[Illustration: A ROCKY SPRING IN YANKEE LAND]
New England Joke Lore
THE TONIC OF YANKEE HUMOR
BY
ARTHUR G. CRANDALL
Author of “Optimistic Medicine”
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
F.A. DAVIS COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
1922
COPYRIGHT, 1922
BY
F. A. DAVIS COMPANY
Copyright, Great Britain. All Rights Reserved.
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
PRESS OF
F. A. DAVIS COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
DEDICATED TO THOSE
STALWART SONS OF NEW ENGLAND
WHOSE ABILITY TO THINK STRAIGHT, COMBINED
WITH AN UNRUFFLED POISE AND NEVER FAILING
SENSE OF HUMOR, HAS ENABLED THEM AND
THEIR DESCENDANTS TO TAKE A LEADING PART
IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF OUR GLORIOUS COUNTRY
FOREWORD
The dry wit of the New England Yankee has done much to cheer the Lonely
Traveler on his way. It has oiled the thinking machinery when it
creaked and provided inspiration for that spontaneous good fellowship
which helps so much to make life worth living.
The following pages are not the product of an overworked imagination,
but a record of actual happenings. The characters who pass in review
before the reader are real personages whose various experiences have
gladdened many adjacent firesides.
However, the author realizes that certain serious and literal souls are
so constructed that what to others is a source of glee and merriment,
is to them but “the crackling of thorns under a pot.” Hence the origin
of his conscientious plan to display in the book’s “show window,” so to
speak, a sample of the brand of Yankee humor the reader may expect to
find should he resolve to read further.
Therefore, let us turn aside from these gracious words of the author as
above and consider for a moment the soliloquy of Uncle Andrew Cheney,
who did not like his son-in-law.
Uncle Andrew did not like work very well either, which is often
unfortunate for a husband and father of a family. In view of his own
impecunious state, it was peculiarly annoying to him to continually
be witnessing the lavish display of an elderly neighbor who had
considerable inherited property, but, who though a long time married,
was childless.
One summer evening Uncle Andrew was sitting disconsolately on the steps
of the little country grocery store, when he heard the clatter of
horses’ feet and saw the well-to-do neighbor driving by with his pair
of high stepping colts. Uncle Andrew scowled but said nothing. Again
came the thud of feet and the horses and proud driver, coming back up
the country road, once more passed the store. Uncle Andrew glowered at
the spectacle with increasing disgust, but still managed to restrain
himself.
A third time the gay equipage swept past. This was too much and Uncle
Andrew, deeply stirred, began to talk to himself. A neighbor, sitting
near was the only listener, but what he heard he considered well worth
repeating.
“Oh! Yes,” Uncle Andrew muttered. “You are a mighty smart man, you are.
And you’ve got some fine hosses, too.”
A gleam came in his eye.
“You are a smart man, but I’ve got one thing you haven’t got and never
will have; and that’s the biggest liar for a son-in-law there is in
this county.”
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
SHOWING SOME GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS.
PAGE
Overlooked by Tourists--“Year Before Last Winter’s Snow”--The
School Master and His Snow Grave--Drifted
Roads and the Right of Way--The Post Holes in the
Ice--The Man Who Took Comfort at Funerals--The
Story of the Field of Oats--The Kitchen Dance “Up
The Branch”--The New Maple Sugar Tub--A Yankee
Philanthropist--The Butcher Who Was Too Generous 13-34
CHAPTER II.
RELATING TO CERTAIN CONJUGAL INFELICITIES.
Why Dave Left Home--The Discouraging Matrimonial Experiences
of Bill Jordan--Another Tale of a Confiding
Husband--“Putty Bur-r-ds”--“Seven Wives and Seven
Prisons”--The French-Canadian Who Wanted a “War
for the Womens” 35-53
CHAPTER III.
LEGENDS OF THE ECCENTRIC.
“You Don’t Have to Yell at Me”--The Story of the Stolen
Bundle of Hay--The Raid on Jim Green’s Pork Barrel--How
Lote Platt Beat the Thunder Shower--The Tale of
the Old-Fashioned “Settle”--The Lost Harrow Teeth--The
Story of the Salt Shake--“Better Give Them to Some
Poor Boy” 54-71
CHAPTER IV.
FAMILY CHARACTERISTICS AND SMALL TOWN LIFE.
