The Popular Series of Choice Novels.
WITTY PIECES BY
WITTY PEOPLE
A BOOK OF FUNNY STORIES.
AT PLAY.
[Illustration: "Wondah ef dat bi-spi's got dun countin' yet?"]
[Illustration: "Hey, you Willie Johnson! ef you don't quit taggin' so
hard, I ain't gwine play wid you no mo'." --_Light._]
ROYAL PUBLISHING CO.,
528 Locust Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
WITTY PIECES BY WITTY PEOPLE.
A COLLECTION
OF THE
FUNNIEST SAYINGS, BEST JOKES, LAUGHABLE
ANECDOTES, MIRTHFUL
STORIES, ETC., EXTANT.
_ILLUSTRATED WITH MANY STRIKING AND AMUSING
CUTS._
Copyrighted, 1894, by CRAWFORD & CO.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.:
ROYAL PUBLISHING CO.
MR. AND MRS. BOWSER.
The Former Decides to Give a Progressive Euchre Party.
Mr. Bowser suddenly looked up from his paper the other evening and
asked:
"Why is it that we haven't given a progressive euchre party this
season?"
"They have been voted too much trouble," I replied.
"They have, eh? Did any one vote besides you? I saw half a dozen
mentioned in the papers last Sunday."
"It's almost impossible to get thirty or forty people together on a
certain evening, even if all desire to come. Mrs. Johnson calculated on
eight tables and only had enough for five. Mrs. Dart calculated on----"
"Oh, bosh! What does a woman's calculation amount to?"
"But if people can't come and don't come, what are you going to do?"
"They can come, and they will come. It's all in the management."
"Well, I wish you'd try it."
"Do you? Very well, Mrs. Bowser; I shall give a progressive euchre party
next week, Wednesday evening. If you'll see to the refreshments I'll see
to the people."
"I'll be glad to, of course, but----"
"But what?"
"You must prepare yourself for disappointments."
"Oh, I must! How kind of you to give me warning! Mrs. Bowser, I don't
want to seem vain or egotistical, but I'll invite thirty-six people here
on that night, and for every one who fails to come I'll give you a $20
bill."
"You are very kind--very kind. I hope the party, will be a great
success. You can begin at once."
During the next hour he had the use of the telephone to call up
acquaintances, and when he finally hung up the trumpet he turned to me
with:
"Anything very dismal about that, Mrs. Bowser? I've got ten couple
without moving out of my tracks. I'll have the other eight before
to-morrow night."
"That is, they will promise to come."
"Promise! Promise! Do you imagine that all other people are like you?
Most folks know their own minds for a day or two ahead, Mrs. Bowser."
When he came home next night he had a list of eighteen couples who had
been invited and solemnly promised to come. Mr. Bowser had made it a
point to inform each one that the playing would begin at eight sharp,
and all had agreed to be on hand fifteen minutes before that hour.
"Voted too much trouble--can't get people enough!" sneered Mr. Bowser as
he looked over the list. "It's in the management, Mrs. Bowser--all in
the management."
For three days he walked around on tiptoe and took every occasion to
brag over me. Then came the first setback. We were at dinner when the
telephone rang and Mr. Bowser was asked for.
"Hello, Bowser."
"Yes."
"This is Filbert."
"Yes."
"I wanted to tell you that we can't come down to the party."
"You can't?"
"No. My wife has just remembered that she agreed to go over to Johnson's
on that night. Sorry, old fellow, but I hope----"
Mr. Bowser shut him off with a loud bang and returned to me and said:
"Mrs. Bowser, don't you ever darken Filbert's doors again--never! They
are liars and dangerous people. I can fill their places in five
minutes."
Before he got out of the house there was another ring.
"Hello, Bowser!"
"Yes."
"This is Watkins."
"Yes."
"When I told you the other day we'd be down Wednesday evening, I forgot
that our Eva was to have a child's party on the same evening. That
knocks us out."
"And you can't come?"
"Of course not. Sorry to disappoint you, old fellow, but of course----"
"Watkins is a liar, Mrs. Bowser--a first class, bold-faced liar!"
exclaimed Mr. Bowser, "and you want to cut the whole family as dead as a
door nail!"
He went off saying he could get 2,000,000 couples to take their places,
and he returned at evening just as the following note came by the hands
of a messenger boy:
"Mr. and Mrs. Jackson present their compliments, and regret that the
death of an uncle in China will prevent them from being present on
Wednesday evening."
Mr. Bowser had begun to turn white when the telephone rang.
"Hello, Bowser!"
"Yes."
"Say, old man, this is a world of change, you know. When I told you we'd
come down to that party I never thought about my sister. She's to be
married that same evening. Tra-la, old boy; hope you'll have a good
time."
"I told you it would be hard work to get so many people out," I
remarked.
"Did you, Mrs. Bowser? How kind of you! But I'll show you and these
liars and deceivers a thing or two before I get through."
There were no more declinations until Wednesday morning. Then Mr. Bowser
was called up by telephone.
"That you, Bowser?"
"Yes."
"Is it to-night you have that party?"
"Yes."
"Pshaw! I thought it was a week from to-night! Well, that knocks us out.
We've got to go to the Y. M. C. A. Sorry, you know, but this is a
previous engagement."
Mr. Bowser was jumping up and down when there came another ring.
"Hello, Bowser!"
"Yes."
"Nice weather."
"Yes."
"All well down there?"
"Yes."
"Say, Bowser, my wife made a previous engagement for to-night. We've got
to go to----"
Mr. Bowser shut him off with a bang and started for the office. During
the forenoon I took in two more declinations, and while he was at dinner
there was a ring and the old familiar hail:
"Hello, Bowser!"
"Yes."
"Say, Bowser!"
"Yes."
"We expect to be down early to-night."
"Glad of it."
"But it may be that my mother-in-law will come in on the 6.30 train. If
she does we can't come."
