Yes, said the bright clerk in the publication room of the “Daily Squib.”
Now, continued the widow, I want you to add to the notice, “Gone to
Rest,” in an appropriate place.
Yes, madam, replied the bright clerk, and the next morning she read: Gone
to rest in an appropriate place.
* * * * *
Miss Frances Kellar, of the Woman’s Municipal League of New York,
illustrated admirably at a dinner party a point which she wished to make.
Women, a man has said, are vainer than men.
Of course, Miss Kellar answered, I admit that women are vain and men are
not. There are a thousand proofs that this is so. Why, the necktie of the
handsomest man in the room is even now up the back of his collar.
There were six men present, and each of them put his hand gently behind
his neck.
* * * * *
We recently heard of a man who attended a grand ball with his wife and
had a grand time. While dancing a quadrille he noticed that his pants
were ripping, and hurriedly retired to a room with his wife, who procured
a needle and thread and began sewing up the rip. While the man was
sitting there without any pants on he heard the rustling of skirts and it
occurred to him that he had taken refuge in the ladies’ dressing-room. He
appealed to his wife, and she shoved him to a door which opened, as she
thought, into a closet. Opening the door quickly, she shoved him through
and locked the door. Mary! he screamed, I’m in the ballroom! The door,
instead of opening into the closet, opened into the ballroom.
* * * * *
The Morning Star announced the death of William B. Jones when he was not
dead, writes Simeon Strunsky in the New York Evening Post.
The next day it printed the following notice:
Yesterday we were the first newspaper to publish the news of the death of
William B. Jones. Today we are the first to deny the report. The Morning
Star is always in the lead.
* * * * *
A matron of the most determined character was encountered by a young
woman reporter on a country paper, who was sent out to interview
leading citizens as to their politics. May I see Mr. ⸺? she asked of a
stern-looking woman who opened the door at one house. No, you can’t,
answered the matron decisively. But I want to know what party he belongs
to, pleaded the girl. The woman drew up her tall figure. Well, take a
good look at me, she said, I’m the party he belongs to!
* * * * *
Here is a singular incident showing how easy it is to mistranslate an
overheard remark.
Said Mrs. A, one of the overhearers: They must have been to the zoo,
because I heard her mention a trained deer.
Said Mrs. B: No, no. They were talking about going away and she said to
him, find out about the train, dear.
Said Mrs. C: I think you are both wrong. It seemed to me they were
discussing music, for she said, A trained ear, very distinctly.
A few minutes later the lady herself appeared and they told her of their
disagreement.
Well, she laughed, that’s certainly funny. You are poor guessers, all of
you. The fact is, I’d been out to the country overnight and I was asking
my husband if it rained here last evening.
* * * * *
She was a pretty little widow, whose husband, after nine years of married
life, had left her with four strapping boys and a generous provision of
the world’s goods. Her financial affairs were in the hands of a trust
company, the cashier of which, having an ambition to be thought something
of a wit, often joked her when she called at the office. One day, in
opening her hand bag for a check, she thoughtlessly dropped a pin of the
variety known as safety.
The cashier, noticing this, jocosely asked:
Is that your fraternity pin?
To which the little widow replied:
No, it’s my maternity pin.
* * * * *
Can you tell me, said the cool-looking young lady in white,
confidentially approaching the young man at the soda fountain, the most
agreeable way to take castor oil?
Oh, yes, indeed, replied the man, his eyes brightening. And while you are
waiting, he added, won’t you have a glass of soda?
Oh, thank you, said the young lady, as he set it down before her. The day
being hot, in a few moments she had drained the glass.
Is the prescription ready? she asked, sweetly, wiping her mouth.
The young man’s eyes gleamed with benevolence. The prescription, he said,
tapping the glass, was in here.
Do you mean to say I’ve drunk it? she screamed. But it wasn’t for me; it
was for my little brother! And she swept from the drug store.
It’s too bad, sighed the young man, and she was one of our best customers!
But she isn’t any more. Daily the soda fountain young man watches her
enter the drug store across the way, where they look before they leap.
* * * * *
An employer, noted for his energy and lack of tolerance for loafing in
any form, visited his stock room and found a boy leaning idly against
a packing case, whistling cheerily, and with nothing at all on his
mind. The chief stopped and stared. Such a thing was unheard of in his
establishment.
How much are you getting a week? he demanded, with characteristic
abruptness.
Twelve dollars.
Here’s your twelve. Now get out. You’re through.
As the boy philosophically pocketed the money and departed, the boss
turned to the chief clerk and demanded:
Since when has that fellow been with us?
Never that I know of, was the response. He just brought over a proof for
us from the printer.
* * * * *
Henry was at college. He had been spending somewhat too freely, and he
was short. It was near the holidays and he hated to write home for money.
As a last resort he pawned his dress suit to tide him over.
When the time came to leave for home the suit was still unredeemed. He
knew he would need it at home. He hurriedly redeemed it at the last
moment, packed it in the grip and was off.
His mother was helping him unpack. She came to the coat.
Henry, she asked, what is this ticket on your coat for?
Why, mother, he replied, I went to a dance the other evening and had my
coat checked.
She continued putting away his garments. Finally she lifted out the
trousers. They, too, were ticketed.
Henry! she exclaimed, what kind of a dance was that?
* * * * *
Philip—My man, I think you are one of the most self-controlled men I have
ever seen.
Morris—Howcum?
Philip—You seem to have an awful lot of trouble with your flivver. You
get angry with it, and yet you never swear at it.
Morris—Well, you see it’s this way. I don’t think the flivver is worth a
damn.
* * * * *
It was in one of the “ten, twent, thirt” vaudeville houses where moving
pictures are shown. An Oriental act has been concluded and incense filled
the house.
Usher, complained a pompous man in an aisle seat, I smell punk.
That’s all right, whispered the usher, confidently, just sit where you
are, and I won’t put anyone near you.
* * * * *
Some time ago there lived a gentleman of indolent habits who spent his
time visiting among his friends. After wearing out his welcome in his own
neighborhood he thought he would visit an old Quaker friend some twenty
miles distant.
On his arrival he was cordially received by the Quaker, who, thinking the
visitor had taken much pains to come so far to see him, treated him with
a great deal of attention and politeness for several days.
As the visitor showed no signs of leaving, the Quaker became uneasy, but
bore it with patience until the eighth day, when he said to him—
My friend, I am afraid thee will never come again.
Oh yes, I shall, said the visitor. I have enjoyed my visit very much, and
shall certainly come again.
But, said the Quaker, if thee will never leave, how can thee come again?
* * * * *
Prof. Starr, the famous ethnologist, was in his humorous and whimsical
way accusing women of barbarism.
And she is not only barbarous—she is illogical and inconsistent, he
exclaimed.
I was walking in the country one day with a young woman. In a grove we
came upon a boy about to shin up a tree. There was a nest in the tree,
and from a certain angle it was possible to see in it three eggs.
You wicked little boy, said my companion, are you going up there to rob
that nest?