It hurts my throat. Can't we make it do with one scream, dear?"

"Mrs. Spoopendyke, there's been some mistake made in this thing. You should have been cast for Ophelia. That was the part intended for you."

"I would just as soon play it. What does he do?"

"He was an idiot from his birth and afterward went crazy. That was the part for you."

"Then I'd rather be queen. Now, dear, let's commence all over and I'll do it right this time."

"You can't do it worse. I'll try it once more, just to see what kind of foolishness you can work off."

"Now, mother, what's the matter?"

"We-e-e-e, Hamlet, oh, Hamlet! We-e-e-e-e!"

"Turn it off! Be quick and break off the end! What's the matter?"

"We-e-e-e-e!"

"What's the matter with you, anyway?"

"We-e-e-e-e-e! My dear, you are just splendid as Hamlet. You should have been an actor."

"Will ye ever shut up? Who ever told ye to yell like that? Don't ye know anything at all scarcely? Think Hamlet's a lunatic asylum? Got some kind of a notion that the queen's a fog-horn? Where'd ye get your idea of this thing, anyway?"

"I did just as you told me, dear. You said I was to scream when you asked me what the matter was. Didn't I do it right?"

"Oh, that was right! You struck the keynote of high art both times! With that yell and your knowledge of the text all you want now is a fire and a free list to be a theater with a restaurant attachment! Such talent as that can't be wasted on any cheap Shakespeare plays while I've got the money and influence to get you a job in the legitimate circus!" And Mr. Spoopendyke bolted from the house, thoroughly disgusted with private theatricals.

By permission of _The Brooklyn Eagle_.

THE V-A-S-E

BY JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE

Far from the crowd they stood apart,
The maidens four and the Work of Art;

And none might tell from sight alone
In which had culture ripest grown,--

The Gotham Millions fair to see,
The Philadelphia Pedigree,

The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the Soulful Soul from Kalamazoo,--

For all loved Art in a seemly way,
With an earnest soul and a capital A.

* * * * *

Long they worshiped, but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke

The Western one from the nameless place,
Who blushing said, "What a lovely vace!"

Over three faces a sad smile flew,
And they edged away from Kalamazoo.

But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred
To crush the stranger with one small word.

Deftly hiding reproof in praise,
She cries, "'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!"

But brief her unworthy triumph when
The lofty one from the home of Penn,

With the consciousness of two grandpapas,
Exclaims, "It is quite a lovely vahs!"

And glances round with an anxious thrill,
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.

But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,
And gently murmurs, "Oh, pardon me!

"I did not catch your remark, because
I was so entranced with that charming vaws!"

And then each nose was a sight to see
Turned up in contempt at the other three.

PAPA AND THE BOY

BY J. L. HARBOUR

Charming as is the merry prattle of innocent childhood, it is not particularly agreeable at about one o'clock in the morning. There are young and talkative children who have no more regard for your feelings or for the proprieties of life than to open their eyes with a snap at one or two in the morning, and to seek to engage you in enlivening dialog of this sort.

"Papa."

You think you will pay no heed to the imperative little voice, hoping that silence on your part will keep the youngster quiet; but again that boy of three pipes out sharply:

"Papa!"

"Well?" you say.

"You 'wake, papa?"

"Yes."

"So's me."

"Yes, I hear that you are," you say with cold sarcasm. "What do you want?"

"Oh! nuffin."

"Well, lie still and go to sleep then."

"I isn't s'eepy, papa."

"Well, I am, young man."

"Is you? I isn't--not a bit. Say, papa, papa! If you was wich what would you buy me?"

"I don't know--go to sleep."

"Wouldn't you buy me nuffin?"

"I guess so; now you----"

"What, papa?"

"Well, a steam engine, may be; now you go right to sleep."

"With a bell that would ring, papa?"

"Yes, yes; now you----"

"And would the wheels go wound, papa?"

"Oh! yes (_yawning_). Shut your eyes now, and----"

"And would it go choo, choo, choo, papa?"

"Yes, yes; now go to sleep."

"Say, papa."

No answer.

"Papa!"

"Well, what now?"

"Is you 'fraid of the dark?"

"No" (_drowsily_).

"I isn't either. Papa!"

"Well?"

"If I was wich I'd buy you somefin."

