"Well, slip on something right away, and come down."
And what do you think? Mamie slipped on the stairs, and came down.
Talking of your level-headed young Lochinvars of to-day, who use
automobiles in their elopements instead of horses as in the old times,
there was Charlie's brother who fell in love with the only daughter of
old Squeezer, the richest skinflint in Stringtown, and was bound to have
her, even if he had to resort to strategy.
[Illustration]
"Oh, Bob," she whispered, sliding down into the outstretched arms of the
lover who stood at the bottom of the ladder, "are you sure the coast is
clear?"
"To a dead certainty," he replied, bitterly. "I succeeded in boring a
hole in the water pipe. Your father has discovered it, and will keep his
finger over the hole until the plumber arrives. Come!"
I dined at the Waldorf the other night, and somehow in the long list of
courses found my mind wrestling with an item that had caught my eye in
one of the yellow sheets, where a certain well-known doctor declared
that the simple cooking of savage tribes was far superior to that of the
present civilized races.
When I reached home the thought, and perhaps the menu I had so gallantly
assailed, so impressed me, that I sat down and rattled off a few verses
covering the ground. This is how the song goes:
[Illustration]
"You cook," I observed to the African chief,
"With a truly remarkable skill;
With your soups and your entrees you ne'er come to grief,
You seldom go wrong when you grill.
Your roast leg of pork or of mutton is--well,
It's a privilege simply to view it;
And I feel I could fatten for weeks on the smell!
How on earth do you manage to do it?"
With a gratified simper the chieftain explained,
"Ah, well, for that matter, the fact is,
Whatever ability I may have gained
Is simply the outcome of practice.
In the days of my youth, e'er I quitted my land,
Not content with the usual rations,
I made it a habit to practice my hand
On my numerous friends and relations.
"I strove with a will toward my ultimate end,
Surmounting each obstacle gayly.
I speedily ran through my circle of friends,
Diminished my relatives daily.
My brothers gave out, and my uncles as well;
My cousins went faster and faster;
Until--in a word a long story to tell--
I found I could cook like a master."
In silence I stood till he came to the end,
For his tale had delighted and thrilled me;
Then thoughtfully thanking my cannibal friend,
I owned that with envy he filled me.
For many's the man whom I'd thankfully boil,
And countless relations beset me,
Whom I'd eagerly stew (without grudging the toil),
If only the law would abet me.
Some people have such remarkable ideas connected with the bringing up of
children. There's Rossiter's young wife for example.
[Illustration]
I was invited to an evening dinner party recently where she was the
guest of honor.
This charming young matron is the proud mother of two fine boys, both
under four years of age.
In their education she endeavors to follow a system, like many other
young mothers, and she is very careful to live up to any rules she may
have formulated for them.
During an early course in the dinner, and in the middle of an animated
conversation with her host, she suddenly ceased talking.
Her face took on a most startling expression. Then finding her voice,
she exclaimed:
"Mercy, I have forgotten those boys again! May I use your telephone?"
She was taken to the 'phone by the host, and the murmur of her voice in
most earnest conversation was wafted back to the dining room.
After a short time she returned.
"I beg a thousand pardons," she said, "but you must know I have always
insisted that Sam and Dick say their prayers for me before they go to
sleep.
"In the hurry of getting off to-night I entirely forgot my usual duty.
"So I called up the nurse. She brought them to the 'phone and they said
their prayers over the wire. I feel quite relieved."
Speaking of boys reminds me of my friend Toddlekins' young hopeful, who
marched into the library the other day when I was engaging his pa in a
scientific discussion.
I may remark just here that Tommy had a new gun under his arm, which I
understood his fond parent had recently presented to him--you know
Toddlekins is a great admirer of the strenuous life and likes to
encourage it all he can in his offspring, who appears to be a chip of
the old block.
[Illustration]
"Say, pa," was what he exploded, "is it true that cats have nine lives?"
Always ready to impart information to the inquiring mind of youth, his
fond parent replied such was the common saying, which might be accepted
as truth.
"Well, I am glad of that," said the boy, heaving a genuine sigh of
relief, "because then our old tortoise-shell's got eight coming to her."
I'm afraid my smallest chap is going to take after his proud
father--it's about time, since I've taken after him on many an occasion.
For instance now, at school, in the course of his astronomy lesson, the
teacher happened to ask:
"What supports the sun in the heavens?"
"Why, its beams, of course," was the prompt answer given by the flower
of the family.
He was not encouraged to exercise the propensity further.
But it is not always the boys who can be depended on to furnish material
for a good story.
I knew a little tot of a girl once, Helen they called her, the pride and
joy of a young couple with whom I used to dine occasionally in my happy
bachelor days.
