[Illustration: OLIVER HERFORD]
AMONG THE HUMORISTS AND AFTER-DINNER SPEAKERS
A NEW COLLECTION OF HUMOROUS STORIES AND ANECDOTES
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY WILLIAM PATTEN
Editor of American Short Story Classics,
Foreign Short Story Classics, etc.
VOL. I
P. F. COLLIER & SON
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT 1909 BY P. F. COLLIER & SON
PARTIAL LIST OF THE NAMES OF STORY-TELLERS IN THIS VOLUME
GEORGE ADE SIR WILFRID LAURIER
BRET HARTE OLIVER HERFORD
MARK TWAIN J. M. BARRIE
SEC. OF STATE P. C. KNOX RICHARD MANSFIELD
W. M. EVARTS JOHN SHARP WILLIAMS
DE WOLF HOPPER J. G. BLAINE
KING EDWARD OF ENGLAND PHILLIPS BROOKS
JOSEPH JEFFERSON DANIEL J. SULLY
LORD BEACONSFIELD BILL NYE
ABRAHAM LINCOLN JOHN C. SPOONER
ALVEY A. ADEE ROBERT EDESON
PATRICK A. COLLINS ANDREW LANG
HORACE T. EASTMAN BENJAMIN R. TILLMAN
D. G. ROSSETTI WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE
J. M. MACLAREN CHARLES LAMB
DEAN SWIFT EDWIN BOOTH
CLYDE FITCH WEEDON GROSSMITH
J. MCNEILL WHISTLER SENATOR W. A. CLARK
LEIGH HUNT FRANCIS WILSON
EDWARD EVERETT HALE CHAUNCEY M. DEPEW
DEAN HOLE ALBERT J. BEVERIDGE
IRVING BACHELLER BEERBOHM TREE
THOMAS B. REED HERBERT S. STONE
J. C. S. BLACKBURN FRANK R. STOCKTON
N. C. GOODWIN HENRY JAMES
BRANDER MATTHEWS WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE
ANDREW CARNEGIE BISHOP BREWSTER
SPEAKER CANNON FREDERIC REMINGTON
WALTER DAMROSCH JULIAN RALPH
REV. ROBERT COLLYER SENATOR JOHN T. MORGAN
REV. SAM JONES J. J. INGALLS
DEAN KIRCHWEY ARCHBISHOP RYAN
JOHN WANAMAKER J. A. TAWNEY
HENRY GUY CARLETON THOS. BAILEY ALDRICH
CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS ELIHU ROOT
_PREFACE_
_The collection of these humorous paragraphs has extended over a
number of years. Even a small beginning became a source of such
entertainment that the collection grew and grew, always without any
thought of publication._
_The man who can not laugh has yet to be found. Therein lies that
immediate appeal to a common ground which the sense of humor gives,
and it has been a conspicuous characteristic of those who look to the
public for appreciation and support. Lord Palmerston and Abraham
Lincoln were two notable examples of men for whom sympathy quickened
through their ready wit, and no political speaker drives home his
arguments half so well as he who can introduce a witty illustration.
The joke has ever been a potent factor in combating oppression and
corruption, in ridiculing shams. It has embalmed some reputations, and
has blasted others. It is the champion of the weak against the strong,
and has often illuminated for us, as in a flash, a glimpse of
character or custom that would otherwise have been lost to the world._
_There is only one similar collection of which I am aware, the “Jest
Book” by Mark Lemon, who was for twenty-nine years the editor of
“Punch.” Alas that there should be fashions in jokes as well as in
hats, for much of his book that we know must have been humorous
reading to his contemporaries, leaves us, of the present generation in
America, indifferent._
_I shall be glad if some of my readers are minded to do a graceful act
and send me, in return, some paragraphs to add to my collection._
_I wish to take this opportunity to thank the following publications
for the paragraphs borrowed from their columns:_
_Evening Sun, Lippincott’s, Pittsburg Dispatch, San Francisco
News-Letter, Ladies’ Home Journal, Washington Star, Mail and Express,
Youth’s Companion, Life, Good Housekeeping, Argonaut, Buffalo
Commercial, Tit-Bits, Punch, The Tattler, Harper’s Weekly, Harper’s
Monthly, Democratic Telegram, Cleveland Plaindealer, Harvard Lampoon,
Judge, Philadelphia Ledger, Saturday Evening Post, Philadelphia
Evening Bulletin, Boston Herald, Kansas City Star, Washington Post,
Success, Atchison Globe, New York Times, Woman’s Home Companion,
London Mail, Louisville Courier-Journal, Rochester Post-Express, New
York Tribune, New York Observer, Chicago Daily News, Pittsburg Post,
Pittsburg Observer, Philadelphia Public Ledger, New York World,
Pick-me-up, Harper’s Bazar, The Green Bag, Tacoma Ledger, Pittsburg
Dispatch, The Wasp, Cornell Widow, Washington Post, Kansas City
Independent, Short Stories._
_W. P._
AMONG THE HUMORISTS AND AFTER-DINNER SPEAKERS
There is a delicious flavor about this story of a Virginia lady,
married to a man who, though uniformly unsuccessful in his hunting
trips, boastingly spoke of his “killings.”
One day, returning from a trip, with the usual accompaniment of an
empty bag, it occurred to him that his wife would make fun of him if
he returned without even one proof of his oft-boasted skill. So he
purchased a brace of partridges to deceive his trusting spouse. As he
threw them on the table in front of her, he observed: “Well, my dear,
you see I am not so awkward with the gun after all.”
“Dick,” replied the wife, turning from the birds with a grimace, after
a brief examination, “you were quite right in shooting these birds
to-day; to-morrow it would have been too late.”
* * * * *
Uncle Toby was aghast at finding a strange darky with his arm around
Mandy’s waist.