Mr. Bowser seemed dazed as he hung up the trumpet and left the house.
The last blow came at 7 in the evening. The telephone rang and he
crawled over to answer.
"Is this Bowser's?"
"Yes."
"Where's the old man?"
"I am Mr. Bowser."
"Oh! so you are. Your voice seems mighty weak to-night. Say, old man,
the three couples of us in this terrace were coming down to-night, but
we must disappoint you at this late moment. We have had free tickets
sent up for the opera, and of course----"
Mr. Bowser walked to the front door, locked it, muffled the bell and
turned out the gas. Then he sat down and was very quiet for a couple of
hours. At last he looked up and said:
"Mrs. Bowser, some husbands would murder a wife for this!"
"But what have I done?"
"What have you done? Coaxed, bribed and bulldozed me into giving a
progressive euchre party, and where's the party? I told you how it would
come out, and here we are! Mrs. Bowser, I--I----"
But he was too full for further utterance, and went to bed.
--_Detroit Free Press._
Reasonable.
Postmaster--The letter is too heavy; it wants another stamp.
Countrywoman--Why, that will make it heavier still!
--_Humoristische._
Actors may have no end of animosities in private life, but they always
make up before they appear on the stage.
--_Greenville Advocate._
[Illustration: AN ICY RECEPTION.]
BROMLEY--Why, Digsby, what's the matter? you look chilled.
DIGSBY--Right you are, deah boy, the fact is, I attended a social the
other evening and everything they served was iced.
By H. C. R.
Dakota has a town named Patronage. Patronage is generally considered a
good thing out of which to make capital.
--_Boston Transcript._
"Men who have anything in their heads find plenty to do with their
hands."--_J. Howard, Jr., in N. Y. Press._ That's so. We saw a tramp the
other day who evidently had something in his head, and both hands were
in use.
[Illustration: EFFECTS OF A DOSE OF THE ELIXIR.]
Jones' better half had presented him with twins. When nurse brought them
into the room for inspection the poor man was so bewildered at the
multitudinous character of his happiness that he asked: "Am I to
choose?"
--_Judge._
A Chicago man tried to commit suicide by perforating his head with a
bullet. The bullet passed through his skull all right, but did not touch
the brain. Before a man goes gunning for his own brains, he ought to
acquire the requisite skill by practicing at a pea in a peck measure for
a time.
--_Binghamton Republican._
Few Things Boston Girls Don't Know.
He--Of course you know what a garter snake is?
She (from Boston)--If you refer to that representative of the serpentine
family with the same propensities characteristic to an elastic band used
to retain hosiery in a stationery position, I do.
--_Binghamton Democrat._
Saved His Honor.
Smith--I was sorry to hear, Brown, that you had failed in business.
Brown--Yes, I struggled hard, but I lost everything, save my honor,
thank Heaven, and the property I was wise enough to settle on my wife
when I found myself getting into trouble.
--_Texas Siftings._
A Bricklayer.
Several Irishmen were disputing one day about the invincibility of their
respective powers when one of them remarked:
"Faith, I'm a brick."
"And I'm a bricklayer," said another, giving the first speaker a blow
that brought him to the ground.
--_Sunday Mercury._
A Business Term.
Clara--How comfortable pants must be. Wish I was a man.
Her Mother--My dear, you shock me. You should say trousers.
"I don't care. Charlie always says pants."
"You forget that Charlie works in a clothing store."
--_Clothier and Furnisher._
NOW SHE IS THIN AND HE IS FAT.
The Wonderful Case of the Mullenhausers, Who Bathed at Coney Island.
The familiar figures of Mr. Germain Mullenhauser and his wife are no
longer seen daily braving the surf at Coney Island. They have returned
to their Brooklyn residence, where their ablutions are made in the bath
tub, and it is very doubtful whether any of the seaside resorts will
ever see them again. An estrangement has grown up between them, and they
are not happy.
Their story is a strange eventful history. Two months ago Mrs.
Mullenhauser could readily turn the scales at 210 pounds, while her
husband weighed about the ninety pounds necessary to aggregate 300. They
were proud of their proportions, viewed collectively, and neither was
jealous of the other. But in an evil hour a friend told Mr. Mullenhauser
that he was beginning to look like a scarecrow, and slightingly
nicknamed him "Praise-God Bare-Bones," in pointed and scornful
recognition of the office of deacon in a Brooklyn church. Mr.
Mullenhauser consulted a doctor with the view of gaining flesh.
About the same time an attenuated female acquaintance told Mrs.
Mullenhauser that if she grew any fatter she would stand a chance of
bursting, and would certainly become dropsical. The stout lady was
alarmed, and she too, sought the advice of a medical practitioner
relative to the best method of shedding some of her superfluous tissue.
Neither husband or wife cared to take counsel with the family physician.
They stated their cases to different doctors, and only told each other
what they had done when their courses had been mapped out for them.
"Dr. Jones seems to be a very intelligent person," said the lady. "He
says that by surf bathing I can reduce my weight at the rate of fourteen
pounds a week."
"Why, he must be an imbecile," exclaimed her husband, hotly. "If you go
wallowing, like a whale, in the ocean it will add just two pounds a day
to your bulk. That is what Dr. Brown promises that sea bathing will do
for me, and I am going to begin to try it to-morrow."
"Germain, you have been imposed upon by an ignorant quack," replied Mrs.
Mullenhauser, severely. "If you risk your light body in those great
rollers at Coney Island you will be swept away. Be contented with your
small proportions and try to show that you make up in mind what you lack
in matter."
"I won't," cried the small man, angrily. "I'll take Dr. Brown's advice,
and I'll soon be as fat as you are now. Though Lord knows what size
you'll be then, if you follow the directions of that ass, Jones," he
added sarcastically.
