Random Smiles
Motto for young lovers: Sofa and no father.
I would like some powder, please, said the young miss to the drugstore clerk.
Yes, miss. Face, gun or bug?
Diner (Scanning menu)—Have you frog legs?
Waitress—Oh, no sir! I walk this way on account of rheumatism.
The new long skirts may make the women appear taller, but there is no denying that the short skirts make the men look longer.
Village Constable (to villager who has been knocked down by passing motorist): You didn’t see the number, but could you swear to the man?
Villager: I did, but I don’t think ’e ’eard me.
Messenger boy, with a telegram for Mr. Jenkins, rings the bell at half-past one in the morning: Does Mr. Jenkins live here—
Feminine voice from upstairs, wearily: Yes; bring him in.
Uncle Sam’s worries (Stevenson Americanized):
There’s so much blues in the East of U. S.And so much booze in the West of U. S.That it ill behooves any of U. S.To say what it thinks of the rest of U. S.
There’s so much blues in the East of U. S.And so much booze in the West of U. S.That it ill behooves any of U. S.To say what it thinks of the rest of U. S.
There’s so much blues in the East of U. S.And so much booze in the West of U. S.That it ill behooves any of U. S.To say what it thinks of the rest of U. S.
There’s so much blues in the East of U. S.
And so much booze in the West of U. S.
That it ill behooves any of U. S.
To say what it thinks of the rest of U. S.
He—I feel like thirty cents.
She—How things have gone up since the war.
Paw, said Tommy Tucker, am I descended from the monkey? Not on my side of the house, replied Mr. Tucker, with much positiveness.
A Reformer would change the name of Hollywood to Follywood.
The Hellywood.
Farmer—See here, young feller, what are you doing up that tree?
Boy—One of your apples fell down and I’m trying to put it back.
A Yorkshireman recently entered an auction mart. Looking around and catching the auctioneer’s eye during a lull in the bidding, he shouted loudly enough to be heard by all: May I bid, sir?
Certainly, said the man of the hammer, thinking him a customer.
All eyes being turned on the questioner, he, making for the door, said:
Well, I’ll bid you good-night, then.
The laughter which followed stopped business for some time.
In the sweet silence of the twilight they honey-spooned upon the beach.
Dearest, she murmured, trembling, now that we are married, I—I have a secret to tell you!
What is it sweetheart? he asked softly.
Can you ever forgive me for deceiving you? she sobbed. My—my left eye is made of glass!
Never mind, lovebird, he whispered, gently; so are the diamonds in your engagement ring!
Mrs. Smith presented her husband with triplets, and two weeks later she had twins.
How come?
One of the triplets died.
An inebriated husband, who has returned after a night out, bringing with him nothing but a charlotte russe, finds his wife very angry. I sent you for fish last night and here you have come home with nothing but a charlotte russe.
Husband (startled)—Did she come all the way home with me?
An advertisement appeared in a newspaper lately praising a new make of infant’s feeding bottle. Here is the advice it gave relative to its use:
When the infant is done drinking, it must be unscrewed and put in cold place under a tap. If the baby does not thrive on raw milk, it should be boiled.
Jenkins’ mother-in-law was buried one day last week. Jenkins was visibly affected as he followed the hearse.
Bear up, sir, said the undertaker. Don’t cry.
I can’t help it, sighed poor Jenkins. Poor woman! Do you know this is the very first time we have been out together without quarreling?
The stingiest man was scoring the hired man for his extravagance in wanting to carry a lantern in going to call on his best girl.
The idea! he scoffed. When I was courtin’ I never carried no lantern; I went in the dark.
The hired man proceeded to fill the lantern.
Yes, he said sadly, and look what you got.
Collector—When can you pay this bill?
Business Manager—See the puzzle editor.
Are you Hungary, Frances?
Yes, Siam.
Well, Russia long and I’ll Fiji.
She—John, do you think that this hat is becoming to me?
He—I expect so, for the bill will be coming to me.
Mrs. Wade Parker—Do you take a Sunday paper?
Mrs. Glen Villers—We do if we get up before our next-door neighbors.
A young lady was caressing a pretty spaniel, and murmuring, I do love a nice dog! Ah! sighed a dandy, standing near; I would I were a dog. Never mind, retorted the young lady, sharply, you’ll grow!
Mrs. Knicker—Weren’t you frightened when the bull bellowed at you on account of your new dress?
Mrs. Bocker—No, it was exactly the same way Henry behaved when he got the bill.
English specimen (with monocle)—Aw—do you serve lobstahs here?
Boston waiter—We make no unnecessary inquiries concerning our customers, sir.