“Mandy, tell dat niggah to take his ahm ’way from round yo’ waist,” he
indignantly commanded. “Tell him yo’self,” said Mandy haughtily. “He’s
a puffect stranger to me.”
* * * * *
A Cockney tourist was on a visit to a Highland town famous for its
golf-links. Through wearing a pair of stiff leather gaiters several
sizes too large for him, he was compelled to walk bow-legged. Being a
very slow player, others were forced to wait for him at every hole. At
the fourth hole a Highlander after watching the visitor miss the ball
three times was unable to wait any longer, and drove his ball clean
between the tourist’s legs. “What!” he of the gaitered legs yelled
furiously. “Do you call that golf?” “Mebbe no,” replied the Gael, “but
it’s very good croquet.”
* * * * *
After the sermon on Sunday morning the rector welcomed and shook hands
with a young German.
“And are you a regular communicant?” said the rector.
“Yes,” said the German, “I take the 7.45 every morning.”
* * * * *
Meeting a negro, a certain Southern gentleman asked him how he was
getting on.
The negro assumed a troubled look, and replied:
“Oh, so far’s physicality goes, I’m all right; but I sure do have ma
troubles wif ma wife.”
“Well, Sam, I’m sorry to hear that. What seems to be the matter?”
“She thinks money grows on trees, I reckon. All de time she keeps
pesterin’ me foh pinch o’ change. If it ain’t a dollah it’s half or a
quarter she wants.”
“What on earth does she do with the money?”
“I dunno. Ain’t nevah give her none yet.”
* * * * *
A mountaineer of one of the back counties of North Carolina was
arraigned with several others for illicit distilling. “Defendant,”
said the court, “what is your name?”
“Joshua,” was the reply.
“Are you the man who made the sun stand still?”
Quick as a flash came the answer, “No, sir; I am the man who made the
moonshine.”
* * * * *
“They thought more of the Legion of Honor in the time of the first
Napoleon than they do now,” said a well-known Frenchman. “The emperor
one day met an old one-armed veteran.
“‘How did you lose your arm?’ he asked.
“‘Sire, at Austerlitz.’
“‘And were you not decorated?’
“‘No, sire.’
“‘Then here is my own cross for you; I make you chevalier.’
“‘Your Majesty names me chevalier because I have lost one arm! What
would your Majesty have done had I lost both arms?’
“‘Oh, in that case I should have made you Officer of the Legion.’
“Whereupon the old soldier immediately drew his sword and cut off his
other arm.”
There is no particular reason to doubt this story. The only question
is, how did he do it?
* * * * *
A stranger in Boston was interested to discover, when dining with
friends once, that the dessert he would have classed as cream layer
cake at home was known in Boston as “Washington pie.” And the next
time he lunched at a restaurant, he ordered the same thing; but the
waiter put before him a rather heavy looking square of cake covered
with chocolate, instead of the cream cake the guest had made up his
mind to enjoy. A puzzled expression came over his face as he said
reprovingly, “I ordered _Washington_ pie, waiter.”
“That is Washington pie, sir.”
“Well,” expostulated the disappointed man, “I did not mean Booker
T.--I want _George!_“
* * * * *
George Ade, automobiling in Indiana, dined at a country hotel among a
roomful of ministers.
The ministers, who were holding a convention in the town, were much
amused when Mr. Ade’s identity was disclosed to them.
One of them said during dinner:
“How does a humorist of your stamp feel, sir, in such reverend company
as this?”
“I feel,” said Mr. Ade promptly, “like a lion in a den of Daniels.”
* * * * *
It was a crowded tram car. Among those who could not find seats was a
young lady. Close to where she stood an old man was sitting. He
struggled as if to rise. The young woman cast a glance of scorn at one
or two men hiding behind newspapers. “Please don’t get up,” she said
to the old man, “I beg you won’t.” The conductor rang the bell and the
car went on. The old man’s features worked convulsively and he mopped
his face with his handkerchief. At the next stopping place he again
tried to rise and again the young woman tried to stop him. “I would
much rather stand,” she said, continuing to block his way. “I don’t
care whether you would or not,” said the old man, crimson with fury,
“I want to get out. You’ve made me come half a mile too far already.
Here, you, stop the car.” But it was too late, the bell had already
rung and he had to wait until the next stopping place was reached.
* * * * *
“I want some cigars for my husband for Christmas.”
“What kind, madam?”
“Well, I don’t know, exactly; but he is a middle-aged man and always
dresses in black.”
* * * * *
John D. Rockefeller, Jr., tells a story of his father:
“Father tells many stories. Sometimes he tells a new one. Not long ago
he related one to me that concerned a man who had imbibed rather too
freely. The man, in this condition, fell into a watering trough. To
the officer who came to help him out as he wallowed in the water, he
said:
“‘Offzer, I ken save self. You save women an’ shildern.’”
* * * * *
“On Sunday, September 20, the wife of ---- of a daughter. Others
please copy.”
* * * * *
Bret Harte was so frequently complimented as the author of “Little
Breeches” that he was almost as sorry it was ever written as was
Colonel John Hay, who preferred his fame to rest on more ambitious
works. A gushing lady who prided herself upon her literary tastes,
said to him once: “My dear Mr. Harte, I am so delighted to meet you. I
have read everything you ever wrote, but of all your dialect verse
there is none that compares to your ‘Little Breeches.’”
“I quite agree with you, madam,” said Mr. Harte, “but you have put the
little breeches on the wrong man.”
* * * * *
Mr. Knox, the Secretary of State in Taft’s Cabinet, was formerly
engaged in the practise of law in Pittsburg.
One day, says a friend, Mr. Knox was much put out to find on his
arrival at his office that everything was topsy-turvy and that the
temperature of his rooms was much too low for comfort. Summoning his
office-boy, a lad but recently entered his employ, the lawyer asked
who had raised every window in the place on such a cold morning.
“Mr. Muldoon, sir,” was the answer.