Thus was made between them the fissure that has since been widening
daily. They went down to Coney Island together and engaged board and
lodging. They kept up a show of friendliness before the public to save
appearances, but they ate their meals in silence and bathed at different
parts of the beach.
The other frequenters looked at them with amazement, for a great change
was soon perceptible in each. Drs. Brown and Jones were both right. At
the end of sixty days their joint weight was still 300 pounds, but Mr.
Mullenhauser now tipped the scales at 210 pounds and was threatened with
dropsy, while his wife could only turn them at 90 pounds, looked like a
scarecrow, and feared to breast the waves, as she had formerly done,
lest they should sweep her away.
They fled by different trains from the seaside and tried to consult the
slighted family physician, but he refused to be consulted, and advised
them, cynically, to see Drs. Jones and Brown. Mrs. Mullenhauser is half
a foot taller than her spouse, and much better adapted, anatomically, to
carry the heavier burden of flesh. She looks like a greyhound, and he
like a puncheon standing on its end. It is likely that before the
bathing season returns, Brown, the ignorant quack, will prescribe for
the lady, and Jones, the ass, for her husband.
--_N. Y. Sun._
Was Qualified.
"Well, Herr Schulze, what are you going to do with your boy?"
"I think I shall have to let him join the police, for I never can find
him when I want him!"
--_Fliegende Blätter._
Fannie tried very hard to be polite and speak correctly. At church one
day she met a little friend who had been sick for some time. In asking
about her affliction Fannie said: "Did you enjoy much pain when you were
ill?"
--_Youth's Companion._
Where They Might Economize.
Bagley--I hear that Mrs. Mosenthal has presented you with twins,
Solomon.
Mr. Mosenthal--Yes, it vas a fact, twin boys or I'm a liar.
"Must be quite an expense, eh?"
"Yes, but dere's vone good t'ing I t'ought of. De same photograph will
do for little Ikey or little Jakey; dey look so mooch like."
--_America._
Just Why.
They lingered in the gloaming
Beneath the star-lit sky,
Yet oft unto his hearing
There came from her a sigh;
He marvelled at her sadness
And longed to ask her why.
Then as he pressed her closer
He lisped: "Why dost thou sigh?"
"Ah, Gus," said she, "I cannot
Tell unto thee a lie;
The trouble is I've eaten
Too much spring chicken pie."
--_Birmingham Age-Herald._
She Knew One When She Saw It.
The following is related as an actual occurrence during the presentation
of "Virginius" by the amateurs of Macon. Those who have seen the play
will doubtless remember the scene where the ashes of Virginia, who has
been killed by her father, after which the body was cremated, are
brought on the stage in an urn. A young lady in the audience turned to
her escort with the remark: "That's a crematory."
"No," said he, "you are mistaken; that is not a crematory."
"Well, I say it is," she remarked; "I guess I know a crematory when I
see one."
The curtain drops.
--_Americus Recorder._
An Incentive to Study.
"Pa, where was Captain Anson born?"
"I don't know, I'm sure."
"Where was John L. Sullivan born?"
"I don't know that either."
"Pa, I wish you would buy me a history of the United States."
--_Chicago Herald._
[Illustration: "WE'VE BOTH BEEN THERE BEFORE, MANY A TIME."]
Connoisseurs.
Mrs. True Genteel--Good morning, Mrs. Carrots. Going to New York to do a
little shopping?
Mrs. Gusby Carrots (whose husband has hit Standard Oil and acquired
sudden riches)--No, I've just returned. I bought a nice Rubens this
morning, and I declare! when I called at my husband's office he told me
he had bought a Rembrandt by the same artist yesterday afternoon.
--_Once a Week._
THE LIMEKILN CLUB.
How Major Drawbar Jones Escaped Expulsion on Serious Charges.
On the opening of the meeting the secretary announced a communication
from Eufaula, Ala., making charges against Major Drawbar Jones, an
honorary member of the club. He was charged with:
1. Going on a rabbit hunt while his wife lay at the point of death.
2. Putting burrs under the saddle of his old mule to get up an
artificial enthusiasm.
Brother Gardner said that it was a question for debate, and Giveadam
Jones arose and observed that he could never vote to convict a brother
on the first charge. While there might be no question that Major Jones
went out to hunt rabbits while his wife was dying, what was his object?
Was it for amusement, or was it to provide her with rabbit soup? The
accused should be given the benefit of the doubt. As to charge No. 2,
that was a different matter. A man who would put burrs under his saddle,
whether that saddle was on a horse or a mule, deserved the severest
condemnation.
Waydown Bebee couldn't excuse the Major for going on that rabbit hunt. A
dying wife does not care for soup of any sort. As to the burrs under the
saddle, they might have got there by accident. Even if they were put
there by design, there was no evidence that the mule objected. He owned
a mule, whose demeanor could not be changed one iota by all the burrs in
the State of Michigan.
Shindig Watkins, Elder Toots, Samuel Shin, and others argued pro and
con, and the question of whether the Major should be bounced was put to
a vote. The vote stood 43 for, and 44 against, and he thus escaped by
the skin of his teeth.
--_Detroit Free Press._
A Good Trade.
Prison Keeper--You will have to work here, Moriarty, but you may select
any trade you wish.
Prisoner--Well, if it's all the same to you, sor, Oi'd like to be a
sailor.
--_Munsey's Weekly._
A Poetical Cook.
Ferguson--So our cook is going, is she? Well, I hope the next one will
be of a more literary turn.
Mrs. Ferguson--What do you mean by that?
Mr. Ferguson--A more earnest disciple of the art of Browning, don't you
know.
--_Boston Post._
Knowledge Is Power.
Freddie--Papa, what does "filly" mean?
Papa--(willing to give the boy a lift)--A young mare, Freddie.
Freddie--Well, then, what do they call a young cow, papa?
Papa--(slightly staggered)--Oh! ah! a--er--filly de boeuf.
