"Just so, but I don't see anything so funny about that."
"You don't, eh? That's queer," the man answered; "but then he hit me a
crack in the eyes, and afterward knocked out one of my teeth, saying,
'And take that, too, you blooming Norwegian.'"
"But still I can't see anything funny," I protested.
"Ho! ho! ho!" the other yelled, "I made a fool of him, for you see,
mister, the joke is that I'm a Swede."
They make it as easy as possible these days for those who want to
become citizens.
Ever been on the scene when a lot of these fellows line up to be
naturalized?
My friend, Clerk Donovan, down at City Hall, through whose hands the
applications go, says it's as good as a circus.
[Illustration]
One red-faced son of the Emerald Isle, whose carroty hair looked like a
danger signal, stood in front of Clerk Donovan the other day, hoping to
squeeze in.
It was necessary, before application could be granted, that he should
show some familiarity with the style of government in this country.
Evidently Pat had not been properly coached, and hoped to pull through
by natural assurance.
"Have you read the Declaration of Independence?" asked Clerk Donovan.
"No, sir."
"Have you read the Constitution of the United States?"
"I hov not."
"Well, then," cried Clerk Donovan, in an exasperated tone, "have you
read the history of the United States?"
"No, sir."
"No? Well, what in thunder have you read?"
"Oi have red hair on me head, your honor," said the fellow,
triumphantly.
He thought he had scored his point.
While I was dramatic editor on a metropolitan paper I used to mingle
with the actors a good deal.
That's how I took to my present calling.
A fellow came to a manager I knew, one day, and wanted a berth.
[Illustration]
He had been a high roller in his day, I guess, but had of late been on
his uppers.
The manager looked over his list, and finally said:
"Well, that's the best I can do for you. You've been idle all season so
far. Now, will you remain idle all the rest of the year, or take this
small part?"
The actor considered a bit, and then made up his mind.
"I'll take it," he said. "In this case a small role is better than a
whole loaf."
While I was attending the theatre in my official capacity as a critic,
wishing to obtain the various opinions of those patrons whose views
should be valuable, I remember tackling a bald-headed man with whom I
had scraped an acquaintance.
"Do you think vaudeville should be reformed?" I asked.
He grinned at me diabolically, and replied:
"No, but I'm of the positive opinion that some of these soubrettes
they've been springing on us lately might be reformed all right."
Now, while dramatic editors may possibly know something of music, they
don't claim to be high art critics.
The editor expects it, however.
He sent me to report a musicale once.
I dished it up to perfection I thought, with the assistance of a
friend, a Bohemian who conducted an orchestra in a Broadway theatre.
[Illustration]
Judge of my surprise when the editor had me on the carpet the following
day.
I knew his digestion was bad, and that he meant to trip me up on some
mere trifle.
So I was on my guard.
"See here," he said, "did you do this write-up of the concert last
night?"