“Who is Mr. Muldoon?” asked the attorney.
“The janitor, sir.”
“Who carried off my waste-basket?” was the next question.
“Mr. Reilly, sir.”
“And who is Mr. Reilly?”
“He’s the man that cleans the rooms.”
Mr. Knox looked sternly at the boy and said: “See here, Richard, we
call men by their first names here. We don’t ‘mister’ them in this
office. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” And the boy retired.
In a few minutes he reappeared and in a shrill, piping voice
announced:
“There’s a gentleman that wants to see you, Philander.”
* * * * *
A Scottish parson, still on the under side of forty, was driving home
from an outlying hamlet when he overtook a young woman. He recognized
her as the maid of all work at a farm which he would pass, so he
pulled up and offered her a lift. Mary gladly accepted his offer and
they chatted pleasantly all the way to the farm gate.
“Thank you, sir,” she said as she got down.
“Don’t mention it, Mary. Don’t mention it,” he told her politely.
“No, I won’t,” Mary obligingly assured him.
* * * * *
A little girl was shown her newly-arrived baby brother. Looking at him
lovingly she said, “When will he talk, mother?” “Oh not for a long
time yet,” said the mother. “Yes, but when?” persisted the child.
“Well, not for a year or so.” After thinking for minute the child
exclaimed, “How funny. Miss Clark read out of the Bible this morning
that Job cursed the hour he was born.”
* * * * *
W. A. Sponsler, when in the Pennsylvania State Legislature, was given
to the making of very elaborate and florid speeches, and one day
brought an address to a close with “_Vox populi, vox Dei_.”
“I’ll bet you don’t know the meaning of what Sponsler just said,” said
Al Crawford to Hugh E. Mackin.
“I don’t know!” replied Mackin, indignantly. “Of course, I know!”
“You don’t know for ten dollars!” suggested Crawford.
Mackin, still indignant, posted his part of the wager with another
member of the Legislature, and Crawford said tauntingly:
“Well, now, tell us, what does it mean?”
“_Vox populi, vox Dei_,” quoted Mackin, solemnly, “as everybody knows,
is French for ‘My God! why hast thou forsaken me?’”
“Give him the money,” said Crawford. “Darned if he don’t know after
all!”
* * * * *
There is an old lady living in a small town in southern Pennsylvania
who makes great efforts to keep abreast of the times. Her
opportunities, however, are circumscribed, and she is sometimes
compelled to resort to her imagination. She went to a church sociable
lately, and as she entered the room one of the attendants said:
“Good evening, auntie. I am glad you came. We are going to have
tableaux this evening.”
“Yes, I know,” replied the old lady; “I smelt ’em when I first came
in.”
* * * * *
Fifer was a dog of friendly and social habits, but when he wandered
into the lecture-tent at a well-known New Thought summer school and
went to sleep between the chairs, he did a very foolish thing. A woman
coming in poked him in the ribs with her parasol, startling him from
his peaceful dreams, and he sprang upon her with a savage bite. A man
grabbed him and he grabbed the man. The excitement was intense when an
earnest little woman standing on a chair cried, “Some one hold the
Thought!” “Hang the Thought!” shouted a man in the rear. “Some one
hold the dog!”
* * * * *
The boy was going away to school, full of high hope.
“I shall make the football team and color two pipes the first year!”
he said bravely.
His mother kissed him and wept. His father wrung his hand in silence.
They were too full for speech then.
But when he was gone, and they were calmer, they talked together of
him, and prayed his ambition might not carry him beyond his strength.
* * * * *
The car was entirely empty with the exception of one man, but as I
entered he rose, made me an unsteady but magnificent bow, and said:
“Madam, pleashe be kind ’nough to asshept thish plashe.”
There was nothing else for me to do, so I thanked him and sat down.
And for twenty blocks that idiot hung from a strap, swaying in the
breeze, with not a soul in the car but ourselves. Occasionally I have
been taken for other women; but I never before had any one think that
I was a carful.
* * * * *
Husband (after the theater)--“Well, how do you like the piece?”
Wife--“Very much. There’s only one improbable thing in it. The second
act takes place two years after the first, and they have the same
servant.”
* * * * *
Thomas Hill (the original “Paul Pry”) was endeavoring one evening to
cut up an orange in such a fashion as to represent a pig. After
strewing the table with about a dozen peels, he gave up the futile
experiment, saying, “Hang the pig! I can’t make him at all.”
“Nonsense, Hill,” said Theodore Hook, pointing to the table; “you have
done splendidly. Instead of a pig you have made a litter.”
* * * * *
An elderly churchwarden in shaving himself one Sunday before
church-time made a slight cut with the razor on the extreme end of his
nose. Quickly calling to his wife, he asked her if she had any
court-plaster in the house. “You will find some in my sewing basket,”
she said. The warden soon had the cut covered. At church in assisting
with the collection he noticed everyone smile as he passed the plate,
and some of the younger people laughed outright. Very much annoyed, he
asked a friend if there was anything wrong with his appearance.
“Well, I should think there is,” was the answer. “What is that on your
nose?” “Court-plaster.” “No,” said his friend, “it is the label from a
reel of cotton. It says, ‘Warranted 200 yd. long.’”
* * * * *
A man who stuttered very badly went to a specialist, and after ten
difficult lessons learned to say quite distinctly, “Peter Piper picked
a peck of pickled peppers.” His friends congratulated him upon this
splendid achievement.
“Yes,” said the man, doubtfully, “but it’s s-s-such a d-d-deucedly
d-d-d-difficult rem-mark to w-work into an ordin-n-nary
c-c-convers-s-sa-tion, y’ know.”
* * * * *
Toastmaster (to chairman of public dinner)--“Would you like to propose
your toast now, my lord, or should we let ’em enjoy themselves a bit
longer?”