--_Columbia Spectator._
A Good Reason for Stopping a Newspaper.
I happened to be in the office of the _Mercantile Review and Live Stock
Journal_ recently in time to hear one of the best reasons ever given for
stopping a newspaper.
A German boy entered, removed his hat, and asked:
"Is Mr. Vepsider in?"
"He is," replied Charles H. Webster, looking up from a mass of tissue
live stock reports which he was winnowing.
"Vell, Mister Bitters don't want to take dot paber no more. He vos dedt
last nide alretty."
The name of the late Mr. Bitters, a cattle dealer, was duly erased from
the delivery sheet.
--_Buffalo Truth._
With Interest.
"Old Mr. Skinner is a very charitable man, isn't he?"
"Oh, yes; of course. But if he ever casts his bread upon the waters, be
sure he expects it to come back a meat sandwich."
--_Tid Bits._
A Paris despatch says: "Sarah Bernhardt is overworked." Oh, well; Sarah
has one great advantage over all other actresses --she may be
overworked, become nervous, take to her bed with a sickness nigh unto
death, but she can't fall away any in flesh.
--_Kentucky State Journal._
Three Periods of Love.
I.
Sighing like a furnace,
Over ears in love,
Blind in adoration
Of his lady's glove.
Thinks no girl was ever
Quite so sweet as she,
Tells you she's an angel,
Expects you to agree.
II.
Moping and repining,
Gloomy and morose,
Asks the price of poison,
Thinks he'll take a dose.
Women are so fickle,
Love is all a sham,
Marriage is a failure,
Like a broken dam.
III.
Whistling, blithe and cheerful,
Always bright and gay,
Dancing, singing, laughing,
All the livelong day.
Full of fun and frolic
Caught in Fashion's whirl,
Thinks no more of poison--
Got another girl.
--_Somerville Journal._
Where Hens Are Useful.
A dozen eggs will get you a yard and a half of gingham at the Cadmus
Grange store next week. They have secured an immense line of summer
ginghams; in fact, more than they have room for, therefore this
unparalleled offer. "The early bird catches the worm."
--_La Cygne Journal._
To forget a wrong is the best revenge, particularly if the other fellow
is bigger than you.
--_Liverpool Post._
[Illustration: A DIFFICULT JOB.]
MISS BIRDIE--Is this the place where you recover umbrellas?
CLERK--Yes'sum.
MISS BIRDIE--Well, I wish you would recover mine. It is a real new one,
with a crooked handle, and some one stole it from the Church last Sunday
night.
--_Chicago Liar._
There is now not a single justice on the Supreme bench of the United
States--they are all married.
--_Madelia Times._
Not so Mad After All.
Physician--Your husband is quite delirious and seems utterly out of his
mind. Has he recognized anyone to-day?
Wife--Oh, yes. He called me a dragon this morning, and he constantly
speaks of the governess as an angel.
--_Boston Beacon._
[Illustration: HE SURPRISED HIMSELF.]
AMATEUR CONTORTIONIST--Now, Billy, when I goes in this barril, you just
turn it over and I'll come out the other end.--_Judge._
Practical Theology.
Two well known clergymen lately missed their train, upon which one of
them took out his watch and finding it to blame for the mishap, said he
would no longer have any faith in it.
"But," said the other, "isn't it a question not of faith, but of works?"
--_Living Church._
How it Affects Them.
Mrs. Prim--It's dreadful the way the men drink these days; isn't it? My
husband's head is so weak he can't drink. A glass of vichy makes him
roaring.
Mrs. Blim.--Yes, and my husband can't read the label on a beer bottle
without getting a headache.
--_Cincinnati Commercial._
[Illustration: !!!]
Cheap Postage.
"Talk about cheap postal rates. I've seen 125 pounds go for a two-cent
stamp," remarked Mr. Keeplent.
"When was that?" said Mrs. K., laying down her paper.
"This morning, my dear, when you went to the corner drug store for a
stamp."
--_Chicago Herald._
A MODEST TALE.
It Is Cheerfully Told by a Georgia Munchausen.
"I hardly feel like telling a modest tale," said another, "after the
wonderful things we have heard; but I will give you a true story which
was told me by a North Georgia cracker."
"Tell it, tell it!" they said.
"Well, then, once upon a time a man who lived by a creek in North
Georgia discovered that the corn was disappearing from his crib. He
watched and at length found the secret of the theft.
"A squirrel came down to the edge of the creek on the opposite side,
dragged a shingle to the water's edge, launched it, and jumping on
himself hoisted his tail for a sail. He soon sailed across and anchored
his shingle at the bank. Stealing up to the crib, he got out an ear of
corn and carried it to the creek, put it on the shingle and ferried it
across."
"How strange!" said some one.
"That's only the beginning," said the narrator.
"When the man saw his ear of corn disappear in a hollow tree he
determined to recover his lost property, and started, ax in hand, to
wade the creek. It was a little over waist deep, and he had on a heavy
overcoat fastened by one big button at the top. As he came up out of the
water the coat seemed exceedingly heavy, and looking down he saw that
both the big side pockets were full of shad."
Here a chorus of laughter interrupted, but with a solemn face the story
teller went on:
"That was a small matter to those that follow. When the man came up out
of the water the weight of the wet overcoat, further weighed with the
fish, broke off the button, and it flew off to one side where a rabbit
crouched in the bush. The button hit him in a tender spot behind the
ear, and he keeled over, and with a few pitiful kicks expired."
Here the laughter was so boisterous as to interrupt the narrator for
nearly a minute, and then he proceeded:
"Picking up the rabbit, the man concluded it was not the kind of game he
wanted, and he flung it aside. It was late in the evening, and just at
this moment it so happened that a covey of partridges had huddled
together for the night, with their heads bunched together in the center,
according to their habit."
Here a suppressed titter ran round the company.