I discovered, however, one night, that the little lady was very much
afraid of the dark, just as some of her older sisters are prone to be,
and all her mother's persuasive eloquence was required to induce the
child to leave the brilliantly lighted dining room for her own dark
bedroom.
[Illustration]
A whispered colloquy between mother and child finally resulted in the
little one's departure to her room without further protest.
When the mother returned to the dining room she explained:
"It's so easy to handle children if you just know how. I told her there
was no reason to be afraid; that the dark was filled with angels, all
watching over her. Now she is quite content to be left alone and----"
"Mamma! Mamma!" piped a small, far-away voice at this point, "please
come quick. The angels is a-biting me."
[Illustration]
While I was talking with Mike who should drop in but the archbishop?
Now, because a man's a priest is no reason he shouldn't have a big
streak of humor in him, and the archbishop can appreciate a joke as well
as the next one.
They say that when he was up in the Harlem district last winter, for the
purpose of administering confirmation, he asked one nervous little girl
what matrimony was, and she answered:
"A state of terrible torment, which those who enter it are compelled to
undergo for a time to prepare them for a brighter and better world."
"No, no," remonstrated the pastor; "that isn't matrimony; that's the
definition of purgatory."
"Leave her alone," said the archbishop; "maybe she's right. What do you
or I know about it?"
Thinking to test his knowledge of history, some one once remarked in his
hearing:
[Illustration: Ye First After Dinner Speech]
"I wonder who made the first after-dinner speech?"
"Adam did," replied the archbishop, promptly, "for you know we read that
after he had eaten that apple down to the core, he arose and said, 'the
woman tempted me'."
And you will agree with me he was pretty nearly correct that time.
I always take considerable interest in the yacht races for the America's
Cup, and when my friend Donovan informed me recently that the next boat
would have a wonderful rudder filled with air, to add to the buoyancy
and save weight, I began to consider whether the advantages might not be
offset by the new dangers accompanying a pneumatic rudder.
If a yacht should happen to get a puncture in her rudder during the race
she would be compelled to drop out, owing to the difficulty of cementing
or plugging it while sailing.
And in a race a yacht is liable to be on a tack at any moment.
[Illustration]
A week ago I took a spin on my wheel, along country roads where the
festive bull loiters in the shade of the tree, waiting for a victim.
If you have ever taken the trouble to notice, there are funny things
sometimes happening on these dusty highways of the hobos, and more than
a few times the shrewd city man finds himself the sport of Rube's wit.
Having become somewhat confused as to my bearings on this particular
occasion, I thought to make inquiries of a slab-sided youth, who leaned
on a fence and sucked at a straw meditatively.
"I say, my good fellow, am I on the right road to Jericho?" I asked,
with my most patronizing smile.
He surveyed me a minute and then said slowly:
"Ya-as, stranger, but I kinder reckon you're goin' in the wrong
direcshun."
Say, as I was walking along Sixth Avenue a man thumped me on the back
and yelled out:
"Sure, Michael, ye're the broth av a bhoy. Len' me ten."
And I did; I couldn't refuse it. That's like the Irish; they're so
hearty and will share your last cent.
[Illustration]
There's one bright Irishman that I'm greatly interested in. Terence
Sullivan came over here with the idea that he could pick up money in the
streets; and sure enough the first day he landed he found a nice new
ten-dollar bill on one of the seats in Battery Park. Since then he's
gone on doing well.
Sullivan was never much of a reader, and I had often wondered at this
until on a certain occasion he gave his prejudice an airing.
"And faith," said he, "Oi don't see the since in noospapers. They kin
only print what's already happened."
As affairs prospered with the honest fellow, like all true-hearted
Irishmen, he must needs send for the mother, and install her in a
comfortable home.
I remember meeting the old lady once, and under conditions that often
make me smile.
I had a friend, a lawyer, who had an office away up in one of the
skyscrapers downtown, and here Mrs. Sullivan, after much persuasion,
had been induced to come and pay her rent.
The lawyer's office was on one of the upper floors of a large office
building.
After the rent had been paid and the receipt given, the old woman was
shown out into the hallway by the office boy.
[Illustration]
I found her in the hallway a few minutes later, when I chanced along.
She was wandering about opening doors and otherwise acting in a strange
manner.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
"Shure," she said, in her simplicity, "I'm lookin' for the little closet
I came up in."
I suppose you will believe me when I tell you that my theatrical
ventures have frequently brought me in contact with ripe episodes that
impressed themselves strongly upon my memory.
Sometimes they were too ripe, and gave occasion for much toil ere they
could be wholly eradicated from my unfortunate coat.
[Illustration]