* * * * *
A visitor to a Sunday-school was asked to address a few remarks to the
children. He took the familiar theme of the children who mocked Elisha
on his journey to Bethel--how the youngsters taunted the poor old
prophet and how they were punished when two she bears came out of the
wood and ate forty-and-two of them. “And now, children,” said he,
wishing to learn if his talk had produced any moral effect, “what does
this story show?” “Please, sir,” came from a little girl well down in
the front, “it shows how many children two she bears can hold.”
* * * * *
A curate who had left his parish on account of the attentions of his
lady parishioners, meeting his successor one day in the street asked
him how he got on in his new position. “Very well indeed,” returned
the other. “But are not the ladies rather pressing in their
attentions?” “Oh, my dear fellow, I manage that all right, I find
safety in Numbers.” “I see,” returned his companion, “well, I found
safety in Exodus.”
* * * * *
“I want some collars for my husband,” said a lady in a department
store, “but I am afraid I have forgotten the size.”
“Thirteen and a half, ma’am?” suggested the clerk.
“That’s it. How on earth did you know?”
“Gentlemen who let their wives buy their collars for ’em are almost
always about that size, ma’am,” explained the observant clerk.
* * * * *
On a recent occasion before leaving Marlborough House new clothes were
ordered for Prince Edward, and according to custom a tailoress was
sent to fit him at a time which would not interfere with his lessons.
The tailoress duly arrived and was ushered to the Prince’s
sitting-room, but on the door being opened she paused as she saw that
a gentleman, whose face was turned toward the fireplace, was sitting
smoking and chatting with the children. Prince Edward, whose manner is
most friendly, at once ran forward and told her to come in, and seeing
that she still hesitated added in a reassuring voice, “You needn’t
mind, it’s only grandpapa.”
* * * * *
A physician engaged a nurse, recently graduated, for a case of
delirium tremens. The physician succeeded in quieting his patient and
left some medicine, instructing the nurse to administer it to him if
he “began to see snakes again.” At the next call the physician found
the patient again raving. To his puzzled inquiry the nurse replied
that the man had been going on that way for several hours, and that
she had not given him any medicine.
“But didn’t I tell you to give it to him if he began to see snakes
again?” asked the physician.
“But he didn’t see snakes this time,” replied the nurse confidently.
“He saw red, white, and blue turkeys with straw hats on.”
* * * * *
Shortly after his entrance into political life Disraeli stood for a
certain Middlesex borough in the Conservative interest. It was a
“personally conducted” canvass, and, among others, the future Prime
Minister solicited the vote and interest of a well-to-do but somewhat
irascible farmer, who was supposed to be rather doubtful in his
political convictions.
“Vote for you!” he shouted when Mr. Disraeli made known the object of
his call. “Why, I’d vote for the devil sooner.”
“Ah, quite so!” said Mr. Disraeli, suavely, “but in event of your
friend not standing, may I hope for your interest?”
* * * * *
An ambitious youth once sent his first MS. to Dumas, asking the
distinguished novelist to become his _collaborateur_. The latter was
astounded at the impertinence. Angrily seizing his pen, he wrote: “How
dare you, sir, yoke together a noble horse and a contemptible ass?”
He received the following reply:
“How dare you sir, call me a horse?”
His anger vanished and he laughingly penned the following:
“Send on your MS., my friend; I gladly accept your proposition.”
* * * * *
An old farmer recently came into possession of a check for $200. He
finally summoned up nerve enough to go to the bank.
“What denomination?” said the teller, hastily, as the check was passed
in through the window.
“Luther’n, gol darn it. But what has that got to do with it?”
* * * * *
A young woman was in company with a university graduate, and naturally
the talk ran upon books. By and by there was a lull in the
conversation, broken presently by the young woman, who said: “What do
you think of Fielding, Mr. Smith?”
“Oh,” was the answer, “fielding is important, of course; but it isn’t
worth much unless you have good pitching and batting.”
* * * * *
General Frederick D. Grant said to his servant one morning: “James, I
have left my mess boots out. I want them soled.”
“Yes, sir,” the servant answered.
The general, dressing for dinner that night, said again:
“I suppose, James, that you did as I told you about those boots?”
James laid thirty-five cents on the bureau.
“Yes, sir,” said he, “and this is all I could get for them, though the
corporal who bought ’em said he’d have given half a dollar if pay day
hadn’t been so far off.”
* * * * *
President Lincoln once wrote to General McClellan, when the latter was
in command of the army. General McClellan, as is well known, conducted
a waiting campaign, being so careful not to make any mistakes that he
made very little headway. President Lincoln sent this brief but
exceedingly pertinent letter:
“_My dear McClellan_: If you don’t want to use the army I should like
to borrow it for a while.
“Yours respectfully,
“A. LINCOLN.”
* * * * *
It was at a children’s party in West Kensington. The youngsters had
just done more than justice to the luxurious spread provided by their
hostess, and games were now the order of the evening.
“Now, children,” said she, “we will play the zoo, and each of you must
represent a different animal.”
Then, going to a little girl, she asked:
“Now, Carrie, what are you going to be?”
“I’ll be an elephant.”
“And you, Reggie, what are you going to be?”
“I’m going to be a lion.”
“And what are you going to be, Hilda?”
“I’m going to be a tiger.”
Then, crossing to the other side of the room, the hostess, noticing a
youngster sitting all alone, asked:
“And what are you going to be, Tommy?”
“P-please,” was the halting reply, “p-please--I’m going--to be sick.”
* * * * *
A man who had been convicted of stealing was brought before a certain
“down East” judge, well known for his tender-heartedness, to be
sentenced.
“Have you ever been sentenced to imprisonment?” asked the judge, not
unkindly.
“Never!” exclaimed the prisoner, suddenly bursting into tears.
“Well, well, don’t cry, my man,” said his honor consolingly; “you’re
going to be now.”