"Oh," said the narrator, with some indignation, "it is well known that
partridges huddle together in just that way."
"Go on," they said.
"When the rabbit fell its head struck the bunch of heads and killed all
the partridges." (Laughter.)
"When the man had picked up the partridges he went to the hollow tree
and cut it down. He got back fifty bushels of corn, and it proved to be
a bee tree, so that he got ten barrels of honey. Not only this, but the
top of the tree fell in the stream, and the creek ran sweet for twenty
years."
This took the cake, which will be served next Sunday.
P. S.--There is no space here to tell about the Georgia hen that turned
gray after the snakes got her chickens, or the young partridges that
afterward hatched under her sitting and became the solace of her
declining years. All this and much more I would tell if I had time.
--_W. G. C. in Atlanta Constitution._
Hugging the Shore.
I went one day to sail in a yacht
With the very best girl I had,
And indeed I was thankful at my lot,
Which you'll see was not at all bad.
The sea ran high far away outside;
And as, in the sea's dread lore,
I was not well versed, I concluded to glide
Near by, so I hugged the shore.
Anon, as the twilight round us fell,
I spooned with the lively maid,
And what I did but the stars could tell,
And they will not, I'm afraid.
And anon again I asked her to show
How a maid could a man adore;
And she showed me how till I could but know,
And again I hugged the show-er.
--_Wasp._
A Night of Terror.
Miss Debut--Do you know, Mr. Reimer, I dreamed last night that I was
reading your poetry?
Mr. Reimer--Indeed! you flatter me highly, I am sure.
Miss Debut--I don't know about that; I remember that I tried with all my
might to wake up and couldn't.
--_Once a Week._
Where the Gold Comes From.
Bostone--How long do you suppose these gold mines out here will continue
profitable, Mr. Boomer?
Boomer--Just so long as our Eastern stockholders will stand the
assessments without kicking.
--_Lowell Citizen._
His Cure for Sleeplessness.
"Do you ever want to sleep, Major, when you can't?" I asked of a very
convivial friend.
"Of course, of course, sah."
"Well, what do you do?"
"What do I do? You blamed idiot, what would any man with a brain do?
Why, when I want to sleep and feel so wide awake that I could go out and
read in the dark I go take a good, long drink of my customary beverage,
sah. You know what that is. Then, sah, if that fails, I go take anothah.
If that does not kiss down my eyelids I go and take two. If Morpheus
refuses to lock me in his arms I go and take three more, and by that
time I don't care a continental darn whether I ever go to sleep or not."
--_Toledo Blade._
Hard to Believe.
"Pa," said a lad to his father, "I have often read of people poor but
honest; why don't they sometimes say 'rich but honest?'"
"Tut, tut, my son, nobody would believe them," answered the father.
--_Liverpool Post._
AFTER A CLEW.
Methods of the Modern Detective Illustrated by a Small Incident.
"I'll follow him to the ends of the earth! He shall not escape me!"
The tall, powerfully built man, attired in a suit of dark blue, who
hissed these words through his set teeth, stood in a shadow of a
one-story coal house in a dark, noisome, Philadelphia-like alley, and
watched with widely staring eyes a figure moving slowly along down the
Hong Kong district of Clark street.
The watcher was wide awake, and the saloons had not yet closed for the
night.
It was evident he was not a policeman.
Emerging from the alley he followed stealthily the object of his pursuit
like a sleuth hound on the track of its prey. Moving along in the shadow
of the buildings and halting now and then, but never relaxing for one
instant his eager watchfulness, he kept his man in sight for nearly an
hour.
Down Clark to Harrison, west on Harrison to the river, across the bridge
to Canal, up Canal to Monroe, and westward on that street for many and
many a weary block moved this singular--or rather plural--procession.
"He little thinks he is followed," muttered the relentless pursuer.
"I'll shadow him to his lair now if it takes till the next centennial!"
At last the man whom he was following halted at a modest dwelling,
opened the gate that afforded the entrance to the little yard in front,
and as he turned to close it his face, plainly visible in the glare of a
street lamp close by, was for one brief moment exposed to the hawk-like
gaze of the mysterious pursuer in the dark blue suit, who had crouched
in the shadow of a friendly Indian cigar sign across the way. The next
instant he had disappeared within the house.
With a smothered cry of exultation the eager watcher took out a note
book and pencil and jotted down a memorandum. His fingers trembled with
excitement.
"I saw his face!" he said in a hysterical whisper. "I was not mistaken.
And now I have his street and number. At last I am on the trail. If he
finds out anything about that mysterious disappearance I'll know just
where he goes to get it. Ha! At last! At last!"
* * * * *
He was a high-priced detective shadowing a $15-a-week newspaper reporter
to see if he could find some clew to the latest mystery that was
baffling the entire force.
--_Detroit Free Press._
Two of a Kind.
A bright little girl was taken by her father out into the country to
visit an uncle whom she called Walsh. As the two drove along the country
road, the little one spied a scarecrow in a field, and exclaimed: "Oh,
papa, there's Uncle Walsh." Papa laughed hugely at the joke, but told
her that she was mistaken; that what she saw was only a scarecrow. A
little further along and Uncle Walsh's farm was reached, and way out in
the field was Uncle Walsh at work. The little girl's eyes were the first
to catch sight of him, but she wasn't to be fooled so easily this time.
"Oh, papa," she cried, "look at that scarecrow!" Papa did look, and has
not got through laughing yet.
--_Buffalo Express._
A Change of Manoeuver.
Guide to battlefields (sure of his party, he thinks)--Yes, sah, hit were
jest hyer that the rebels gin to run, an'----
Tourist (bantering him)--Come, now! run? I was a reb myself and don't
believe they ran.
Guide--Hole on, boss; you ain't let me get through. I didn't say which
way dey wuz runnin'; 'twas to'ards de enemy.
--_Harper's Weekly._
The Latest Style.
