"It was a dandy speech, mamma--why he 'most cried himself, the prisoner
wiped his eyes, some ladies had to be taken out of the room so the
trial could go on, and I guess the jury felt powerfully bad too," he
said.
"And how about you, son," inquired his pleased mother.
The little fellow cocked his eye and smiled.
"Oh! he can't fool me," he said.
[Illustration]
While waiting one day in court for the case, in which I was a witness,
to be called, they led a tough-looking citizen into the pen.
He was a typical burglar.
Why the burgle stood out all over him in lumps.
When I looked at him I thought how much I had to be thankful for that I
didn't have to meet him under other distressing circumstances of a dark
night.
In fact I figured that I was in just thirty cents.
Well, he was the last fellow you'd ever suspect of having a streak of
humor in his make-up.
He objected to being called a thief.
"I've a trade, your honor."
[Illustration]
"What is it?" demanded the judge.
"Locksmith."
"Just so; and what were you doing in the bank when the policemen took
you?"
"Making a bolt for the door, sure."
But his jesting mood did not save him, and he was given another kind of
job for a time.
When Rube comes to town there is a lot of fun poked at the rustic, and
even gold bricks slipped into his pockets in exchange for the coveted
long green.
[Illustration]
And no doubt some of you good people know from experience that when
a city man migrates to the country the farmers delight to expose his
ignorance of things generally. I had an experience of that sort last
summer when I engaged board for my little outfit at Farmer Wilkins'.
We arrived late in the evening and retired to our shuck mattresses very
soon, being tired from the journey; so the tiller of the soil didn't
have much of a chance to make my acquaintance.
[Illustration]
Early in the morning I was abroad, and ran across Wilkins and his hired
man milking the cows.
"Mornin'," said he, "come to find out whichever keow gives the
buttermilk, or p'r'aps ye thought to be airly enough to hear the
haycock crow?" and he tipped a wink at his man, who was enjoying the
fun.
"Well, neither, to tell the truth, Mr. Wilkins," I remarked, "I've just
been out tying a knot in a cord of wood."
Wilkins, among his other possessions, owned an uncommonly homely dog
which was a source of considerable interest to my youngest.
[Illustration]
You see we were never the proud owners of even a brindle cur, and of
course Harold made friends with Rover from the very start.
Whenever the beast wanted to play he would whirl around in a circle,
chasing his own tail in a comical manner that never failed to make us
laugh.
That humorous tale would have been worth a small fortune if properly
brought to the attention of the editor of the Sunday paper comic
section.
Harold had stood and looked at the revolving beast nearly ten minutes,
urging him on with sundry shouts.
Then he turned to me.
"What kind of a dog is that, pa?"
I'm no connoisseur of dogs, and was never made a judge in a bench show
in my life.