This is from a retail grocer, found (not the grocer) in a basket of Florida beans—
Dearest Sweet Pea—Do you carrot all for me? My heart beets for you. With your radish hair and turnip nose, you are the apple of my eye. Give me a date, if we cantaloupe. Lettuce marry anyway. I know we would make a happy pear.
Yes, dear, I was married last month. I’d like you to call on me and see the pretty little flat I have.
I’ve seen him, my dear.
What is the difference between a rooster, a soldier, and a vamp?
The rooster says, Cock a doodle do.
The soldier says, Yankee doodle do.
And the vamp says, Any dude’ll do.
The prodigal son wrote the old man as follows—
I got religion at camp meeting the other day. Send me ten dollars.
But the old man replied—
Religion is free. You got the wrong kind.
The girl was very pretty. Leaning her dimpled elbows on the table she said—And what is your lecture to be about, professor?
I shall lecture on Keats, he replied.
Oh, professor, she gushed, what are keats?
A pretty young lady went into a Fourth Avenue music shop the other day. She tripped up to the counter, where a new clerk was busy, and in her sweetest tones asked—
Have you “Kissed Me in the Moonlight”?
No! It must have been the man at the other counter. I’ve only been here a week.
A tall, strong man walked into a shop.
I want to get a set of lady’s furs, he said.
What kind? asked the male salesman.
That brown set in the window will do if it’s not too dear, replied the tall, strong man.
Oh, you mean skunk? said the salesman.
The salesman is still in the hospital.
Miss Fleyme—Oh, Mr. Nocoyne, how lovely of you to bring me these beautiful roses! How sweet they are—and how fresh! I do believe there is a little dew on them yet!
Mr. Nocoyne—W-well, yes—there is; but I’ll pay it to-morrow.
Madam, I must request you to remove your hat, remarked the polite theater usher.
The lady smiled grimly.
Does my hat annoy the little man behind me?
Yes, madam.
Then you’ll find it much easier to remove him.
How’s this? sneered the jealous goose. How happens it you aren’t the leading attraction at some Thanksgiving dinner?
The beautiful young turkey blushed and hung her head. Then she said softly—
Nobody axed me.
A drummer approached a girl in charge of a soda fountain and before giving his order asked—How is the milkmaid to-night?
Milk isn’t made; it comes from cows, you fool, was the retort. He was glad to close his mouth with some of it.
No man is as well known as he thinks he is, says Caruso. I was motoring on Long Island recently. My car broke down and I entered a farmhouse to get warm. The farmer and I chatted, and when he asked my name I told him modestly that it was Caruso. At that he threw up his hands.
Caruso! he exclaimed. Robinson Caruso, the great traveler! Little did I expect ever to see a man like yer in this here humble kitchen, sir!
What do you mean by an “eight-day clock?”
One that will run eight days without winding.
Huh, then how long would it run if you wound it?
I sometimes wonder, said an Englishman visiting New York, to a pretty girl sitting next to him at dinner, what becomes of all your peaches here in America.
Oh, was the reply, we eat what we can, and we can what we can’t.
Look here! angrily exclaimed the householder, pointing to a cigar-stump that lay on the floor of the back porch. That was in the lump of ice you left here yesterday morning! Well, belligerently replied the iceman, what did you expect to get for fifteen cents—a box of perfectos?
I, said the temperance man, strongly object to the custom of christening ships with champagne.
I don’t, replied the other man. I think there’s a temperance lesson in it.
How can that be?
Well, immediately after the first bottle of wine the ship takes to water and sticks to it ever after.
A man “butted in” at a waiting line before the railroad ticket window at New York, and the men who were in a hurry glowered.
I want a ticket for Boston, said the man and put 50 cents under the wicket.
You can’t go to Boston for 50 cents, returned the ticket seller.
Well, then, asked the man, where can I go for 50 cents?
And each of the fourteen men in that waiting room told him where he could go.
But, observed the fool man who had permitted his wife to take him along on her search for a spring bonnet, the hat doesn’t seem to fit. Now, I think a woman’s hat should conform to her head the same as a man’s.
Oh, tittered the merry milliner, there are no fits connected with spring hats. They generally develop in the men when the bill comes home.
A few days ago, says the “Newark Star,” Alderman Elmer A. Day was glancing over the register at one of the local hotels to see if a friend of his was registered there. Near him stood a man who was holding onto the desk for dear life in a semi-successful attempt to maintain his balance.
I s’pose you think I’m drunk? said the stranger, looking belligerently at Day.
No; not in the least, replied the Alderman, anxious to avoid the possibility of a row.
Well, you’d know I was if I let go this desk, answered the man.