"Would you?"

"Yes; I'd buy you some ice-cweam and some chocolum drops and a toof brush and panties wiv bwaid on like mine, and a candy wooster, and----"

"That will do. You must go to sleep now."

Silence for half a second, then--

"Papa! papa!"

"Well, what now?"

"I want a jink."

"No, you don't."

"I do, papa."

Experience has taught you that there will be no peace until you have brought the "jink," and you scurry out to the bathroom in the dark for it, knocking your shins against everything in the room as you go.

"Now I don't want to hear another word from you to-night," you say, as he gulps down a mouthful of the water he didn't want. Two minutes later he says:

"Papa!"

"See here, laddie, papa will have to punish you if----"

"I can spell 'dog,' papa."

"Well, nobody wants to hear you spell at two o'clock in the morning."

"B-o-g--dog; is that right?"

"No, it isn't. But nobody cares if----"

"Then it's d-o-g, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes; now you lie right down and go to sleep instantly."

"Then I'll be a good boy, won't I, papa?"

"Yes; you'll be the best boy on earth. Good-night, dearie."

"Papa!"

"Well, well! What now?"

"Is I your little boy?"

"Yes, yes; of course."

"Some mans haven't got any little boys; but you have, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Don't you wish you had two, free, nine, 'leben, twenty-six, ninety-ten, free hundred little boys?"

The mere possibility of such a remote and contingent calamity so paralyzes you that you lie speechless for ten minutes during which you hear a yawn or two in the little bed by your side, a little figure rolls over three or four times, a pair of heels fly into the air once or twice, a warm, moist little hand reaches out and touches your face to make sure that you are there, and the boy is asleep with his heels where his head ought to be.

THE OBSTRUCTIVE HAT IN THE PIT

BY F. ANSTEY

SCENE: _The Pit of a London theatre during Pantomime Time._

_An Overheated Matron_ (_to her husband_)--"Well, they don't give you much room in 'ere, I must say. Still, we done better than I expected, after all that crushing. I thought my ribs was gone once--but it was on'y the umbrella's. You pretty comfortable where you are, eh, father?"

_Father_--"Oh, I'm right enough, I am."

_Jimmy_ (_their small boy with a piping voice_)--"If father is it's more nor what I am. I can't see, mother, I can't!"

_Mother_--"Lor' bles' the boy! there ain't nothen to see yet; you'll see well enough when the curting goes up. (_Curtain rises on opening scene._) Look, Jimmy, ain't that nice, now? All them himps, dancin' round and real fire comin' out of the pot--which I 'ope it's quite safe--and there's a beautiful fairy just come on drest so grand, too!"

_Jimmy_ (_whimpering_)--"I can't see no fairy--nor yet no himps--no nothen!"

_Mother_ (_annoyed_)--"Was there ever such an aggravating boy? Set quiet, do, and don't fidget, and look at the hactin'!"

_Jimmy_--"I tell yer I can't see no hactin', mother. It ain't my fault--it's this lady in front of me, with the 'at."

_Mother_--"Father, the pore boy says he can't see where he is, 'cause of a lady's 'at in front."

_Father_--"Well, I can't 'elp the 'at, can I? He must put up with it, that's all!"

_Mother_--"No--but I thought, if you wouldn't mind changing places with him; you're taller than him."

_Father_--It's always the way with you--never satisfied, you ain't! Well, pass the boy across! I'm for a quiet life, I am (_changing seats_). Will this do for you?" (_He settles down immediately behind a very large, furry hat which he dodges for some time._)

_Father_ (_suddenly_)--"Blow the 'at."

_Mother_--"You can't wonder at the boy not seeing! P'r'aps the lady wouldn't mind taking it off, if you asked her?"

_Father_--"Ah! (_touching the owner of the hat on the shoulder_). Excuse me, mum, but might I take the liberty of asking you to kindly remove your 'at?" (_The owner of the hat deigns no reply._)

_Father_ (_more insistently_)--"Would you 'ave any objection to oblige me by taking off your 'at, mum? (_Same result._) I don't know if you 'eard me, mum, but I've asked you twice, civil enough, to take that 'at of yours off. I'm playin' 'ide-and-seek be'ind it 'ere!" (_No answer._)

_Mother_--"People didn't ought to be allowed in the Pit with sech 'ats! Callin' 'erself a lady, and settin' there in a great 'at and feathers like a 'ighlander's, and never answering no more nor a stuffed himage!"