Customer (who has brought material for a gown and trimming for a bonnet
eight days before)--This costume appears to be very short and tight! Did
you use all the goods?
Modiste--Great Heavens! Can it be that I made the gown out of the bonnet
trimming and trimmed the bonnet with the dress pattern?
--_Fliegende Blätter._
If the Prince of Wales' serious attack of the gout continues much
longer, it will begin to affect the walk of swell young men in New York.
--_Kansas City Journal._
[Illustration]
CHOLLY--Aw, Fweddie, did you see her smile at me? Quite angelic, doncher
know.
FWEDDIE--Smiled, did she? Well, I cahn't blame her. Youah looks
sometimes make me smile, bah jove.
--_Chicago Liar._
A number of the school-ma'ams are employing their Summer vacations in
educating the blind. Their only pupil is a bad boy named Cupid.
--_Chicago News._
Certainly.
"I understand the progressive dinner party craze has struck St. Louis,"
said Miss Societie, of Lucas avenue to Mr. Featherhide.
Mr. Featherhide (dryly)--"Yes, but such dinners are simply a matter of
course."
--_St. Louis Critic._
Knew All the Ladies.
A street car going west on Madison street last Saturday afternoon was
loaded with women returning from the matinee. In one corner of the car a
countryman sat. When the car reached May street the conductor opened the
door and called "May!" A woman left the car at this street. When he
reached Ann the conductor called that name and another woman got off. At
Elizabeth Street he called out "Elizabeth!" and two women got off. When
he called "Ada!" still another woman got up and left.
The countryman went out on the platform and said to the conductor:
"Do you know where I want to get off?"
"I do not."
"Do you know my name?"
"No, sir; I don't."
"Do you know all the women in Chicago?"
"Well, I should say not. Why?"
"Nothing. I heerd you callin' them women that have jist been gitting off
by their first names, an' you knowed jist where they wanted to stop, an'
I thought you was acquainted with all the people in town."
--_Chicago Mail._
The Collar Line.
Doddle--I say, Coddle, old boy! What's the ideah of having a howid big
flap on a fellah's ear? Couldn't we have heard pwetty nearly as well
without it?
Coddle--Pwobably, Doddle, but it dwaws the collar line, don't yer know;
it sawter keeps the collar from wunning up and knocking our hats off.
--_Glens Falls Republican._
A Foregone Conclusion.
Young Doctor--Well, I've got a case at last.
Young Lawyer--Glad to hear it. When you get him to the point where he
wants a will drawn, telephone over.
--_Life._
A Simple Fish Story.
A bass weighing one pound in 1880 was returned to the Potomac with a
small sleigh bell attached to its tail with a wire. A few days ago it
was caught with the bell still attached, the fish weighing six pounds.
This may seem like a fish story, but some of our readers will remember
that a one-pound bass caught in the Eastern branch five years ago was
returned to the water with a penny tin whistle attached to its tail.
Three years later the bass was caught near the same spot. It still
weighed a pound, but the whistle had grown into a fog horn.
--_New Orleans Picayune._
An Unwelcome Invention.
"I think that fellow is real mean," said Marie, throwing down the paper.
"What fellow?"
"Why, the one it speaks of here who has invented a car window that will
open and shut readily by touching a spring."
"Well, I think it is a great thing. Why do you object to it?"
"Simply because now I can never have, when traveling, some fascinating
drummer bending over me to open or shut the window for me."
--_Wasp._
No Balm on Sunday.
A certain politician holding office in Washington comes from Gilead, N.
H. and he is proud of his native town. It is told of him that on one
occasion a visiting clergyman preached in the village church and during
the course of his remarks, he exclaimed:
"Is there no balm in Gilead?"
Mr. Blank jumped to his feet at once.
"Of course there is," he sung out, to the horror of the congregation,
"but you can't get it on Sunday."
--_Troy Telegram._
An Explanation.
Mrs. Smith--John, has Mrs. Thompson done anything to offend you? She
complains that you spoke very rudely to her when you came in yesterday
evening.
Mr. S.--Oh, I'm sorry for that. I'm always glad to see Mrs. Thompson,
and wouldn't like to hurt her feelings. Fact is, when I came in, the
room was rather dark and I mistook her for you.
--_Toronto Grip._
She Could Smell It.
Little Johnny McSwilligen, surreptitiously sampled his mamma's brandied
peaches yesterday, and soon after had occasion to use the telephone.
"A little later Mr. McSwilligen called his wife to the 'phone to inform
her that he would be late getting home.
"Yes, I know why," she replied.
"Ah, how do you know?"
"Why, you're drinking again, and intend to make a night of it."
"Indeed I am not," protested McSwilligen. "I have not touched a drop for
a year."
"Oh, you can't impose on me that way," insisted his wife. "I can smell
your breath."
And she hung up the receiver with a rattle that almost dislocated the
instrument.
--_Pittsburgh Chronicle._
Offended.
Insulted Montanian (to tenderfoot newspaper correspondent)--Lookee here,
young man, you want to be a little more keerful how you write things
that ain't so to them newspapers back East. This is a high-toned town,
by Jinks, and the boys won't stand it.
Terrified Tenderfoot--Why, I--I--what have I written?
"Why, you writ to a Chicago paper that we lynched thirteen men here last
month, and it's a lie."
"I--I--thought it was true, or--I----"
"Well, it wasn't. We didn't lynch but twelve, and we only rid the other
on a rail and peppered him a little with buckshot. Stick to facts, young
man, that's all we ask of you."
--_Time._
Journalistic Comprehensiveness.
A little fellow who was earnestly searching the columns of a certain
religious journal for something in the juvenile department, found the
paper rather bulky to manage and spread it upon the floor. In reply to
his little sister, who was impatient at his slowness, he defended
himself by saying: "Well, you must remember that this paper has two
parts--the religious and the sacrilegious!" It was the same boy, by the
way, who announced that the Scripture lesson at school one morning was
from the Book of Collisions.