I visited Miss Marie Corelli when I was in Stratford, said a young woman. She lives in a quaint house of dull red brick. She is very pretty and very rich, and she likes Americans.
Miss Corelli was full of fun. She talked about woman’s over-regard for appearances. She said that she herself was too prone to think that, if appearances were all right, everything was right.
Once, in her childhood, Miss Corelli said she was yachting on the English coast.
As the yacht sped along there was a sudden swerve, and the helmsman said—
By Jove, I believe she’s broken her rudder.
Oh, well, said the young girl, what does it matter? It’s under water, and I’m sure nobody will notice it.
A sentimental novelist once wrote: Edwin then kissed Angelina under the silent stars.
The compositor set it up thus:
Edwin then kicked Angelina under the cellar stairs.
Old Smith was busy in his back yard with saw and hatchet while his wife nursed a bad cold in the house, when a neighbor came to the fence.
Good mornin’, Mr. Smith, he said. How is Mrs. Smith this mornin’?
Just about the same, old Smith replied. She didn’t sleep very well last night.
That’s too bad, the neighbor sympathized, and then, as a raucous sound came from the house, he added solicitously:
I s’pose that’s her coughin’, ain’t it?
No, old Smith answered absent-mindedly, his eyes still on his work, it ain’t her coffin, it’s a new hen house.
The world has so long been at war with the hapless printer that it will be interesting to know that at least one compositor has been capable of following instructions. Once upon a time a printer brought to Booth for inspection proof of a new poster, which after the manner of its kind, announced the actor as the eminent tragedian, Edwin Booth.
Mr. Booth did not fully approve of it.
I wish you’d leave out that eminent tragedian business. I’d much rather have it simple Edwin Booth, he said.
Very good, sir.
The next week the actor saw the first of his new bills in position. His request had been carried out to the letter. The poster announced the coming engagement of Simple Edwin Booth.
I left my husband’s death notice here this morning, said the widow.
Yes, said the bright clerk in the publication room of the “Daily Squib.”
Now, continued the widow, I want you to add to the notice, “Gone to Rest,” in an appropriate place.
Yes, madam, replied the bright clerk, and the next morning she read: Gone to rest in an appropriate place.
Miss Frances Kellar, of the Woman’s Municipal League of New York, illustrated admirably at a dinner party a point which she wished to make.
Women, a man has said, are vainer than men.
Of course, Miss Kellar answered, I admit that women are vain and men are not. There are a thousand proofs that this is so. Why, the necktie of the handsomest man in the room is even now up the back of his collar.
There were six men present, and each of them put his hand gently behind his neck.
We recently heard of a man who attended a grand ball with his wife and had a grand time. While dancing a quadrille he noticed that his pants were ripping, and hurriedly retired to a room with his wife, who procured a needle and thread and began sewing up the rip. While the man was sitting there without any pants on he heard the rustling of skirts and it occurred to him that he had taken refuge in the ladies’ dressing-room. He appealed to his wife, and she shoved him to a door which opened, as she thought, into a closet. Opening the door quickly, she shoved him through and locked the door. Mary! he screamed, I’m in the ballroom! The door, instead of opening into the closet, opened into the ballroom.
The Morning Star announced the death of William B. Jones when he was not dead, writes Simeon Strunsky in the New York Evening Post.
The next day it printed the following notice:
Yesterday we were the first newspaper to publish the news of the death of William B. Jones. Today we are the first to deny the report. The Morning Star is always in the lead.
A matron of the most determined character was encountered by a young woman reporter on a country paper, who was sent out to interview leading citizens as to their politics. May I see Mr. ⸺? she asked of a stern-looking woman who opened the door at one house. No, you can’t, answered the matron decisively. But I want to know what party he belongs to, pleaded the girl. The woman drew up her tall figure. Well, take a good look at me, she said, I’m the party he belongs to!
Here is a singular incident showing how easy it is to mistranslate an overheard remark.
Said Mrs. A, one of the overhearers: They must have been to the zoo, because I heard her mention a trained deer.
Said Mrs. B: No, no. They were talking about going away and she said to him, find out about the train, dear.
Said Mrs. C: I think you are both wrong. It seemed to me they were discussing music, for she said, A trained ear, very distinctly.
A few minutes later the lady herself appeared and they told her of their disagreement.
Well, she laughed, that’s certainly funny. You are poor guessers, all of you. The fact is, I’d been out to the country overnight and I was asking my husband if it rained here last evening.
She was a pretty little widow, whose husband, after nine years of married life, had left her with four strapping boys and a generous provision of the world’s goods. Her financial affairs were in the hands of a trust company, the cashier of which, having an ambition to be thought something of a wit, often joked her when she called at the office. One day, in opening her hand bag for a check, she thoughtlessly dropped a pin of the variety known as safety.