* * * * *
The inventor of a new feeding bottle for infants sent out the
following among his directions for using:
“When the baby is done drinking it must be unscrewed and laid in a
cool place under the hydrant. If the baby does not thrive on fresh
milk, it should be boiled.”
* * * * *
A well-known New York clergyman was telling his Bible class the story
of the Prodigal Son at a recent session, and wishing to emphasize the
disagreeable attitude of the elder brother on that occasion, he laid
especial stress on this phase of the parable. After describing the
rejoicing of the household over the return of the wayward son, he
spoke of one who, in the midst of the festivities, failed to share in
the jubilant spirit of the occasion.
“Can anybody in the class,” he asked, “tell me who this was?”
A small boy, who had been listening sympathetically to the story, put
up his hand.
“I know,” he said, beamingly; “it was the fatted calf.”
* * * * *
“I understand,” said the old-time friend, “that you are gettin’ right
exclusive.”
“Well,” answered Mr. Cumrox, “that’s what mother an’ the girls call
it.”
“What do you call it?”
“Plain ‘lonesome’.”
* * * * *
“Tommy,” said the hostess, “you appear to be in deep thought.”
“Yes’m,” replied Tommy; “ma told me somethin’ to say if you should ask
me to have some cake or anything, an’ I bin here so long now I forgit
what it was.”
* * * * *
A Boston minister once noticed a crowd of urchins clustered around a
dog of doubtful pedigree.
“What are you doing, my little men?” he asked with fatherly interest.
“Swappin’ lies,” volunteered one of the boys. “The feller that tells
the biggest one gets the purp.”
“Shocking!” exclaimed the minister. “Why, when I was your age I never
even _thought_ of telling an untruth.”
“Youse win,” chorused the urchins. “The dog’s yours, mister.”
* * * * *
A Brooklyn Sunday-school teacher once had occasion to catechise a new
pupil whose ignorance of his Testament would have been amusing had it
not been so appalling. One Sunday she asked the little fellow how many
commandments there were.
To her surprise, the lad answered, glibly enough: “Ten, ma’am.”
“And now, Sammy,” pleasantly asked the teacher, “what would the result
be if you should break one of them?”
“Then there’d be nine!” triumphantly answered the youngster.
* * * * *
William J. Carr, of the State Department, had occasion to call at the
house of a neighbor late at night. He rang the door-bell. After a long
wait a head was poked out of a second-floor window.
“Who’s there?” asked a voice.
“Mr. Carr,” was the reply.
“Well,” said the voice as the window banged shut, “what do I care if
you missed a car? Why don’t you walk, and not wake up people to tell
them about it?”
* * * * *
A clever veterinary has a system all his own. When he received an
overfed toy dog he would consign him to a disused brick oven, with a
crust of bread, an onion and an old boot. When the dog began to gnaw
the bread, the anxious mistress was informed that her darling was
“doing nicely.” When it commenced operation on the onion, word was
sent that the pet was “decidedly better”; but when the animal tackled
the boot, my lady was gratified to hear that her precious pet was
“ready to be removed.”
* * * * *
A lady while going downstairs to dinner had the misfortune to step
slightly on the dress of a lady in front of her. The man on whose arm
the former was leaning rudely said aloud so that the couple in front
might hear, “Always getting in the way like Balaam’s ass!” Upon which
the lady whose gown had been trodden on, turning round, replied with a
sweet smile, “Pardon me, it was the angel who stood in the way and the
ass which spoke.”
* * * * *
A number of years ago, when the former Second Assistant Secretary of
State, Alvey A. Adee, was Third Assistant, an employee of the State
Department was called to the ’phone.
“Will you kindly give me the name of the Third Assistant Secretary of
State?” asked the voice at the other end of the wire.
“Adee.”
“A. D. what?”
“A. A. Adee.”
“Spell it, please.”
“A.”
“Yes.”
“A.”
“Yes.”
“A----”
“You go to the d----!” and the receiver was indignantly hung up.
* * * * *
Smith and Jones, talking about the Kaiser:
Jones--“They tell me that unfortunately he is very bellicose.”
Smith--“Dear me! You surprise me! I always understood he was rather
tall and slim.”
* * * * *
“I will be your valentine,” said the young man.
A shadow passed across the fair face of the girl. “I was so in hopes
that I would not get any comics this year,” she said.
* * * * *
One of the favorite stories of Mayor Collins of Boston was about a man
who, accompanied by his little boy, had occasion to cross a lot where
a good-sized goat was feeding.
The father was a Christian Scientist and always carried a copy of Mrs.
Eddy’s works in his pocket. As they approached the goat the boy showed
fear, whereat his father told him to think it not possible for the
animal to harm them, but the boy, remembering a previous encounter
with a goat, in which he came out second best, did not grow any
braver.
“Papa, you’re a Christian Scientist, all right,” he said, “and so am
I; but the goat doesn’t know it.”
* * * * *
Horace T. Eastman, the inventor of the locomotive pilot, said the
other day:
“This morning I was sitting in a drug store waiting to get a
prescription filled when a young Irishman entered.
“The Irishman pointed to a stack of green Castile soap and said:
“‘Oi want a lump o’ thot.’
“‘Very well, sir,’ said the clerk. ‘Will you have it scented or
unscented?’
“‘Oi’ll take ut with me,’ said the Irishman.”
* * * * *
Robert Smith, brother of Sydney Smith, and an ex-Advocate-General, on
one occasion engaged in an argument with a physician over the relative
merits of their respective professions.
“I don’t say that all lawyers are crooks,” said the doctor, “but
you’ll have to admit that your profession doesn’t make angels of men.”
“No,” retorted Smith; “you doctors certainly have the best of us
there.”
* * * * *
Small chap--“Say, papa, what is the race problem?”
Papa--“Picking winners.”
* * * * *
The temperance society was to meet that afternoon. Mrs. Philpots
dressed in a hurry and came panting downstairs. She was a short, plump
woman.