--_Troy Times._
A Fatal Mistake.
Bliffers--What's wrong to-day, Bluffers? You look blue.
Bluffers--I'll never forgive myself. I kicked a caller out of my house
last night.
"Huh! I've kicked out many a one. Young fellow, I suppose?"
"No; past middle age."
"Well, these old codgers have no business to be coming around sparking
young girls. I kicked out one of that sort last week."
"Yes, but I've found out this man wasn't courting my daughter. He was
after my mother-in-law."
--_Philadelphia Record._
Successful Speculation.
"Maria," said Mr. Cuteboy yesterday, "I made $20 this morning."
"Indeed," said Mrs. C. curiously. "Did Reading go up?"
"Not exactly," was the quiet rejoinder, "but your brother John asked me
to lend him that sum and I didn't happen to have it at the time."
--_Philadelphia Inquirer._
Her Business.
Old woman presents herself at the booking office and asks for a
third-class ticket. "Where for?" inquires the clerk.
"That's my business!" is the reply.
--_Dictionnaire Universal._
That the moon is made of green cheese is a mere idle fancy, but that the
honeymoon is made of taffy is an established fact.
--_Terre Haute Express._
Burdette on Womankind.
Why am I a woman suffragist?
Because I am.
Because a woman has more good, hard, common sense than a man.
Because she makes less bluster about her rights, and quietly maintains
them better than a man.
Because she won't give $1.50 for an article that she knows very well she
can get for 75 cents.
Because she does not stalk loftily away from the counter without her
change if the robber behind it is a little reluctant about counting it
out.
Because she is too independent to pay the landlord $2.25 for her dinner,
and then pay the head-waiter $1 to send her a waiter who will bring it
to her for 50 cents.
Because she will hold her money tightly in her own good little right
hand for two hours until she first gets a receipt for it from the fellow
who made her husband pay the same bill three times last year. Not any
"just give you credit for it" for her.
Because one day a Pullman porter complained to me "No money on this
trip; too many women aboard. Don't never get nothin' out of a woman
'ceptin' just her regular fare." I had just paid him 25 cents for
blacking one of my boots and losing the other; and when he said that,
when I saw for myself the heroic firmness of those women, traveling
alone, paying their fare and refusing to pay the salaries of the
employes of a wealthy corporation, I said: "These women have a right to
vote. To vote? By all that is brave and self-reliant and sensible, they
have a right to run the government!"
--_New York Star._
"Urtication" is a new cure for rheumatism. It means pricking the skin
with a bunch of fresh nettles. Perhaps "hurtication" would be a better
word for it.
--_San Francisco Alta._
What a glorious world this would be if people lived up to the epitaphs
on their tombstones.
--_Hutchison News._
It Was a Bad Mixing Up.
In an English country church the curate had to give out two notices, the
first of which was about baptisms and the latter had to do with a new
hymn book. Owing to an accident he inverted the order and gave out as
follows: "I am requested to announce that the new hymn book will be used
for the first time in this church Sunday next, and I am requested to
call attention to the delay which often takes place in bringing children
to be baptized; they should be brought on the earliest day possible.
This is particularly pressed on mothers who have young babies."
"And for the information of those who have none," added the rector, in
gentle, kindly tones and who, being deaf, had not heard what had been
previously said--"and for the information of those who have none, I may
state, if wished, they can be obtained on application in the vestry
immediately after service to-day. Limp ones, one shilling each: with
stiff backs, two shillings."
--_Chicago Chronicle._
Last Year's Trouble.
Stranger--Your town seems awful dead. Had a scourge of any kind?
Citizen--No.
"No small-pox or yellow fever?"
"No."
"No floods or famine?"
"No."
"Well, what ails your town this year?"
"Nothing ails it this year, but a boom struck it last year."
--_Omaha World._
America is not given to jewelry, gauds or trappings, but those familiar
with the business say that she has a seal ring.
--_Detroit Free Press._
Some one suggests that John L. Sullivan's bust be placed on the new
two-cent postage stamps. But Sullivan can't be licked.
--_N. Y. News._
At the Ball.
George (referring to young lady just entering, in evening dress)--Ah,
here is something pretty nice coming in!
Clarence--Something coming out, I should say.
--_Journal Amusant._
A Thrilling Social Episode.
There was a young lady named Moll
Who purchased a new parasol,
With a handle so long
That she had to be strong
Or she couldn't have lugged it at all.
She met a young man who, 'twas plain,
Was staggering with might and main
To steady his gait
'Neath the terrible weight
Of his dreadfully cumbersome cane.
So intent was the beautiful Moll
In lugging her long parasol,
That she passed the young swain
With the cumbersome cane
And never once saw him at all.
What a narrow escape for that swain!
Had she recognized him he would fain
Have lifted his hat;
But how could he do that
And carry his cumbersome cane?
--_Washington Post._
Some of the Vassar girls have organized a gum-chewing association. They
meet for cul-chaw.
--_Burlington Free Press._
It is not good to take tea in the middle of the day. The man who tried
it in an Austin grocery store when he thought the clerk was not looking
is our authority.
--_Texas Siftings._
THE IRISH WIDOW.
Mrs. Magoogin's Promised Donation to the World's Fair Committee.
"Did ye hear about the Wurruld's Fair, Mrs. McGlaggerty?"
"Sorra's the wurrud, me frind. Fwhat's there about id, Mrs. Magoogin?"
"Noo Yarrick is goin' to have id."
"Is that so, now?"
"Yis, an' they're roisin' the money fur id, avourneen," said the Widow
Magoogin. "A committay's bin appinted to go around an' ax payple fwhat
they're willin' to shushcroibe an' they pits down the names an' prints
thim in the papers, an' there's a hully-balloo an' jubilorum, an'
uv'rybody sez Noo Yarrick is a fine place, an' that brings the Wurruld's
Fair to iz, Mrs. McGlaggerty. Now, thin, fwhat ar' you goin' to
shushcroibe fwhin the committay calls round to see ye, Mrs.