The cashier, noticing this, jocosely asked:
Is that your fraternity pin?
To which the little widow replied:
No, it’s my maternity pin.
Can you tell me, said the cool-looking young lady in white, confidentially approaching the young man at the soda fountain, the most agreeable way to take castor oil?
Oh, yes, indeed, replied the man, his eyes brightening. And while you are waiting, he added, won’t you have a glass of soda?
Oh, thank you, said the young lady, as he set it down before her. The day being hot, in a few moments she had drained the glass.
Is the prescription ready? she asked, sweetly, wiping her mouth.
The young man’s eyes gleamed with benevolence. The prescription, he said, tapping the glass, was in here.
Do you mean to say I’ve drunk it? she screamed. But it wasn’t for me; it was for my little brother! And she swept from the drug store.
It’s too bad, sighed the young man, and she was one of our best customers!
But she isn’t any more. Daily the soda fountain young man watches her enter the drug store across the way, where they look before they leap.
An employer, noted for his energy and lack of tolerance for loafing in any form, visited his stock room and found a boy leaning idly against a packing case, whistling cheerily, and with nothing at all on his mind. The chief stopped and stared. Such a thing was unheard of in his establishment.
How much are you getting a week? he demanded, with characteristic abruptness.
Twelve dollars.
Here’s your twelve. Now get out. You’re through.
As the boy philosophically pocketed the money and departed, the boss turned to the chief clerk and demanded:
Since when has that fellow been with us?
Never that I know of, was the response. He just brought over a proof for us from the printer.
Henry was at college. He had been spending somewhat too freely, and he was short. It was near the holidays and he hated to write home for money. As a last resort he pawned his dress suit to tide him over.
When the time came to leave for home the suit was still unredeemed. He knew he would need it at home. He hurriedly redeemed it at the last moment, packed it in the grip and was off.
His mother was helping him unpack. She came to the coat.
Henry, she asked, what is this ticket on your coat for?
Why, mother, he replied, I went to a dance the other evening and had my coat checked.
She continued putting away his garments. Finally she lifted out the trousers. They, too, were ticketed.
Henry! she exclaimed, what kind of a dance was that?
Philip—My man, I think you are one of the most self-controlled men I have ever seen.
Morris—Howcum?
Philip—You seem to have an awful lot of trouble with your flivver. You get angry with it, and yet you never swear at it.
Morris—Well, you see it’s this way. I don’t think the flivver is worth a damn.
It was in one of the “ten, twent, thirt” vaudeville houses where moving pictures are shown. An Oriental act has been concluded and incense filled the house.
Usher, complained a pompous man in an aisle seat, I smell punk.
That’s all right, whispered the usher, confidently, just sit where you are, and I won’t put anyone near you.
Some time ago there lived a gentleman of indolent habits who spent his time visiting among his friends. After wearing out his welcome in his own neighborhood he thought he would visit an old Quaker friend some twenty miles distant.
On his arrival he was cordially received by the Quaker, who, thinking the visitor had taken much pains to come so far to see him, treated him with a great deal of attention and politeness for several days.
As the visitor showed no signs of leaving, the Quaker became uneasy, but bore it with patience until the eighth day, when he said to him—
My friend, I am afraid thee will never come again.
Oh yes, I shall, said the visitor. I have enjoyed my visit very much, and shall certainly come again.
But, said the Quaker, if thee will never leave, how can thee come again?
Prof. Starr, the famous ethnologist, was in his humorous and whimsical way accusing women of barbarism.
And she is not only barbarous—she is illogical and inconsistent, he exclaimed.
I was walking in the country one day with a young woman. In a grove we came upon a boy about to shin up a tree. There was a nest in the tree, and from a certain angle it was possible to see in it three eggs.
You wicked little boy, said my companion, are you going up there to rob that nest?
I am, replied the boy, coolly.
How can you, she exclaimed. Think how the mother will grieve over the loss of her eggs.
Oh, she won’t care, said the boy. She’s up there on your hat.
That Confederate money was never taken seriously is well illustrated in the following story told by the late General John B. Gordon, and which, as far as can be ascertained, has never appeared in print.
One day during a temporary cessation of hostilities between the opposing forces a tall, strapping Yankee rode into the Confederate camp on a sorry looking old horse to effect a trade for some tobacco.
Hullo, Yank! hailed one of a number of Confederate soldiers lolling about on the grass in front of a tent, that’s a right smart horse you all got there.
Think so? returned the Yank.
Yes; what’ll you take for him?
Oh, I don’t know.
Well, I’ll give you $7,000 for him, bantered the Confederate.