The Young Man Who Had “Speerit”--The Lady Who
Secured a Wardrobe--The Story of “Lafe” and the Livery
Stable Man--The Man Who Wanted to Fight a Year
Afterward--A Rural “Trademark”--An Early Example
of Camouflage--“Noah Built the Ark” 72-90
CHAPTER V.
THE YANKEE TRADING INSTINCT AND SOME
AMUSING EXAMPLES.
The Story of the Eccentric Cow--The Remarkable Incident
of the Cart Wheels--The Thrilling Experiences of a
Mountain “Doctress”--The Expedient of the Cow Buyer--The
History of a Milk Sled 91-107
CHAPTER VI.
DOMESTIC ANIMALS AND THEIR PART IN
LEGENDARY HUMOR.
The Story of a Wandering Sheep--The Young and “Self-Centered”
Ram--The Sudden Enlightenment of the Young
Pup--A Hen Heroine--The Story of the “Lolling” Horse--The
Farmer Who Borrowed the Blind Horse--The
Lame Horse That was Suddenly Cured--The Bird Policeman--The
Evicted Swallows--The Proprietary Attitude of
the Robins--The Haunted Cat 108-132
CHAPTER VII.
LEGENDS OF RURAL SPOOKS.
The Ghost in the Milk Dairy--The Spook Story of the
Runaway Horse--Table Tipping and a Victim--The Story
of the Ouija Board--The Unreal Arrival of Uncle Mark--The
Locked Door Which Swung Open--The Joke Played
on the Hotel Porter--The Pedlar Who Disappeared--The
Sudden Discontinuance of the “Spirit Raps”--The Supernatural
Illumination 133-155
CHAPTER VIII.
TALES OF RURAL LAWYERS AND THE COURTS.
The Litigating Horse Dealer--The Attorney Who Scorned
Divorce Business--The Murderer Who Was Not There
That Day--A Celebrated Arson Case--The Attorney Who
Justified “Assault and Battery”--The Lawyer Who Was
Going to “Get Over It”--The Story of the Wily Bank
Robber--The Legend of the Pine Tree--The Man Who
Wanted to be “Sociable” 156-176
CHAPTER IX.
SOME EXPERIENCES OF THE YANKEE TRAVELING
SALESMAN.
The Hopeful Young Beginner--The Sick Engineer in the
Next Room--What Happened in the Hotel Barber Shop--The
Salesman Who Was Given a “Warm Room”--The
Story of the Itemized Expense Account--“Two Barrels”--The
Old Man Who Was Inveigled Into a Poker Game 177-195
CHAPTER X.
TRADITIONS OF THE RURAL CHURCH.
The Story of the “Raised” Biscuits--The Small Boy Who
Scandalized the Congregation--The “Driveling Idiot”--The
Love-Cracked Suicide--“There is a Lion in the Way”--The
Man Who Borrowed “Arabian Nights” from a
Christian Woman--The Woman Who Was Not Going to
be a Pack Horse--The Enterprising Deacon Who Proposed
at the Grave 196-215
CHAPTER XI.
TALES OF RURAL THRIFT.
The Old Friend and the Load of Hay--The Man Who
Worked a Confidence Game on His Cows--“Stew ’Er
Down”--“Never Mind, I Can Cut It”--The Empty Flour
Barrel--The Town Pauper Who Made an Epigram--The
Conscientious Neighbor Who Ran an Account--The
Thrifty Man Who “Swore Off” Using Tobacco 216-236
CHAPTER XII.
CHEERFUL TALES OF NEIGHBORLY INTERCOURSE.
“Am I Ben Jackson, or Am I Not?”--“The Farther You Go
the Better They Are”--“Say, Put the Doctor Ahead”--The
Scrambled Eggs in the Highway--The Story of the
Rebellious Horse--What Happened to the Junk Man--What
Happened to Another Junk Dealer--The Inquisitive
Man by the Roadside--The Misfortunes of Mr.
Foley 237-255
CHAPTER XIII.
SAD TALES OF PRE-PROHIBITION DAYS.
The Return of a War Hero--The Motorist Who Was Good
To Antoine--The Tale of a Rescued Keg of Whiskey--The
Prohibition Whale Oil--The Righteous Wrath of
“Marm” Hooker--“Poor Kelly Took the Rest” 256-276
CHAPTER XIV.
TALES OF THE FARM HIRED MAN.