“Addie, run up to my room and get my blue ribbon rosette, the
temperance badge,” she directed her maid. “I have forgotten it. You
will know it, Addie--blue ribbon and gold lettering.”
“Yas’m, I knows it right well.” Addie could not read, but she knew a
blue ribbon with gold lettering when she saw it, and therefore had no
trouble in finding it and fastening it properly on the dress of her
mistress.
Mrs. Philpots was too busy greeting her friends or giving close
attention to the speakers at the meeting to note that they smiled when
they shook hands with her.
When she reached home, supper was served, so she went directly to the
dining-room, where the other members of the family were seated.
“Gracious me, mother!” exclaimed her son. “That blue ribbon--have you
been wearing that at the temperance meeting?”
A loud laugh went up on all sides.
“Why, what is it, Harry?” asked the good woman, clutching at the
ribbon in surprise.
“Why, mother, dear, didn’t you know that was the ribbon I wore at the
show?”
The gold lettering on the ribbon read:
Atlanta Poultry Show.
First Prize. Bantam.
* * * * *
At a dinner party recently given the subject of regular hours and
plain diet was discussed. Several had spoken when one of the guests
remarked, “You may not believe it, but for ten years I rose on the
stroke of six, half an hour later was at breakfast, at seven was at
work, dined at one, had supper at six, and was in bed at 9.30. In all
that time I ate the plainest food and did not have a day’s sickness.”
The silence that followed was awful, but finally another guest asked,
“Will you permit a question?” “Certainly,” was the reply; “what do you
wish to know?” “Well, just out of curiosity,” said the other, “I would
like to know what you were in prison for?”
* * * * *
Watch--“Eight bells, and all’s well!”
Mrs. Pohunk (feebly)--“I guess, Josiah, he hasn’t looked on this side
of the boat lately or he’d know better.”
* * * * *
When the minister, who was a bachelor, had been helped to Mrs.
Porter’s biscuits for the third time, he looked across the table at
Rhoda, staring at him with round, wondering eyes.
“I don’t often have such a good supper as this, my dear,” he said, in
his most propitiatory tone, and Rhoda’s face dimpled.
“We don’t, always,” she said, in her clear little voice. “I’m awful
glad you came.”
* * * * *
The late Charles Matthews now and then failed, like some of the rest
of us, in meeting his bills as promptly as the tradespeople concerned
could desire.
On one occasion a brisk young tailor, named Berry, lately succeeded to
his father’s business, sent in his account somewhat ahead of time.
Whereupon Matthews, with virtuous rage, seized his pen and wrote him
the following note:
“You must be a goose--Berry, to send me your bill--Berry, before it is
due--Berry.
“Your father, the elder--Berry, would have had more sense.
“You may look very black--Berry, and feel very blue--Berry, but I
don’t care a straw--Berry, for you and your bill--Berry.”
* * * * *
A clergyman in a Lawrence church on a recent occasion discovered,
after beginning the service, that he had forgotten his notes. As it
was too late to send for them, he said to his audience, by way of
apology, that this morning he should have to depend upon the Lord for
what he might say, but in the afternoon he would come better prepared.
* * * * *
An American visiting London for the first time, goaded to desperation
by the incessant necessity for tips, finally entered the wash-room of
his hotel, only to be faced with a large sign which read: “Please tip
the basin after using.” “I’m hanged if I will!” said the Yankee,
turning on his heel, “I’ll go dirty first!”
* * * * *
Mother could not attend church one Sunday. “But what a shame that
little Mabel should have to lose the day’s lesson, and she _such_ a
bright child,” she sadly reflected. Accordingly, Mabel was sent alone.
When she returned, in reply to her mother’s interrogation as to the
subject of the text, she replied, “Oh, yes, mother, I know; it was
_‘Don’t get scared: You’ll get the quilt.’_“ Questioning failed to
throw any light on the matter. Some days later the mother met the
pastor, who, in answer to her request for the subject of his last
sermon, replied, “It was, madam, ‘Fear not: Ye shall have the
Comforter.’”
* * * * *
Mark Twain in his lecturing days, reached a small Eastern town one
afternoon and went before dinner to a barber’s to be shaved.
“You are a stranger in town, sir?” the barber asked.
“Yes, I am a stranger here,” was the reply.
“We’re having a good lecture here to-night, sir,” said the barber, “a
‘Mark Twain’ lecture. Are you going to it?”
“Yes, I think I will,” said Mr. Clemens.
“Have you got your ticket yet?” the barber asked.
“No, not yet,” said the other.
“Then, sir, you’ll have to stand.”
“Dear me!” Mr. Clemens exclaimed. “It seems as if I always do have to
stand when I hear that man Twain lecture.”
* * * * *
During the visit of the Shah Nasr-ed-Din to England he dined one night
with the then Prince of Wales, now King Edward. Among the courses was
one of asparagus, a delicacy unknown to the Shah. He considered it for
a time, discovered that the head alone was nice to eat, ate it
accordingly and flung the rest of the stalk over his shoulder. The
other diners were somewhat flabbergasted, but the tactful Prince, not
wishing his Persian guest to feel that he had done anything
ridiculous, promptly followed his example, throwing his own stalks
over his shoulder. Naturally all the courtiers imitated him in turn,
and the amazement of the royal servants was extreme to see the air
suddenly full of flying asparagus stalks from one end of the lengthy
room to the other.
* * * * *
On one of his frequent trips to the other side, the weather being more
than ordinarily rough, and the passengers on deck but few, the late
Bishop Potter saw a lady reclining on one of the benches, and the
unearthly pallor on her face and the hapless languidity of her manner
indicated that she had reached that state of collapse which marks the
limit of sea-sickness. “Touched by this piteous spectacle and
approaching the poor creature, in my most compassionate tone I asked,
‘Madam, can I be of any service to you?’