You go to blazes! indignantly returned the Yank; I’ve just paid $10,000 of your money to have him curried.
Two brothers were discussing which smelled the strongest, a goat or a tramp. They agreed to leave it to the judge.
All right, said the judge, trot in your animals.
They brought in the goat and the judge fainted. They then brought in the tramp and the goat fainted.
A party of traveling men in a Chicago hotel were one day boasting of the business done by their respective firms, when one of the drummers said:
No house in the country, I am proud to say, has more men and women pushing its line of goods than mine.
What do you sell? he was asked.
Baby carriages! shouted the drummer, as he fled from the room.
Mayor’s secretary, William P. Ryan, was commenting on the way in which many illiterate persons seem to get along in the world, says the Chicago Journal.
The late William J. Carrol used to tell a good story along this line, said Mr. Ryan. He had business connected with the collection of rents which used to take him to a certain place on the eastern shore at intervals. On one occasion he went into a store there, the proprietor of which could neither read nor write. While he was there a man came in who was evidently a regular customer.
I owe you money, don’t I? he said to the storekeeper.
The latter went to the door and turned it around so that the back was visible.
That’s so, he replied—you owe me for a cheese.
A cheese? replied the customer. No, I don’t.
The storekeeper looked at the door again.
That’s so, he said, it’s a grindstone; I didn’t see the dot in the middle.
Can I get off tomorrow?
You’ve been off a good deal lately.
I want to get my eyes examined.
Well, get a good job done. You’ll be looking for work after the first.
Henry, where on earth have you been? asked Mrs. Jollykid when Henry got home at two bells.
I cannot tell a lie; I’ve been at the office, said Henry.
That’s where we differ. I can tell a lie—when I hear it.
He had been out late. When he reached his residence the church clock was chiming 5. Heavy, weary, disgusted, he opened the front door with some difficulty, and softly toiled up the stairs, entering his bedchamber with elaborate caution.
Thank goodness, she was asleep!
He dropped into a chair, and without taking off his coat or hat, began to remove his shoes. One he placed with great care upon the floor, but alas! as he took off the other it slipped out of his hand and fell with a loud noise.
Wifey awoke on the instant.
She looked at him and then at the summer sunlight that streamed through the blinds.
Why, George, what are you getting up so early for?
Talk about reprieves!
Why, my dear, replied George, with the clearest enunciation of which he was capable. I found I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get up and go out and take a walk.
And out the poor wretch went, dragging himself round wearily for an hour upon the verge of tears and torpor.
Do you think it healthy to keep your hogs in the house? a social investigator asked a native of Arkansas.
Waal, I donno, he drawled. But I been akeepin’ my hawgs there for fourteen years and I ain’t never lost one on ’em yet.
Three artists were trying to see who had painted the most realistic picture.
Why, I painted a picture of Abraham Lincoln which was so lifelike that I had to shave it every day, said the first artist.
Oh, that’s nothing, said the second. I once painted a picture of a piece of marble which was so like one that when I threw it in some water it splashed like real marble and sank.
Why, that’s nothing, said the third, I painted a picture of a hen, and, thinking it no good, threw it in the waste-basket, and it laid there.
Not a few people lose their wits in the midst of a fire. They will toss a costly vase out of the window, but carry the tongs carefully downstairs and out to a place of safety. They remind us of one of the anecdotes of Mark Twain when he was a Mississippi River pilot, as told in St. Nicholas.
Boys, said the great humorist to a group of his friends—I had great presence of mind once. It was at a fire. An old man leaned out of a four-story building calling for help. Everybody in the crowd below looked up, but nobody did anything. The ladders weren’t long enough. Nobody had any presence of mind—nobody but me. I came to the rescue. I yelled for a rope. When it came I threw the old man the end of it. He caught it, and I told him to tie it around his waist. He did so, and I pulled him down!
Arkansaw Native—How much for takin’ the pictures of my children?
Photographer—Three dollars a dozen.
Native—Wa’al, I reckon I’ll have to wait a spell; I hain’t got but ’leven children at present!
Hello, Olaf where you ban so long?
I ban got married.
That’s good.
Not so good, my wife’s got two children.
That’s bad.
Not so bad, she got $10,000.
That’s good.
Not so good, she wouldn’t give me the money.
That’s bad.
Not so bad, she built a house.
That’s good.
Not so good, the house burn down.
That’s bad.
Not so bad, my wife burn up in house.
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 the 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.
Pompous Mistress—Who is that man at the door, Hannah?
New Girl—He says he’s the rent collector, ma’am.
Pompous Mistress—But, Hannah, we don’t pay rent.
New Girl—That’s what he says, ma’am.