The Hand Mowers at Murray’s--The Sporting Venture of
the Country Editor--“I’ve Found the Spring”--The Expert
Who Repaired the Fences--The Man Who “Arrived
in a Great Hurry”--“Where’s Hadlock?”--A French-Canadian
Version of Employers’ Liability Insurance 277-293
CHAPTER I
SHOWING SOME GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS
When the young business man or girl stenographer who has grown up
in one of the innumerable thriving towns or cities of the broad
Mississippi Valley, scans the morning paper on the way to the daily
task and reads of the incidental happenings duly chronicled as New
England News, there may perhaps be a glance of the mind’s eye at
that little corner of the map of the United States as revealed in
the not remote school days. Then it was necessary, if one would be
on harmonious terms with the teacher, to at least memorize the state
capitals of Vermont, New Hampshire, and little Rhode Island, as well
as those of the somewhat much more imposing looking states of Maine,
Massachusetts, and Connecticut. And how small and insignificant they
all looked compared with the rest of the map!
It is true that geographies of good standing are not supposed to
deceive, but it is doubtful if any of them ever quite did justice to
the northeast corner of the U. S. of America.
And when, as sometimes happens in these modern times, the young
business man marries the little stenographer and by industry and
intelligence becomes prosperous, there is a desire for the well earned
holiday. He and the girl stenographer now become a matron, if permitted
choice, are impelled to explore that same little corner of the earth
so shabbily set forth by the map, but so attractively described by
acquaintances who have toured that section in summer.
And perhaps they will repeat these visits and view many smiling
valleys and listen to the soothing lullabies of the surf by night and
to unconvincing statements of hotel clerks by day--and yet will have
missed the most satisfying and illuminating characteristic of New
England--contact with the real typical New England Yankee.
Nowhere on earth does the aphorism that appearances are often deceitful
more frequently prove to be true than in New England, especially in
the rural districts. The impressive appearing motorist displaying
the now familiar license tag of the region may be a local tradesman
rated in the commercial register as “capital $500 to $1000, credit
limited.” Just behind in a cloud of dust the carelessly dressed man in
shabby looking buggy drawn by a placid old horse, may own a fine farm,
many pedigreed cattle and possess in addition an abundance of reserve
cash with which to take advantage of any favorable opportunity for
investment. While the apparel may “oft portray the man,” it is far from
being an infallible test in New England. Even when the native of this
region is transplanted to some bustling city, he is prone to develop
carelessness in dress as prosperity steals upon him.
* * * * *
The native resident who remarks casually that the New England climate
consists of “nine months winter and three months late in the fall,”
is not probably making any plans to remove elsewhere. He is taking
a sardonic pleasure in making it clear that he is laboring under no
delusions as to what the seasons will reveal in the months to come. He
makes no attempt to gloss over the enormities of the midwinter season,
but indeed seems to take much satisfaction in quoting the below zero
records which make a Philadelphian, for instance, gasp with horror.
Overlooked by Tourists
A sturdy woman of middle age, who had been born and raised in a
northern New England region, was chatting with a traveler about some
recent extremely cold weather and told him that the temperature at her
home had gone down to about 38 degrees below zero. As he expressed
some interest she added, “over in the next town it was 46 below.” Upon
noting the surprise occasioned by this statement she hastened to say
that it was 52 below at the same time in another town about twenty
miles distant. She then assumed an expression of great candor and
proceeded, “My daughter, who lives about ten miles beyond that place,
wrote that their thermometer registered 58 degrees below zero.”
She was a truthful woman and a good Methodist. The abashed listener
hastily changed the subject.
Stories of such extreme cold seem to be exaggerated, to strangers who
have traveled these districts in ordinary winter weather, but it is
merely exceptional rather than impossible. To people of normal health
such cold waves are merely an unpleasant incident. Those of experience
will insist that on the average the winter of even, steady cold is
healthier than the warm ones.
While there is, of course, a temptation to elderly people of means
to spend their winters in some warmer section, there are plenty of
instances on record to prove that it is usually better to “stick
it out” at home, unless of course the change of climate is to be
permanent. Withstanding the cold develops vigor for the relaxing days
of spring and summer. Besides, in this matter as in many others, it is
evident that nature abhors a quitter.
“Year Before Last Winter’s Snow”
It is the winter of unusually deep snows that stimulates the Yankee
sense of humor. An early summer visitor driving through a deep gorge,
scarcely touched at any part of the day by sunshine, found a man busily
shoveling snow which had evidently drifted deep across the road.
“You must have had lots of snow here last winter,” he remarked as he
drove by.
“Oh! no,” was the reply, “this is winter before last’s snow.”