“She did not open her eyes, but I heard her murmur faintly: ‘Thank
you, sir, but there is nothing you can do--nothing at all.’ ‘At least,
madam,’ said I tenderly, ‘permit me to bring you a glass of water.’
She moved her head feebly and answered: ‘No, I thank you--nothing at
all.’ ‘But your husband, madam,’ said I, ‘the gentleman lying there
with his head in your lap--shall I not bring something to revive him?’
The lady again moved her head feebly, and again she murmured faintly
between gasps: ‘Thank you, sir, but--he--is--not--my--husband.
I--don’t--know--who he is!’”
* * * * *
“Well, Bobby, how do you like church?” asked his father, as they
walked homeward from the sanctuary, to which Bobby had just paid his
first visit.
“It’s fine,” ejaculated the young man. “How much did you get, father?”
“How much did I get? Why, what do you mean? How much what?” asked the
parent, astonished at this evident irreverence.
“Why, don’t you remember when the funny old man passed the money
around? I only got ten cents.”
* * * * *
One day a fussy fellow met Father Healy of Dublin by the seashore and
thus accosted him: “Father Healy, I am undergoing a cure, and I take a
tumbler of sea water three times a day. Now, I’ve had my full
allowance to-day, but do you think I might have one, just one, tumbler
more?”
Father Healy put his head on one side and looked at the ocean, lost in
thought. “Well,” he said, at last, with a gravely judicial air, “I
don’t think it would be missed.”
* * * * *
Wm. M. Evarts asked by a lady if he did not think that woman was the
best judge of woman, he replied: “Not only the best judge, madam, but
the best executioner.”
* * * * *
De Wolf Hopper was calling down a speaking-tube to the janitor of his
apartment in New York. Mr. Hopper, unable to get the information he
desired, finally blurted out, “Say, is there a blithering idiot at
the end of this tube?” The reply came back with startling rapidity,
“Not at this end, sir.”
* * * * *
Mrs. S.--“Surely, John, you haven’t brought anyone home to dinner?”
Mr. S.--“Sure I have. Haven’t you got anything for them?”
“Why no, you told me you’d bring home a couple of lobsters for
dinner.”
“So I have, they’re in the parlor.”
* * * * *
One of his grandma’s maids of honor tells the following story of
Prince Eddie when he was a few years younger:
Just after King Edward’s coronation, when he underwent an operation
for appendicitis and was lying convalescent, he sent for his
grandchildren.
The little ones trooped into the room, cautioned by their nurse that
they must keep very quiet, and stood about their grandfather’s bed. He
talked with them for a few minutes and they replied in awed whispers.
Then when the nurse told them they must go, Prince Eddie said:
“But, grandpa, can’t we see the baby?”
* * * * *
Rossetti’s fondness for humorous stories and his interest in a
particular soldier of fortune, or rather of misfortune, are shown in
Hall Caine’s autobiography. Beginning life as the secretary of Ruskin,
the man ultimately lived on his cleverness and audacity and made
Rossetti in particular his conscious and delighted victim. Feeble as
Rossetti was, the visits of this man did him good, and he laughed all
the evening and told droll stories himself. One of the latter was of a
man near to death to whom the clergyman came and said: “Dear friend,
do you know who died to save you?” “Oh, meenister, meenister,” said
the dying man, “is this a time for conundrums?”
* * * * *
It is interesting to recall, apropos of the recent Milton celebration,
an anecdote of Milton that was told in an old family letter written in
1762, recently quoted in the columns of the London “Spectator”:
“Possibly you may not have heard this anecdote concerning him. John
Vallack--who, I believe, died after you came to Tavistock--told me it,
and he lived in London in 1696. Milton, as you know, was blind.
Charles the Second had the curiosity to see him, and said: ‘God hath
punished you for your malice, etc., to my father by taking away your
eyesight.’
“‘Aye,’ says Milton, ‘but before I lost my eyes he lost his head.’”
* * * * *
In writing a sketch of Washington a pupil ended her essay by saying:
“Washington married a famous belle, Martha Custis, and in due time
became the father of his country.”
* * * * *
A certain regiment was on the march from Philadelphia to Gettysburg
and the companies were ordered to move with a few minutes’ interval
between them and to keep each other in sight, the band and drums
leading.
The band soon got a long way ahead, and on reaching a bend, halted for
a few minutes’ rest. Presently up galloped a mounted officer in hot
haste and shouted for the band sergeant.
“What do you mean,” he said, “by getting out of sight of the leading
company?”
“We were not out of sight, sir,” answered the sergeant.
“What do you mean by telling me that!” exclaimed the officer in a
rage. “You were out of sight, I saw you myself.”
* * * * *
Several ladies sat after a card party at the University Club a few
mornings ago, discussing the virtues of their husbands. “Mr.
Bingleton,” said one of them, referring to her life partner, “never
drinks and never swears--indeed, he has no bad habits.” “Does he ever
smoke?” some one asked. “Yes; he likes a cigar just after he has eaten
a good meal. But, I suppose, on an average, he doesn’t smoke more than
once a month.”
* * * * *
Ian Maclaren was talking to a group of literary beginners in New York.
“Begin your stories well,” he said emphatically. “There’s nothing like
a good beginning. Indeed, it’s half the battle.” Then with a smile
this excellent beginner of stories added: “Always bear in mind the
case of the young man who, desiring to marry, secured a favorable
hearing from his sweetheart’s irascible father by opening the
interview with the words: ‘I know a way, sir, whereby you can save
money.’”
* * * * *
Benevolent gentleman--“My little boy, have you no better way to spend
this beautiful afternoon than by standing in front of the gate, idling
away your time?”
Boy--“I ain’t idling away my time. There’s a chump inside with my
sister, who is paying me ten cents an hour to watch for pa.”