_Father_ (_to the husband of the owner of the hat_)--"Will you tell your good lady to take her 'at off, sir, please?"

_The Owner of the Hat_ (_to her husband_)--"Don't you do nothing of the sort, Sam, or you'll 'ear of it!"

_Mother_--"Some people are perlite, I must say. Parties might be'ave as ladies when they come in the Pit! It's a pity her 'usband can't teach her better manners!"

_Father_--"'Im teach her! 'E knows better. 'E's got a Tartar there, 'e 'as!"

_The Owner of the Hat_--"Sam, are you going to set by and hear me insulted like this?"

_Her Husband_ (_turning round tremulously_)--"I--I'll trouble you to drop making these personal allusions to my wife's 'at, sir. It's puffickly impossible to listen to what's going on on the stage, with all these remarks be'ind!"

_Father_--"Not more nor it is to see what's going on on the stage with that 'at in front! I paid 'arf-a-crown to see the Pantermime, I did; not to 'ave a view of your wife's 'at!.... 'ere, Maria, blowed if I can stand this 'ere game any longer. Jimmy must change places again, and if he can't see, he must stand up on the seat, that's all!" (_Jimmy goes back and mounts upon the seat._)

_A Pit-ite Behind Jimmy_ (_touching Jimmy's father with an umbrella_)--"Will you tell your little boy to set down, please, and not to block the view like this?"

_Father_--"If you can indooce that lady to take off her 'at, I will, but not before. Stay where you are, Jimmy."

_The Pit-ite Behind_--"Well, I must stand myself then, that's all. I mean to see somehow!" (_He rises._)

_People Behind_ (_sternly_)--"Set down there, will yer?" (_He resumes his seat expostulating._)

_Jimmy_--"Father, the man behind is a-pinching of my legs!"

_Father_--"Will you stop pinching my little boy's legs. He ain't doing you no 'arm, is he?"

_The Pinching Pit-ite_--"Let him sit down, then!"

_Father_--"Let the lady take her 'at off!"

_Murmurs Behind_--"Order there! Set down! Put that boy down! Take off that 'at! Silence in front there! Turn 'em out! Shame!..."

_The Husband of the Owner of the Hat_ (_in a whisper to his wife_)--"Take off the blessed 'at, and 'ave done with it, do!"

_The Owner of the Hat_--"What, now? I'd sooner die in the 'at!" (_An attendant is called._)

_Attendant_--"Order, there, gentlemen, please, unless you want to get turned out! No standing allowed on the seats; you're disturbing the performance 'ere, you know!" (_Jimmy is made to sit down, and weeps silently; the hubbub subsides, and the Owner of the Hat triumphs._)

_Mother_--"Never mind, my boy, you shall have mother's seat in a minute. I dessay, if all was known, the lady 'as reasons for keeping her 'at on, pore thing!"

_Father_--"Ah, I never thought o' that. So she may. Very likely her 'at won't come off--not without her 'air!"

_Mother_--"Ah, well, then we mus'n't be 'ard on her."

_The Owner of the Hat_ (_removing the obstruction_)--"I 'ope you're satisfied now, I'm sure?"

_Father_ (_handsomely_)--"Better late nor never, mum, and we take it kind of you. Tho why you shouldn't ha' done it at fust, I dunno; for you look a deal 'ansomer without the 'at than what you did in it--don't she Maria?"

_The Owner of the Hat_ (_mollified_)--"Sam, ask the gentleman behind if his boy would like a ginger-nut." (_This olive-branch is accepted; compliments pass; cordiality is restored, and the pantomime then proceeds without any further disturbance in the audience._)

HULLO

BY S. W. FOSS

W'en you see a man in wo,
Walk right up an' say "Hullo!"
Say "Hullo" an' "How d'ye do?
How's the world a-usin' you?"
Slap the fellow on the back;
Bring your hand down with a whack;
Walk right up, an' don't go slow;
Grin an' shake, an' say "Hullo!"