The School Master and His Snow Grave
Among the legends clustering about a little country schoolhouse is a
comedy in which deep snow furnished the motif and more literally the
environment. An earnest young college student who was self-supporting,
secured the privilege of teaching the winter term of school. Among
his pupils were several husky youths to whom burning the midnight oil
made little appeal. It soon became evident to the parents that the
well-meaning but somewhat diffident teacher was destined for trouble.
A tremendous snowfall with high drifts brought events to a climax.
While the teacher was away for his lunch at the noon hour, the boys
dug a deep “grave” in a snowdrift near the schoolhouse, and when their
unsuspecting victim approached he was promptly seized, and in spite of
his struggles, placed in the grave and lightly sprinkled with snow.
Needless to say he was glad to resign his position and make way for a
successor of probably less education but considerably more muscle.
* * * * *
The successive snow storms often bring about a condition of the back
roads that makes traveling difficult in the latter part of the winter.
Under these conditions it is an unwritten law that as compared with
those who travel light, the heavily loaded team shall have the right of
way. On a certain occasion this custom was peremptorily challenged.
Drifted Roads and the Right of Way
Two families of the neighborhood were far from friendly. Two brothers
of one of these uncongenial families returning home from town with a
horse and sleigh chanced to meet the robust scion of the other family
with two horses and a big sled loaded with logs. Instead of yielding
to the work team as precedent required, these young hopefuls demanded
half of the roadway. Although fully appreciating the personal motive in
this action, the driver of the log team blandly explained that if he
were to turn his horses into the soft deep snow by the roadside, his
load would be stuck in the drift. Interpreting this explanation as an
evidence of timidity, one of the young men jumped from the sleigh and
taking the two team horses by the bridles, started to turn them into
the drift. The driver was quick as well as athletic and in a very few
seconds a three cornered fist-fight was well under way. It was short
and decisive, after which the two brothers meekly turned their horse
and sleigh out into the snow drifts, passed the load of logs and went
home. The scarlet evidence of bloody noses in the snow soon faded, but
numerous firesides were cheered by the story which soon went the rounds
of the neighborhood.
While the rural midwinter season tends to physical inactivity, the
Yankee sense of humor is apparently stimulated. It may be said,
however, that while the sarcastic brand of humor is not popular,
occasionally some “deep thinker” will evolve an intricate plot like the
following.
The Post Holes in the Ice
In a certain community there was a newly hired farm hand whose
ingenuous innocence was a constant temptation. A young blacksmith
found out that the farm hand was especially fond of trotting races. He
accordingly proceeded to elaborate on a mythical trotting meet that was
supposed to soon take place on the lake. The stranger’s eyes sparkled.
That was something like the real life. He asked what it was going to
cost to see the races. The blacksmith named a very high figure, but
hastily reassured the young man that it would be easy for him to secure
a season ticket if he would help to get things in readiness. The farm
hand eagerly agreed and asked what he could do. The blacksmith told
him that of course there would have to be a board fence around the
ice track and that it would be necessary to dig post holes in the ice,
indicating the section of the lake where the fence must be built.
The next morning the confiding hired man got a day off and promptly
proceeded to the lake, devoting several hours to the laborious task of
post hole digging before someone’s curiosity led to an investigation
and the disillusionment of the victim.
* * * * *
It is not characteristic of the normal New England mind to dwell upon
that which is somber. That trend of mind which contemplates with
satisfaction the gloomy and funereal, never fails to create amusement
among normal Yankees.
The Man Who Took Comfort at Funerals
There is an old time story of the eccentric old bachelor who lived with
his married brother, a bustling person of numerous activities, noted
for a propensity to begin many enterprises but seldom finish them. Poor
“Hamp,” the bachelor, was constantly being speeded up at the endless
jobs. One day he announced his intention to take an afternoon vacation
and attend a funeral. His taskmaster objected.
“Why do you want to go to that funeral? You went to one only last week
and you never were acquainted with either of the families.”
“Hamp” hesitated a moment. A half day’s release seemed wonderfully
inviting.
“Well, to tell the truth,” said he, “about all the comfort I take is in
going to funerals.”
* * * * *
The grim visaged old farmer who sits with bent shoulders guiding his
slow moving pair of farm horses along the dusty road, reflects the
stern realities of making ends meet--and perhaps a little bit more--as
the tiller of a rocky New England farm. But the smartly dressed tourist
may have far less of that mental flexibility which enables one to shift
the processes of thought from that which is burdensome to that which
renews the cheerfulness of youth. As an example of this capacity there
is the incident of the field of oats.
