It was only my servant, Bridget, talking to a policeman stationed on the
beat.
I have a friend who had a very wild son about sixteen years of age. He
could do absolutely nothing with him.
One day the youngster was offered a job in a big tinware factory.
His father, thinking it might tone him down a bit, consented to let him
go.
The first Saturday night the kid lost his week's wages in a crap game
and was afraid to go home.
Finally he hit upon a bright scheme. He took his trousers, turned them
inside out and had them galvanized.
That night he went home and his father prepared to give him a spanking.
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He used his hand first, but the blow almost killed his father.
Then he used a club, but failed to make any impression upon his son.
Then he got out of patience and said to his wife:
"Maria, confound it, get me a can opener."
Now this same Billy got so educated in that factory, that he wanted to
go West and shoot millionaires, so he just sloped.
His father telegraphed all over the country, and then, as a last resort,
rang up police headquarters.
"Well," says the chief, "it ought to be easy to find him. Has he any
marks by which he can be identified?"
"N-o-o!" says the father. "But confound him, just let me get a hold of
him and he will have."
They finally located Willie comfortably settled on a farm. There was a
job open and he advised his father to come out and take it, and make a
few million growing wheat for the food trust.
His father went and they got along swimmingly.
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One day a neighbor came across Willie hustling like old Sam Hill to
reload a wagon of hay which had overturned.
"Well, Willie, I see you are in trouble."
"Yes," says Willie, working for dear life.
"Suppose you come to the house and have dinner with me," says the
neighbor.
Willie wouldn't hear of it. The man finally persuaded him to go.
All the way to the house and at dinner Willie kept saying:
"I shouldn't have come. I know dad won't like it."
"Why," says the neighbor, "your father will never know unless you tell
him."
"I know, I know," says Willie, "but I'm sure father won't like my going
to dinner with you."
"Darnation," says the neighbor, now thoroughly worked up. "Why won't
he?"
"Well, you see," says Willie, "dad's under the load of hay on the road."
Speaking of Willie puts me in mind of another boy I know.
He's the brightest chap for his years to be found in a day's walk.
Why, when the boy was six months old, he howled all night and slept all
day.
They fooled him though, by putting an electric light in front of his
parent's door, while he slept one day.
When he woke up to give his usual nightly concert, he found the room as
bright as day.
He just turned over and went to sleep again.
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That boy is a genius though, in his way.
Why, do you know that they have had thirty-four examinations since he's
been going to school, and he's managed to dodge every one of them.
I went down to one of the big department stores the other day and met my
old friend Matt Wheeler looking over some furniture.
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"Hello, Matt," says I, "how's Mamie?" Mamie is his sweetheart, you know.
"Oh!" says Matt, "I've thrown her over."
"Well, that was a foolish thing to do," says I. "Mamie was a good and
beautiful girl."
"I know it," says he, "but her father offered to give us enough money to
furnish a home, if we got married. I'm going with another girl now."
"What sort of a girl is she," says I, and that started him off.
Have you ever noticed how easy it is to start a fellow extolling the
virtues and graces of his chosen before he is married?
If you ask him how his wife is after the ceremony, all you get out of
him is something resembling a grunt.
Well, this fellow rambled.
"She's an angel. She isn't like other girls. She's got the loveliest
complexion. The handsomest face, the finest figure, the sweetest nature
that ever woman had."
"Good," says I, "but how about her feet?"
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"Feet, man," says he, "what are you talking about? Are you demented?"
"No," says I, "but you ought to have looked at her feet."
"What has her feet got to do with it?" says he, "I'm marrying the girl,
not her feet."
"That's right," says I, "but you'll get her feet thrown into the
bargain. Never marry a club-footed girl, because she's always got
something to hit you with in case of an argument."
Even that didn't shut him up.
"Let me tell you how I got engaged to her," says he.
"Go ahead," says I.
"I was down to her house one night and stayed until almost one o'clock.
"Finally her old man hollered downstairs and asked the girl if I didn't
think it was about time to go to bed.
"I hollered up that it was all right, I'd excuse him if he wanted to go.
"Then we got talking about birds, birdlets and birdies.
"I said I loved birdies of all kinds.
"She tore over to the piano and began to play: 'I Wish I Were a Birdie.'
Yes, we're looking for a nest now."
Now I'm going to sing you a song about this foolish couple.
Just sit back and hold tight.
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It's entitled "What a Difference When the Preacher Says You're Wed; or,
I Wonder Why Mary Jones Married a Man Twice Her Age."
He has ceased to call her "darling,"
She has ceased to call him "dear";
He has ceased composing sonnets
To her "shell-like little ear."
She has ceased to hurry madly
To the mirror when he calls;
He has ceased to buy her chocolates
And ice cream at high-toned balls.
This is not because these lovers
Have been mixed up in a row--
No, the plain truth is that they
Are a married couple now.
That song always makes me sad.
It's founded upon one of my actual experiences.