Mrs. M.’s patience was much tried by a servant who had a habit of standing around with her mouth open. One day as the maid waited upon table, her mouth was open as usual, and her mistress giving her a severe look, said:
Mary, your mouth is open.
Yessum, replied Mary, I opened it.
An English sailor was watching a Chinaman who was placing a dish of rice by a grave.
When do you expect your friend to come out and eat that? the sailor asked.
Same time as your frien’ come out to smelle flowers you fellow put, retorted Li.
She was a four-flusher, particularly as to her abilities in various sports.
Do you golf? he asked.
Oh, I love golf, she answered. I play at least thirty-six holes twice a week.
And how about tennis?
I won the woman’s state championship in our State.
And do you swim?
The best I ever did was a half mile straight away, she replied.
Somewhat fatigued, he changed to literature.
And how do you like Kipling? he asked.
I kippled an hour only yesterday, was her unblushing reply.
Smith—Well, but if you can’t bear her, whatever made you propose?
Jones—Well, we had danced three times, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Francis Wilson tells an anecdote of Mark Twain’s aversion to barbers. It appears that a barber having kept Mr. Clemens in the chair for more than the usual period at length finished shaving him and said, Shall I go over it again?
No, drawled Mark, I heard every damned word of it.
You might as well admit your guilt, said the detective. The man whose house you broke into positively identifies you as the burglar.
That’s funny, said the burglar.
What’s funny? asked the detective.
How could he identify me when he had his head under the bedclothes all the time I was in his room?
Mark Twain once addressed an audience in the interest of his fellow townsman, General Joseph Hawley, who was a candidate for re-election to the United States Senate, and said, in the course of a droll address—General Hawley deserves your support, although he has about as much influence in purifying the Senate as a bunch of flowers would have in sweetening a glue factory. But he’s all right; he never would turn any poor beggar away from his door empty handed. He always gives them something—almost without exception a letter of introduction to me, urging me to help them.
Wallingford is entertaining a number of men at the hotel who have invested several thousands of dollars in his wildcat scheme. A newspaper man comes in and asks him:
Is this a surprise party, Mr. Wallingford?
No, but it will be later on.
On a suburban trolley car the other day a man got on who was badly under the influence of liquor. He got a seat and made himself quite offensive to an old lady who sat near him. When the conductor came around for his fare this old lady jumped up and said:
Conductor, do you allow drunken people on this car?
No, madam, replied the conductor, but sit down and nobody will notice you.
A good story is told of the troubles of an engaged couple. Not long ago there was a quarrel between the two which resulted in their not speaking to each other; but it became necessary, by reason of certain business questions, for the young man to call on her father at the house.
To the embarrassment of the lover the door was answered by the fair girl herself. Although the young man afterward confessed, his heart beat rapidly at the sight of his beloved, he managed to effect an air of indifference and coldness, and to ask:
Does Mr. Cash live here?
He does, was the frigid reply.
Is he at home?
He is not.
Then turning to go, the young man added:
Thank you, I shall call again. But the girl was equal to the occasion.
Pardon me, said she, in the same cool tone, but whom shall I say called?
You have a model husband, said the lady who was congratulating the bride.
The next day the bride bethought her to look up the word “model” in the dictionary, and this is what she found: MODEL—A small imitation of the real thing.
A man whose business troubled him greatly was advised to advertise for an Official Worrier. He did so, and among the applicants was a strong, serious, impressive man.
Are you prepared, asked the business man, to take over the burdens of the business?
I am, was the reply.
And what is your charge?
$10,000 a year.
Good; the job is yours. I am off for a week’s golfing. On his return he was confronted with this statement:
I have been through your books. I find that your assets are far below your liabilities; you have very little stock on hand; no orders; you owe a tremendous amount of money and you are heavily overdrawn at the bank. What I want to know is, where am I going to get my salary from?
You ask me? said the business man. I should worry about your salary. That is your job. What do you think you are hired for?
A curious inquirer wanted to know “What are the sister States?” and the brilliant country editor answered—
We are not quite sure, but we should judge that they are Miss Ouri, Ida Ho, Mary Land, Callie Fornia, Allie Bama, Louisa Anna, Delia Ware, Minnie Sota and Mrs. Sippi.
A German cobbler and his wife had two dogs—a St. Bernard, six months old, and a fox terrier, three years old. A friend, calling one day, said to the cobbler. Those are two fine dogs you have.
Yes, replied the cobbler, und de funny part of it iss dat de biggest dog is the littlest one.
His wife then spoke up and explained: You must mine husband egscuse; he spheaks not very goot English. He means de oldest dog is the youngest one.