The Story of the Field of Oats
A farmer was standing by the roadside looking disconsolately at his oat
field which he somehow seemed to feel was a personal reproach. A cold
wet season had had a most discouraging influence and there was promise
of but a very small crop.
Along the highway came a well-known elderly citizen who would be sure
to notice the oats and estimate them for just what they were worth.
He stopped his horse and passed the customary salutations and seeming
in no hurry, the conversation covered quite a range of local topics.
The owner of the oat field began to breathe easier. Perhaps this man
had not noticed the oats. He exerted himself to be agreeable to the
traveler. The latter finally straightened his reins. The patient horse
began to look expectant, slowly started up and then the blow fell, but
not on the horse. His driver gave a comprehensive glance across the
field.
“Your oats,” said he, “are short--but thin.”
For the benefit of the uninitiated it might be said that it is
perfectly possible to secure a fairly satisfactory yield of oats even
if in short stalk, provided that there is a thick stand. From the
foregoing it will be evident that the outlook in this case was very
unfavorable.
* * * * *
Monotony is supposed, by those enlightened ones of the earth who reside
in large cities, to be inevitably associated with rural life, but youth
can generally be depended upon to provide a thrill now and then, even
in the back woods.
The Kitchen Dance “Up the Branch”
One evening in late winter, three enterprising young men in search of
diversion, decided to hire a horse and sleigh and attend a dance, which
by some underground source they had heard was scheduled for that date
at a farmhouse some three or four miles away “up the Branch.”
Now, of course, the code of etiquette required these young gallants to
engage a barge, pair of horses and driver and also invite three young
ladies to accompany them. But funds were scarce with them and relying
upon what is now known as “nerve,” they felt sure they could secure
dancing partners among the girls who would be sure to be present.
Driving up to the door of the farmhouse with a flourish, they turned
their horse over to the volunteer hostlers and joined the party. As
they were good dancers and not burdened with bashfulness, they were
not long in making acquaintances among the girls present and were soon
enjoying themselves greatly. To be sure they noticed a marked lack of
cordiality among the other boys, but they did not allow so trifling a
matter as that to disturb them.
All pleasures came to an end and about three o’clock in the morning it
occurred to the three young heroes, that as each of them was expected
to be “on the job” that morning, it would be well to start for home and
get a little sleep. So they called for their horse and making graceful
acknowledgments to the young ladies for the pleasures of the occasion,
they put on their top coats and took their places in the sleigh.
The horse was quite restive and apparently in much haste to start. One
of the trio took the reins and the volunteer hostler, giving the horse
his head, they started at a fast pace homeward.
It was very dark and deep snows of the winter, now mostly melted away,
had left a rather uneven roadbed. There were frequent deep depressions
into which the rapidly moving sleigh would sink with nerve-racking
concussions. One of the passengers protested to the driver.
“What’s the use in driving so fast?” said he. “My teeth are all getting
loose.”
The driver tugged on the reins.
“I don’t understand the nature of the beast,” he said. “Here, get hold
of the reins with me and see if we can’t make him slow down a little.”
They tugged at the reins with all their combined strength, but
apparently it only made the horse go faster. Accordingly they gave
their principal attention to getting through the “cradle holes” with
as little shock as possible. The fast pace of the horse was rapidly
bringing them toward their home town and they soon saw the street
lights. The horse evidently had but one object and that was to get the
job over with and reach the stable and his own comfortable stall.
Moving down a long street at a very fast pace, the horse made a sudden
sharp turn toward his stable. The sleigh, skidding violently across
the wide, icy street, struck the curb and capsized, throwing the three
heroes of the dance out upon the sidewalk together with the sleigh
robes and other equipment.
The horse, with the sleigh still attached, then dashed up the street at
a mad gallop toward the stable.
Gathering themselves up, somewhat shaken and bruised, but not seriously
marred by their experience, the devoted three picked up the robes and
blankets and made their limping way to the stable.
They found the horse and somewhat shattered sleigh being inspected by a
much disgusted looking stable man.
“What’s the matter with you fellows, anyway?” said he. “Don’t you know
enough to harness a horse?”
The light of the lantern solved the mystery of the wild ride home from
the dance. The obliging volunteer hostler had carefully refrained from
putting the bit in the horse’s mouth.
After paying the bill for damages sustained by the sleigh, the young
adventurers decided that the boys “up the Branch” had evened the score.