Is he clothed In rags? Oh! sho;
Walk right up an' say "Hullo!"
Rags is but a cotton roll
Jest for wrappin' up a soul;
An' a soul is worth a true
Hale and hearty "How d'ye do?"
Don't wait for the crowd to go
Walk right up an' say "Hullo!"

When big vessels meet, they say
They saloot an' sail away.
Jest the same are you an' me
Lonesome ships upon a sea;
Each one sailin' his own log,
For a port behind the fog.
Let your speakin' trumpet blow;
Lift your horn an' cry "Hullo!"

Say "Hullo!" an' "How d'ye do?"
Other folks are good as you.
W'en you leave your house of clay
Wanderin' in the far away,
W'en you travel through the strange
Country t'other side the range,
Then the souls you've cheered will know
Who ye be, an' say "Hullo."

THE DUTCHMAN'S TELEPHONE

ANONYMOUS

"I guess I haf to gif up my delephone already," said an old citizen, as he entered the office of the company with a very long face.

"Why, what's the matter now?"

"Oh! eferytings. I got dot delephone in mine house so I could shpeak mit der poys in der saloon down town, und mit my relations in Springwells, but I haf to gif it up. I never haf so much droubles."

"How?"

"Vhell, my poy Shon, in der saloon, he rings der pell and calls me oop und says an old frent of mine vhants to see how she vorks. Dot ish all right. I say, 'Hello!' und he says, 'Come closer.' I goes closer und helloes again. Den he says, 'Shtand a little off.' I shtands a little off und yells vunce more, und he says, 'Shpeak louder.' I yells louder. I goes dot vhay for ten minutes, und den he says, 'Go to Texas, you old Dutchman!' You see?"

"Yes."

"Und den mein brudder in Springwells he rings der pell und calls me oop und says, 'How you vhas dis eafnings?' I says I vhas feeling like some colts, und he says, 'Who vhants to puy some goats?' I says, 'Colts--colts--colts!' und he answers, 'Oh! coats. I thought you said goats!' Vhen I goes to ask him ef he feels petter I hear a voice crying out, 'Vhat Dutchman is dot on dis line?' Den somepody answers, 'I doan' know, but I likes to punch his headt!' You see?"

"Yes."

"Vhell, somedimes my vhife vhants to shpeak mit me vhen I am down in der saloon. She rings mein pell und I says, 'Hello!' Nopody shpeaks to me. She rings again, und I says, 'Hello,' like dunder! Den der Central Office tells me to go aheadt, und den tells me holdt on, und den tells mein vhife dot I am gone avhay. I yells oudt, 'Dot ish not so,' und somepody says, 'How can I talk if dot old Dutchmans doan' keep shtill?' You see?"

"Yes."

"Und vhen I gets in bedt at night, somepody rings der pell like dear house vas on fire, and vhen I shumps oud und says, 'Hello,' I hear somepody saying, 'Kaiser, doan' you vhant to puy a dog?' I vhants no dog, und vhen I tells 'em so, I hear some peoples laughing, 'Haw! haw! haw!' You see?"

"Yes."

"Und so you dake it oudt, und vhen somepody likes to shpeak mit me dey shall come right avay to mein saloon. Oof my brudder ish sick he shall get better, und if somepody vhants to puy me a dog, he shall come vhere I can punch him mit a glub."

DOCTOR MARIGOLD

BY CHARLES DICKENS

I am a Cheap Jack, and my own father's name was Willum Marigold. It was in his lifetime supposed by some that his name was William, but my own father always consistently said, No it was Willum. On which point I content myself with looking at the argument this way: If a man is not allowed to know his own name in a free country, how much is he allowed to know in a land of slavery?

I was born on the Queen's highway, but it was the King's at that time. A doctor was fetched to my own mother by my own father, when it took place on a common; and in consequence of his being a very kind gentleman, and accepting no fee but a tea-tray, I was named Doctor, out of gratitude and compliment to him. There you have me. Doctor Marigold.

The doctor having accepted a tea-tray, you'll guess that my father was a Cheap Jack before me. You are right. He was. And my father was a lovely one in his time at the Cheap Jack work. Now I'll tell you what. I mean to go down into my grave declaring that, of all the callings ill-used in Great Britain, the Cheap Jack calling is the worst used. Why ain't we a profession? Why ain't we endowed with privileges? Why are we forced to take out a hawker's license, when no such thing is expected of the political hawkers? Where's the difference betwixt us? Except that we are Cheap Jacks and they are Dear Jacks, I don't see any difference but what's in our favor.

