“It was an innocent-faced maid” (1906)
It was an innocent-faced maid who stood at the postoffice window
Saturday and asked in the tone of one seeking a bargain,
“Have ye any postage stamps?”
“Certainly,” replied the obliging clerk. “How many?”
“Let me see them, please,” was the answer, and the stamps were produced
for inspection. “I don’t quite like the color of these,” she said.
“Don’t you have any two-cent stamps of a lighter shade?”
“Only one kind of two-cent stamps are made, Miss.”
“Then I think I shall take one-cent ones. I like green better than such a
bloody red. I am a Quaker, and it is too suggestive of war.
Can you sell me six for five cents?”
“No, indeed, Miss, the price of stamps is fixed regularly.”
“Then I shall try elsewhere. Please don’t be offended. I will come back
here if I can’t get them cheaper anywhere else.”
And still with the bargain-hunting air, the innocent-faced maid took
her departure.
“A man entered a downtown street car” (1906)
A man entered a downtown street car one day last week. The car was full,
and he was obliged to hang onto the strap and ride in the midst of a
crowd of good-looking girls, most of whom were either “would-bes” or
“has-beens.” The conversation soon started in his direction, and in secret
tone, just loud enough for him to hear, they discussed the new arrival.
“Hasn’t he the most lovely hair?” one of them exclaimed in a whisper that
was halfway between awestruck and tender.
“It couldn’t be Nicholas Longworth, surely. No, I know it isn’t, for
Longworth is baldheaded. He must be some great actor—or—politician,”
said another.
“Oh, he is just my ideal,” put in a third. “For twen—no, I mean three
long years I have sought just such a one, for such a one alone could I
love and trust.” Young and innocent Jennie was evidently studying for
the stage, and she continued: “He must be some great musician.
What if he were Pa—”
But just here the car stopped, and as the patient-looking passenger
prepared to get off, a frowzly head popped out the door of a tumbledown
dwelling close by the track. The head was quickly followed by a red
Mother Hubbard, and a shrill voice called in far from pleasant tones:
“Git off o’ that car, and come on here an’ git a few o’ these kids still.
You’ve loafed roun’ in them good clothes an’ flirted with girls on
street cars enough for one day.”
And as the sad-faced passenger wearily left the car, a sigh escaped all
the girls at once. Alas! the course of true love never did run smooth.