There is a joke being told here at the expense of a modest young bookkeeper which is so good it ought to be true.
The young man in question, it appears, was recently invited to a party at a residence where the home had recently been blessed with an addition to the family.
Accompanied by his best girl he met his kind hostess at the door and after customary salutations asked after the welfare of the baby.
The lady was suffering from a severe cold, which made her slightly deaf, and she mistakenly supposed that the young man was inquiring about her cold.
She replied that she usually had one every winter but this was the worse she had ever had; it kept her awake at night a good deal at first and confined her to her bed.
Then noticing that the young bookkeeper was becoming pale and nervous, she said that she could see by his looks that he was going to have one just like hers and asked him if he wished to lie down.
The books were posted just the same next day but the young bookkeeper has given up inquiring about babies.
George, you may bring me two fried eggs, some ham, a pot of coffee and some rolls, said the man to the waiter.
Yes, sir.
His companion said, you may bring me the same. No; just eliminate the eggs.
Yes, sir.
In a moment the waiter returned.
Excuse me, sir, but what did you say about them eggs?
I merely told you to eliminate them.
Yes, sir. And he hurried away to the kitchen.
In two minutes he came back once more, leaned confidently and penitently over the table and said—
We had a bad accident this morning, sir, an’ the limitator got busted off, right at the handle. Will you take them fried, same as this gentleman?
J. M. Carter, the well known architect of New York, once went into the country to look at an opera-house that was to be enlarged and altered. The owner of the place stood on the stage, and Carter walked about the auditorium. We talked in loud tones, but though I was only half way back I could hardly hear the man.
The acoustics are bad here. Let’s go outside, I shouted finally.
What? said the owner.
The acoustics, I repeated, are bad.
The acoustics?
Yes.
Well, what about them?
I say the acoustics are bad.
Indeed? I don’t smell anything, said the owner, sniffing about.
The husband arrived home much later than usual from the office. He took off his boots and stole into the bedroom. His wife began to stir. Quickly the panic-stricken man went to the cradle of his firstborn and began to rock it vigorously.
What are you doing there, Robert? queried his wife.
I’ve been sitting here for nearly two hours trying to get this baby to sleep, he growled.
Why, Robert, I’ve got him here in bed with me, replied his wife.
Absalom Foote, an eccentric old man, who had grown tired of life in the city, decided to move to some smaller town, free from the roar of traffic, the bustle and confusion of the thronging multitude, where he could end his days tranquilly, as became a man of his age. In casting about for a location, his eyes chanced to light upon the advertisement in a village paper of one Thomas R. Foote, who wanted to dispose of his boot and shoe store at a bargain, having made up his mind to remove to the city.
That’s the very thing, he said, selling shoes is a very nice, easy occupation. It will give me just enough to do to keep me from stagnating, and it won’t wear me out with overwork. I’ll investigate it. It’s queer, though, that his name is Foote, my name is Foote, he wants to come to the city, and I want to go to the country.
A visit to the little town decided him. He liked its appearance and location. He was pleased, moreover, with Foote’s shoe store, and bought it good will and all, at a bargain.
Well, said the other Mr. Foote, you won’t have to change the sign.
No, he answered slowly, I’ll just add a little to it.
The next day he added this, just below the sign—
This place has changed feet.
Speaking of cold storage eggs, a correspondent sends in a story that may be new to some readers; at any rate it sounds plausible. A middle-aged bachelor was in a restaurant at breakfast, when he noticed this inscription on the egg—
To Whom it May Concern—Should this meet the eye of some young man who desires to marry a farmer’s daughter, 18 years of age, kindly communicate with ⸺, Sparta, N. J.
After reading this, he made haste to write to the girl, offering marriage, and in a few days received this note—
Too late. I am married now and have four children.
Mr. Ananias came home one night and was received very icily by his wife. He immediately assumed the defensive. It was not until after dinner that he dared ask his wife what the trouble was. Trouble, said she, why when I sent your suit to the tailor this morning I found this memorandum in your pocket, “Gwendolyn, Lenox 1020.”
Why, said Ananias, of course you know what that means. That is a racing tip. Gwendolyn is a horse, Lenox a jockey, and 1020 the racing odds. I am going to the races tomorrow and will play Gwendolyn at one to two.
The wife admitted her suspicions and begged forgiveness for doubting the fidelity of her beloved for one moment.
The next night Ananias came home very late from the races. Are you asleep, he whispered to his wife who was in bed with her face to the wall. No, she answered in distinct and hissing tones. You had better call up Lenox 1020, your horse wants to speak to you.