For look here! Say it's election-time. I am on the footboard of my cart in the market-place on a Saturday night. I put up a general miscellaneous lot. I say: "Now here, my free and independent voters, I'm going to give you such a chance as you never had in all your born days, nor yet the days preceding. Now I'll show you what I am a-going to do with you. Here's a pair of razors that'll shave you closer than the Board of Guardians; here's a flat-iron worth its weight in gold; here's a frying-pan artificially flavored with essence of beefsteaks to that degree that you've only got for the rest of your lives to fry bread and dripping in it, and there you are complete with animal food; here's a genuine chronometer watch in such a solid silver case that you may knock at the door with it when you come home late from a social meeting, and rouse your wife and family and save up your knocker for the post-man; and here's half a dozen dinner-plates that you may play the cymbals with to charm the baby when it's fractious. Stop. I'll throw you in another article, and I'll give you that, and its a rolling-pin, and if the baby can only get it well into its mouth when its teeth are coming, and rub the gums once with it, they'll come through double, in a fit of laughter equal to be tickled. Stop again! I'll throw you in another article, because I don't like the looks of you, for you haven't the appearance of buyers unless I lose by you, and because I'd rather lose than not take money to-night, and that article's a looking-glass in which you may see how ugly you look when you don't bid. What do you say now? Come! Do you say a pound? Not you, for you haven't got it. Do you say ten shillings? Not you, for you owe more to the tallyman. Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. I'll heap 'em all on the footboard of the cart--there they are! razors, flat-iron, frying-pan, chronometer watch, dinner-plates, rolling-pin, and looking-glass--take 'em all away for four shillings, and I'll give you sixpence for your trouble!" This is me, the Cheap Jack.

But on Monday morning, in the same market-place, comes the Dear Jack on the hustings--_his_ cart--and what does _he_ say? "Now, you free and independent voters, I am going to give you such a chance" (he begins just like me) "as you never had in all your born days, and that's the chance of sending myself to Parliament. Now I'll tell you what I am a-going to do for you. Here's the interests of this magnificent town promoted above all the rest of the civilized and uncivilized earth. Here's your railways carried, and your neighbors' railways jockeyed. Here's all your sons in the Post Office. Here's Britannia smiling on you. Here's the eyes of Europe on you. Here's uniwersal prosperity for you, repletion of animal food, golden corn-fields, gladsome homesteads, and rounds of applause from your own hearts, all in one lot, and that's myself. Will you take me as I stand? You won't! Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. Come now! I'll throw you in anything you ask for. There! Church-rates, abolition of church-rates, more malt tax, no malt tax, uniwersal education to the highest mark, or uniwersal ignorance to the lowest, total abolition of flogging in the army, or a dozen for every private once a month all round, Wrongs of Men or Right of Women--only say which it shall be, take 'em or leave 'em, and I'm of your opinion altogether, and the lot's your own on your own terms. There! You won't take it? Well, then, I'll tell you what I'll do with you. Come! You _are_ such free and independent woters, and I _am_ so proud of you--you _are_ such a noble and enlightened constituency, and I _am_ so ambitious of the honor and dignity of being your member, which is by far the highest level to which the wings of the human mind can soar--that I'll tell you what I'll do with you. I'll throw you in all public-houses in your magnificent town for nothing. Will that content you? It won't? You won't take the lot yet? Well, then, before I put the horse in and drive away, and make the offer to the next most magnificent town that can be discovered, I'll tell you what I'll do. Take the lot, and I'll drop two thousand pound in the streets of your magnificent town for them to pick up that can. Not enough? Now look here. This is the very farthest that I'm a-going to. I'll make it two thousand five hundred. And still you won't? Here, missis! Put the horse--No, stop half a moment, I shouldn't like to turn my back upon you, neither, for a trifle, I'll make it two thousand seven hundred and fifty pound. There! Take the lot on your own terms, and I'll count out two thousand seven hundred and fifty pound on the footboard of the cart, to be dropt in the streets of your magnificent town for them to pick up that can. What do you say? Come now! You won't do better, and you may do worse. You take it? Hooray! Sold again, and got the seat!"