* * * * *
That famous Scotch physician, Dr. George Fordyce, was unfortunately
somewhat given to drink, and though he never was known to be dead
drunk, yet he was often in a state which rendered him unfit for
professional duties. One night when he was in such a condition, he was
suddenly sent for to attend a lady of title who was very ill. He went,
sat down, listened to her story, and felt her pulse. He found he was
not up to his work. He lost his wits and in a moment of forgetfulness
exclaimed, “Drunk, by Jove!” Still he managed to write out a mild
prescription. Early next morning he received a message from the noble
patient to call on her at once. Dr. Fordyce felt very uncomfortable.
The lady evidently intended to upbraid him either for giving an
improper prescription or for his disgraceful condition, but to his
surprise and relief she thanked him for his prompt compliance with her
pressing summons, and then confessed that he had rightly diagnosed her
case. That unfortunately she occasionally indulged too freely in
drink, but that she hoped he would preserve inviolable secrecy as to
the condition in which he had found her. Fordyce listened to her as
grave as a judge, then said:
“Madam, you may depend on me. I shall be as silent as the grave.”
* * * * *
A friend of Dean Swift one day sent him a turbot as a present by a
servant lad who had frequently been on similar errands but had never
received anything from the dean for his trouble. Having gained
admission he opened the study door, and putting down the fish on the
floor cried out rudely, “Master has sent you a turbot.” “Young man,”
said the dean rising from the chair, “is that the way you deliver a
message? Let me teach you better manners. Sit down in my chair; we
will change places, and I will show you how to behave in future.” The
boy sat down, and the dean going out came up to the door, and making a
low bow said, “Sir, master presents his kind compliments, hopes you
are well, and requests your acceptance of a small present.” “Does he?”
replied the boy. “Return him my best thanks, and there’s half-a-crown
for yourself.” The dean thus caught in his own trap laughed heartily
and gave the boy a crown for his ready wit.
* * * * *
A spunky little mule was trying to throw his darky rider and in
kicking about caught his hoof in a stirrup, upon which the darky cried
out in frightened tones, “Say, if you’se gwine to git on, I’se gwine
to git off.”
* * * * *
“I ought not to be surprised by anything at my time of life,” said a
well-known minister, “but one of my flock did manage to take my breath
away. I was preaching about the Father’s tender wisdom in caring for
us all,” he said. “I illustrated by saying that the Father knows which
of us grows best in sunlight and which of us must have shade. ‘You
know you plant roses in the sunshine,’ I said, ‘and heliotrope and
geraniums; but if you want your fuchsias to grow they must be kept in
a shady nook.’ After the sermon, which I hoped would be a comforting
one, a woman came up to me, her face glowing with pleasure that was
evidently deep and true. ‘O, Dr. ----, I am so grateful for that
sermon,’ she said, clasping my hand and shaking it warmly. My heart
glowed for a moment, while I wondered what tender place in her heart
and life I had touched. Only for a moment, though. ‘Yes,’ she went on,
fervently, ‘I never knew before what was the matter with my
fuchsias.’”
* * * * *
There are some singular discounts allowed in the book trade. They were
happily illustrated on one occasion by Mark Twain. One day while the
humorist was connected with a publishing house he went into a book
store and picking up a volume asked the price. He then suggested that
as a publisher he was entitled to 50 per cent discount. To this the
clerk assented.
“As I am also an author,” said Mark, “it would appear that I am again
entitled to 50 per cent discount.”
Again the clerk bowed.
“And as a personal friend of the proprietor,” he modestly continued,
“I presume that you will allow me the usual 25 per cent. discount.”
Another bow from the salesman.
“Well,” drawled the unblushing humorist, “under these conditions I
think I may as well take the book. What’s the tax?”
The clerk took out his pencil and figured industriously. Then he said
with the greatest obsequiousness:
“As near as I can calculate we owe you the book and about 37-1/2
cents.”
* * * * *
Clyde Fitch tells a new story of Whistler. The artist was in Paris at
the time of the coronation of King Edward, and at a reception one
evening a duchess said to him: “I believe you know King Edward, Mr.
Whistler.”
“No, madame,” replied Whistler.
“Why, that’s odd,” she murmured; “I met the King at a dinner-party
last year, and he said that he knew you.”
“Oh,” said the painter, “that was just his brag.”
* * * * *
A London friend who was a member of the same club as Mr. Whistler
writes me this, which I have not seen before in print. It seems that
the gentle artist in making enemies had not paid his dues and was
dunned for them in vain. He either took no notice of requests for a
settlement, or replied to them with his usual airy mockery. Finally
the secretary wrote to him:
_“Dear Mr. Whistler_--It is not a Nocturne in Purple, or a Symphony in
Blue and Gray, that we are after, but An Arrangement in Gold and
Silver.”
This drew forth the required pounds and shillings.
* * * * *
Here is another story typical of the great maker of enemies:
Whistler had a French poodle of which he was extravagantly fond. The
poodle was seized with an affection of the throat, and Whistler had
the audacity to send for the great throat specialist Mackenzie.
Sir Morell, when he saw that he had been called in to treat a dog,
didn’t like it much, it was plain. But he said nothing. He prescribed,
pocketed a big fee, and drove away.
The next day he sent post-haste for Whistler; and Whistler, thinking
he was summoned on some matter connected with his beloved dog, dropped
his work and rushed like the wind to Mackenzie’s.
On his arrival Sir Morell said gravely:
“How do you do, Mr. Whistler? I wanted to see you about having my
front door painted.”
* * * * *
A story is told of a very popular cavalry officer. He was being tried
for drunkenness, and among other witnesses was his Irish orderly. The
court, anxious to give the officer every chance, put several questions
to this witness with a view of eliciting any facts that might be in
his master’s favor. When the orderly said that his master, on going to
bed, had expressed a wish to be called early, the members of the
court-martial were distinctly pleased.