Two men were waiting for a train and one said—I will ask you a question, and if I can not answer my own question, I will buy the tickets. Then you ask a question, and if you can not answer your own, you buy the tickets. The other agreed to this. Well, the first man said, you see those rabbit-holes? How do they dig those holes without leaving any dirt around them? The other confessed—I don’t know. That’s your question, so answer it yourself. The first man winked and replied—They begin at the bottom and dig up! But, said the second man, how do they get at the bottom to begin? That’s your question, was the first man’s rejoinder. Answer it yourself. The other man bought the tickets.
Here is an incident that a Chanute man tells as having occurred in a certain Kansas town. He was in the ticket office and watched the proceedings.
A man came up to the window and asked for a ticket to Kansas City, inquiring the price.
Two twenty-five, said the agent.
The man dug down into a well-worn pocketbook and fished out a bill. It was a banknote for $2. It was also all the money he had.
How soon does this train go? he inquired.
In fifteen minutes, replied the agent.
The man hurried away. Soon he was back with three silver dollars, with which he bought a ticket.
Pardon my curiosity, said the ticket seller, but how did you get that money? It isn’t a loan, for I see you have disposed of the $2 bill.
That’s all right, said the man. No, I didn’t borrow. I went to a pawnshop and soaked the bill for $1.50. Then as I started back here I met an old acquaintance, to whom I sold the pawn for $1.50. I then had $3, and he has the pawn ticket for which the $2 bill stands as security.
An aged Jersey farmer, visiting a circus for the first time, stood before the dromedary’s cage, eyes popping and mouth agape at the strange beast within. The circus proper began and the crowds left for the main show, but still the old man stood before the cage in stunned silence, appraising every detail of the misshapen legs, the cloven hoofs, the pendulous upper lip, and the curiously moulded back of the sleepy-eyed beast. Fifteen minutes passed. Then the farmer turned away and spat disgustedly.
Hell! There ain’t no such animal!
They were playing poker in a Western town. One of the players was a stranger, and was getting a nice trimming. Finally the sucker saw one of the players give himself three aces from the bottom of the pack.
The sucker turned to the man beside him and said: Did you see that?
See what? asked the man.
Why, that fellow dealt himself three aces from the bottom of the deck, said the sucker.
Well, what about it? asked the man. It was his deal, wasn’t it?
At a dinner given by a political club in New York recently, a man who is unusually young for one who has attained to such prominence in his profession was for the first time in his life set down for a response to one of the toasts. When at last he was called on, his beardless face flushed and his manner was very embarrassed. Nevertheless he stood up and thus delivered himself: Gentlemen, before I entered this room, I had an excellent speech prepared. Only God and myself knew what I was going to say. Now God alone knows. And he sat down.
That feller Morgan Buttles is terrible unpopular, said one mountaineer.
We’ll have to git rid o’ him somehow, replied the old moonshiner.
Yes. But we don’t want to do nothin’ in a way that ain’t legitimate an’ customary. You know he has political ambitions.
I’ve heard so. But he ain’t got no pull.
Yes, he has. An’ you an’ your relations want to stand back o’ me when I put the case up to our Congressman. We’ll git Buttles app’inted a revenue inspector, an’ then let nature take its course.
A writer says in regard to the Prussia of fifty years ago that it had a state lottery, and in every town, large or small, was a collector appointed to sell tickets. One day a servant-girl came to the collector in Hagen and asked if she could buy No. 23.
He did not have it in his possession, but as the girl seemed very much in earnest, and refused to be put off with any other number, he tried to obtain it from some of the other collectors in town, and finally succeeded.
The drawing took place, and Hagen rose to a state of feverish excitement when it was known that this girl had become a winner of a large sum of money. She found herself for a time the chief object of interest in the town.
She was, of course, asked how she came to fix upon No. 23. Thereupon she gave this simple and lucid explanation:
I dreamed one night No. 7, and the second night I dreamed No. 7, and a third night again. So I thought, Three times seven makes twenty-three, and I bought that number.
A short time since two young women entered a tramcar in Manchester, England, and found only standing room. One of them whispered to her companion, I am going to get a seat from one of these men. You just take notice.
She selected a sedate-looking man, sailed up to him, and boldly opened fire.
My dear Mr. Green, how delighted I am to meet you! You are almost a stranger! Will I accept your seat? Well I do feel tired, I heartily admit! Thank you, so much!
The sedate man, a perfect stranger, of course, quietly gave her his seat, saying:
Sit down, Jane, my girl; don’t often see you out on washing day. How’s your mistress?
The young lady got her seat, but lost her vivacity.
A number of years ago, when the present second Assistant Secretary of State, Alvey A. Adee, was third assistant, an employe 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 hell! and the receiver was indignantly hung up.
The following reply to a dun was actually received by one local customer.