"What, Mac, you one of the mourners, too?"
"Whoi not?" says he. "Didn't the corpse owe me ten dollars?"
"Well," says I, "cheer up."
"I can't," says he, "the beer is all gone."
Just then I saw his face brighten up.
I followed the direction of his glance and saw it rested on a gallon
jug.
Mac got up quietly and took the jug into the hallway.
He came back in ten seconds looking more mournful than ever.
"What's the matter, Mac," says I, "was the jug empty?"
[Illustration]
"No," says he.
"Wasn't the wine good?" says I.
"It wasn't wine," says he.
"What was in the jug, Mac?" says I.
He gave me a sheepish, sidelong glance and says:
"Water."
[Illustration]
Mac is a boss carpenter.
The other day he called his assistant and says:
"Here, Jim, I'm going out for a few minutes and you can plane down this
beam until I return."
He pointed to a big beam about eighteen inches square.
But, alas! when poor Mac got out on the street, he slipped and sprained
his ankle.
They took him home and it was the next day, toward evening, before he
could hobble around to his shop.
His assistant was nowhere in sight.
The only thing that met his gaze, was an enormous pile of shavings.
So he bawled out:
"James!"
"Hello," came the far off response.
"Where are you?" says Mac.
"Here under this pile of shavings," says Jim.
"What are you up to, anyway?" says Mac.
"Planing that beam. You told me to plane it until you came back. If you
had come an hour later there wouldn't have been anything left of it."
Poor Mac sprained his ankle again.
Say, did you ever go to a dime museum?
If not you want to take it in by all means. It's a sure cure for
glanders.
I went to one last week, and had more fun than if I came here and
listened to these dispensers of heavenly harmony.
Say, wasn't that last part fine? I'm coming up, I am!