McGlaggerty?"
"Divil a cint Oi have to give thim, Mrs. Magoogin," said the neighbor.
"Fy fur shame, Mrs. McGlaggerty--that's no way to be afther thraiting
the committay. Fwhere's yer h'art, woman? Have ye no sinse, at all, at
all, alanna? Fwhisper an' I'll tell ye fwhat Berdie Magoogin's goin' to
say to thim fwhin they comes an' axes her to shushcroibe. 'Gud mawrnin',
Mrs. Magoogin.' they'll say to me. 'The same to ye, sors,' Oi'll say to
thim. 'Fwhat'll ye shushcroibe to the Wurruld's Fair this foine
mawrnin', ma'am?' they'll ax me nuxt. 'Fwhat did the McGuffin's beyant
give ye?' Oi'll ax thim. 'Nawthin',' they'll say to me. 'Thin id's
breakin' their h'arts they ar' intoirely givin' nawthin' to an
interproise av this koind, sors,' Oi'll say to thim. 'An' fwhat'll we
put ye down for, ma'am?' they'll say to me. 'Well, gintlemin av the
committay,' Oi'll say to thim, puttin' an me Sunda' shmoile an' howldin'
me head as proud as a paycock--'well, gintlemin,' Oi'll say, 'it isn't
mooch that Berdie Magoogin has--there's only the shanty an' the goat an'
a bit av furnicher, some av fwhich is in pawn--but Oi'll tell ye fwhat
Oi'll do, gintlemin,' Oi'll say to thim. 'Berdie Magoogin'll agree to
give twinty-noin thousan' eight hundhert an' tin dollars out av her own
pocket to the Wurruld's Fair, aff the committay kin foind noineteen
other widdy womin an Cherry Hill that'll do the same thing, an' how diz
that praposishun shoot ye, gintlemin?' Oi'll say to thim. Thin they'll
go away shmoiling an' they'll tell uv'rybody about id, an' uv'rybody'll
say how ginerous is Mrs. Magoogin'v!
"But sure'n ye haven't no twinty-noine thousand dollars to give thim, me
frind?" the neighbor interposed.
"No more has th' other noineteen widdies, Mrs. McGlaggerty--so ye see
there's no danger av anny av iz losin' mooch, an' ow, wow, but won't
payple think that we're gin'rous. Id's a byootiful bloof Oi'll be afther
givin' thim, Mrs. McGlaggerty--nawthin', acushla, but a byootiful
bloof."
--JOHN J. JENNINGS _in Sunday Mercury_.
His Awful Confession.
"Were you ever engaged in a train robbery?" asked the prosecuting
attorney, looking at him keenly.
"I was never indicted for train robbing," answered the witness,
evasively.
"That is not the question," said the lawyer. "I will ask you again. Were
you ever a train robber?"
"Judge," said the witness, turning imploringly to the dignitary of the
Bench, "must I answer that question?"
"You must," answered the judge. "And remember you are under oath."
The witness turned pale and his knees knocked together.
"I suppose it's got to come out. I sold books and bananas on the cars
for a whole year when I was a young fellow," faltered the miserable man.
--_Chicago Tribune._
"The greatest point," writes a specialist in the treatment of obesity,
"is to find the right diet." But the greatest point in these cases,
after all, is the embonpoint.
--_Philadelphia Ledger._
While there is a great variety of conditions submitted with the handsome
donations made to aid the fair, it is noticeable that there is entire
unanimity in one thing--the "if."
V. S.
An Accommodating Boss.
A gang of men were at work on a city street, when a slight, beardless
youth laid down his pick, and approaching the foreman, said to him:
"Can I take a fit, sir?"
"Take what?" asked the foreman.
"A fit--I feel one coming on," replied the young man, without emotion.
"Why, certainly," said the foreman.
So the young man walked over to a bit of grass under a leafy tree--it
was a new street in the suburbs--and had a fit.
Then he went and washed his face, came back to his place in the line,
took up his pick and struck into work. After the day's work was over the
young man said to the foreman: "You don't mind my having fits?"
"No--I guess not if you do a fair day's work."
"Well, you see I used to work for a butcher an' he wouldn't let me take
fits--said it interfered with business--an' I thought you might feel the
same way about it."
And the young man works hard with pick and shovel and takes a fit once
in a while as you or I might take a drink of water.
--_Pittsburgh Dispatch._
High Up.
Hollis Holworthy--Yes, I've been looking up some of my ancestors,
and----
Miss Beacon--I guess you found a good many of them up a tree, didn't
you?
--_Harvard Lampoon._
A burning question among the Rochester newspapers is: "Have bicycles an
earnest purpose?" The fellow who has just shot over the handle-bar of
one is convinced that they have.
--_Buffalo Courier._
Old General Debility was for a time held responsible for the Allegheny
baseball team's wretched work in this season's campaign, but now the
blame is being divided with old John Barleycorn.
--_Pittsburgh Post._
Her Perennial Experiences.
"One day when living at Beaufort, S. C.," said a gentleman the other
day, "the young colored nurse in my family came in with a terribly
lugubrious face. Around her head was wound a white cloth, which extended
fully two feet above.
"'What on earth is the matter, Tilly?' said my wife.
"'Oh! I's a-seekin'.'
"'What are you seeking?'
"'I'se a-seekin' 'ligion.'
"'Do you have to wear that when you are seeking religion?'
"'Oh, yes, miss. I has to wear that to mortify de flesh.'
"That afternoon she came to her mistress and said: 'I cyarn't tek keer
de chill'n dis afternoon. I'se got to go to de woods an' wrassle wid de
sperut.'