The New Maple Sugar Tub
Not far from the scenes of the above comedy, there lived on a little
farm, an elderly man of very thrifty habits. He took great pride in the
maple sugar he produced. Deciding to have the family supply all in one
large receptacle, he had a can made by a local tinsmith to contain two
or three hundred pounds of the finest maple sugar. This was filled at
the proper season and stored in an attic at the head of a long flight
of stairs. Several people of the vicinity were invited to inspect that
new sugar tub and its contents.
One day a great misfortune came to the farm. The house caught on fire.
There was very little water available with which to fight it and it
made rapid headway. It was soon evident that there was no hope of
saving the building, so sympathetic neighbors helped to remove such of
the contents of the house as could be carried out before it was too
late. The old man was naturally much broken up and while they were
looking upon the ruins, expressed his regret that he had lost that tub
of sugar. Someone said:
“I thought you were up there in the attic. Why didn’t you roll it down
stairs?”
The old man turned a rueful countenance and said:
“I thought of doing that, but I was afraid it would jam the tub up to
let it bump down those stairs.”
A Yankee Philanthropist
And now by contrast with the simple soul who took such pride in his
new, shiny, sugar tub, there is the story of another type of Yankee
whose business shrewdness had made him a marked man in the community,
even in the days of comparative youth. Cool, calculating and with
unerring judgment, all his various enterprises prospered, and he
was looked upon with wholesome respect as a man who lived up to his
contracts and expected the same of others. This man shipped livestock
to the Boston market and on a certain warm day in midsummer was to
send away a carload of fat hogs collected from the surrounding farm
neighborhood.
It is important that fat hogs intended for shipment be kept cool. Among
those who appeared at the proper time to make delivery, was a man from
a little farm away up on the mountain top. He had a very fat hog which
promised to weigh heavily and produce a handsome financial return.
Somehow he had been careless and allowed the hog to make the journey
in the hot sun without sufficient protection. At the first glance the
experienced buyer saw the hog was overcome with the heat and told the
owner that he could not accept it. The poor farmer was stupefied but an
inspection of the sick porker showed him that the shipper was justified
in his rejection. He was very much cast down and said that he had been
depending upon the proceeds of that hog to meet a pressing obligation.
The shrewd Yankee buyer in his cool imperturbable manner noting his
distress, turned to his assistant:
“Harry,” said he, “make out a check for the amount as per weigh bill,”
which was promptly done.
The check was handed over to the farmer and he was instructed to
take the hog, now in a state of collapse, to a remote corner of the
adjoining meadow, kill and bury it.
And yet, had anyone accused the hog buyer of being a philanthropist, he
would have resented the idea promptly.
* * * * *
Another instance of philanthropy, bearing upon the same important
article of commerce, left a somewhat different impression.
The Butcher Who Was Too Generous
In a certain thriving town a meat dealer had gradually acquired a wide
acquaintance. As he was a genial man with a ready sense of humor, he
was regarded with general favor by outlying farmers as well as by his
local customers.
A man who had a farm back on the hills came to this dealer one day
and contracted to deliver to him on a certain date an unusually fine
specimen of dressed pork, guaranteed to be as near perfection as the
most fastidious customer could require.
The appointed day arrived and likewise the farmer and the hog, which
being placed upon the scales presented an attractive picture, at least
from the standpoint of those who like pork. The dealer seemed well
pleased.
“My wife said it was a shame for me to sell this hog,” said the farmer
as the dealer started to adjust the scales, “she said she wanted that
hog’s head for ‘sowse.’”
“Oh! she did,” said the dealer, “well, I will make her a present of it.”
The butcher immediately proceeded to decapitate the hog and wrapping
the head up in coarse brown paper, handed it over to the delighted
farmer who was overwhelmed at such unexpected generosity. The butcher
then weighing the hog, figured a moment on a slip of paper and turning
to the till counted out the amount coming for the meat at the agreed
upon rate.
When the farmer handed the hog’s head to his much surprised spouse she
inquired:
“How much did the hog weigh?”
“It didn’t seem to weigh up as much as I expected,” said the farmer. “I
thought it would weigh twenty-five or thirty pounds more than it did.”
The woman looked at her husband suspiciously.
“Did the butcher weigh the hog before or after he cut off the head?”
“He weighed it afterwards.”
The comments of the wife when she found out the real significance of
the “present” she had received, may be imagined. The value of the head
would normally be about one third as much by the pound as the entire
carcass.