THE RULING PASSION

BY WILLIAM H. SIVITER

She had never mailed a letter before, and so she approached the stamp clerk's window with the same air that she would enter a dry-goods store.

"I would like to look at some stamps, please."

"What denomination do you want?"

"Denomination?"

"Yes. Is it for a letter or a newspaper?"

"Oh, I want to send a letter to my Uncle John; he's just moved to----"

"Then you need a two-cent stamp," said the clerk offering her one of that value.

"I hardly like that color!"

"That is a two-cent stamp, madam. Please stand aside, and let the gentleman behind you come up."

"But haven't you got them in any other color? I never did like that shade of red."

"There is only one color."

"That is strange. I'd think you'd keep them in different shades, so that there'd be some choice. You are sure you have none in a brighter red, or even in a different color--Nile green, or seal brown, or jubilee blue, for instance?"

"You can put two one-cent stamps on your letter if you like."

"Let me see them, please. Ah, that will do. I like that shade so much better. I'll take only one, if you please."

"If it's for a letter you'll need two. These are one-cent stamps and letter postage is two cents per ounce."

"Oh, I don't want to put two stamps on my letter; I don't think they will look well."

"It requires two cents to carry a letter, madam, and you must either put a two-cent stamp on or two ones. It won't go without. I must ask you to please hurry, for you are keeping a great many people away from the window."

"That's singular. I don't like the looks of two together. You are sure the other doesn't come in seal-brown, or----"

"No, madam; no!"

"Then I'll have to see if I can suit myself elsewhere."

And she departed.

THE DUTCHMAN'S SERENADE

ANONYMOUS

Vake up, my schveet! Vake up, my lofe!
Der moon dot can't be seen abofe.
Vake oud your eyes, and dough it's late,
I'll make you oud a serenate.

Der shtreet dot's kinder dampy vet,
Und dhere vas no goot blace to set;
My fiddle's getting oud of dune,
So blease get vakey wery soon.

O my lofe! my lofely lofe!
Am you avake up dere abofe,
Feeling sad and nice to hear
Schneider's fiddle shcrabin' near?

Vell, anyvay, obe loose your ear,
Und try to saw of you kin hear
From dem bedclose vat you'm among,
Der little song I'm going to sung.

Oh, lady, vake! Get vake!
Und hear der tale I'll tell;
Oh, you vot's schleebin' sound ub dhere,
I like you pooty vell!

Your plack eyes dhem don't shine
Ven you'm ashleep--so vake!
(Yes, hurry ub und voke up quick,
For goodness cracious sake!)

My schveet inbatience, lofe!
I hobe you vill oxcuse;
I'm singing schveetly (dere, py Jinks!
Dhere goes a shtring proke loose!)

Oh, putiful, schveet maid!
Oh, vill she ever voke?
Der moon is mooning--(Jimminy! dhere
Anoder shtring vent proke!)

Oh, say, old schleeby head!
(Now I vas gitting mad--
I'll holler now und I don't care
Uf I vake up her dad!)

I say, you schleeby, vake!
Vake out! Vake loose! Vake ub!
Fire! Murder! Police! Vatch!
Oh, cracious! do vake ub!

Dot girl she schleebed--dot rain it rained
Und I looked shtoopid like a geese,
Vhen mit my fiddle I sneaked off
Dodging der rain und dot bolice!

WIDOW MALONE

BY CHARLES LEVER

Did you hear of the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
Who lived in the town of Athlone,
Alone!
Oh, she melted the hearts
Of the swains in those parts:
So lovely the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
So lovely the Widow Malone.

Of lovers she had a full score,
Or more,
And fortunes they all had galore;
In store;
From the minister down
To the clerk of the Crown
All were courting the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
All were courting the Widow Malone.

But so modest was Mistress Malone,
'Twas known
That no one could see her alone,
Ohone!
Let them ogle and sigh,
They could ne'er catch her eye,
So bashful the Widow Malone,
Ohone!
So bashful the Widow Malone.

Till one Misther O'Brien, from Clare,
(How quare!
It's little for blushing they care
Down there.)
Put his arm round her waist,
Gave ten kisses at laste,
"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone,
My own!"
"Oh," says he, "you're my Molly Malone!"