The Yankee Still Ahead.A Yankee, visiting London, and passing along one of the principal thoroughfares of trade and travel, stopped to look at some beautiful specimens of writing paper exposed for sale in a shop window; he gazed long and earnestly at the gorgeous display, when presently he turned and encountered the proprietor of the establishment standing at the door. The Yankee politely said:“Will ye tell me what ye du with them nice bits of paper?”“Yes, we keep them to tie up gape-seed in,” was the snappish response.“Oh, ye du, du ye?” said Jonathan, with a sly twinkle in his eye, as he walked on. Passing down the street a short distanceour indignant Yankee accosted another merchant, to whom he said: “Mister, can ye tell me what that feller duz for a livin’ what keeps them nice bits o’ paper in his winder?”“Yes, sir; he writes letters for persons who desire his assistance.”“Du ye think he’d write a letter for me if I’d pay him fur it?”“Certainly he would, and be glad of the chance.”Our bright-eyed hero thanked him, and turned abruptly away, walking briskly in the direction from which he came. The shop was soon reached, and, fortunately, the same individual stood on the door-step. The Yankee lost no time in addressing the cockney, and thus at once began:“I say, mister, I heerd that ye write letters fur folks what can’t write; what’ll ye tax me to write a letter to my uncle Peter?”“I will charge you five shillings,” he said, in such a changed tone of voice that the Yankee had to look again to see that he had not mistaken the person.“Will ye write jest what I tell ye tu, and spell all the words right?”“To be sure I will.”“And if ye don’t, I won’t pay ye; will ye agree to that?”“As I understand my businessthoroughly, of course I will agree to that.”“Wall, then, ye may commence.”The scribe arranged his paper, ink and pen, and pronounced himself ready.“My dear uncle Peter:—ready fur more?”“Yes.”“‘Rived here in London last week,—have ye got that deown?”“Yes, go on.”“Thought I’d take a stroll through the woods,—got that deown and spelt right?”“Yes, yes; go on, and do not bother me so.”“I pay ye five shillings by-and-bye, don’t I?”“Yes, but you have no need to detain me so if you do.”“Wall, I walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and—”“What’s the use of saying it over so many times?”“None o’ your business,—Ipayye five shillings,—and walked and walked and walked—”“See here, this page is full of the words ‘and walked.’”“Turn over then,—and walked and walked, and I couldn’t find any woods. Have ye got all that deown and spelt right?”“Yes, but why don’t you go on.”“Jest then I stopped to think what I should du, or where to go,—got that all deown?”(Snappishly) “Yes.”“Wall, then I seen a sign, and on it wuz: ‘Teams to hire,’ so I went up and told the man to give me a fust-rate team with a hoss I could easy manage myself. My! but you write fast. Is all that deown?” (Surprised).“It is, and I would like to have the rest of your letter, sir.”“Wall, that hoss started off all right, but in less than two minutes she got stubborner than any mule; and I hed to get eout, and lick her and kick her and prick her and lick her and kick her and prick her, (continue to repeat these words very rapidly), and she wouldn’t go. Is that all deown, and spelt right?”“You are only losing time, sir, in repeating that last phrase.”“That’s my business,—When I see’d she wouldn’t go fur lickin’, I tried to coax her, and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed, but she wouldn’t go; then I got crosslikeand went—” (here the Yankee makes a chirruping sound which bids defiance to orthography).“I can’t spell that,” said the Englishman.“Oh, ye can’t spell that, can’t ye? Then ye needn’t write any more for me.”“Need not write any more!”“No more,” was the composed reply of the Yankee, as he laid his hand over his fat pocket and said:“I ’spose ye remember our agreement?”“Yes, I do, but what’s to be done with all this paper?”“Keep it to tie up gape-seed in. Good bye, sir!” and the Yankee made a speedy exit.Arranged by S. Anna Gesemyer.
A Yankee, visiting London, and passing along one of the principal thoroughfares of trade and travel, stopped to look at some beautiful specimens of writing paper exposed for sale in a shop window; he gazed long and earnestly at the gorgeous display, when presently he turned and encountered the proprietor of the establishment standing at the door. The Yankee politely said:
“Will ye tell me what ye du with them nice bits of paper?”
“Yes, we keep them to tie up gape-seed in,” was the snappish response.
“Oh, ye du, du ye?” said Jonathan, with a sly twinkle in his eye, as he walked on. Passing down the street a short distanceour indignant Yankee accosted another merchant, to whom he said: “Mister, can ye tell me what that feller duz for a livin’ what keeps them nice bits o’ paper in his winder?”
“Yes, sir; he writes letters for persons who desire his assistance.”
“Du ye think he’d write a letter for me if I’d pay him fur it?”
“Certainly he would, and be glad of the chance.”
Our bright-eyed hero thanked him, and turned abruptly away, walking briskly in the direction from which he came. The shop was soon reached, and, fortunately, the same individual stood on the door-step. The Yankee lost no time in addressing the cockney, and thus at once began:
“I say, mister, I heerd that ye write letters fur folks what can’t write; what’ll ye tax me to write a letter to my uncle Peter?”
“I will charge you five shillings,” he said, in such a changed tone of voice that the Yankee had to look again to see that he had not mistaken the person.
“Will ye write jest what I tell ye tu, and spell all the words right?”
“To be sure I will.”
“And if ye don’t, I won’t pay ye; will ye agree to that?”
“As I understand my businessthoroughly, of course I will agree to that.”
“Wall, then, ye may commence.”
The scribe arranged his paper, ink and pen, and pronounced himself ready.
“My dear uncle Peter:—ready fur more?”
“Yes.”
“‘Rived here in London last week,—have ye got that deown?”
“Yes, go on.”
“Thought I’d take a stroll through the woods,—got that deown and spelt right?”
“Yes, yes; go on, and do not bother me so.”
“I pay ye five shillings by-and-bye, don’t I?”
“Yes, but you have no need to detain me so if you do.”
“Wall, I walked and walked and walked and walked and walked and—”
“What’s the use of saying it over so many times?”
“None o’ your business,—Ipayye five shillings,—and walked and walked and walked—”
“See here, this page is full of the words ‘and walked.’”
“Turn over then,—and walked and walked, and I couldn’t find any woods. Have ye got all that deown and spelt right?”
“Yes, but why don’t you go on.”
“Jest then I stopped to think what I should du, or where to go,—got that all deown?”
(Snappishly) “Yes.”
“Wall, then I seen a sign, and on it wuz: ‘Teams to hire,’ so I went up and told the man to give me a fust-rate team with a hoss I could easy manage myself. My! but you write fast. Is all that deown?” (Surprised).
“It is, and I would like to have the rest of your letter, sir.”
“Wall, that hoss started off all right, but in less than two minutes she got stubborner than any mule; and I hed to get eout, and lick her and kick her and prick her and lick her and kick her and prick her, (continue to repeat these words very rapidly), and she wouldn’t go. Is that all deown, and spelt right?”
“You are only losing time, sir, in repeating that last phrase.”
“That’s my business,—When I see’d she wouldn’t go fur lickin’, I tried to coax her, and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed and coaxed, but she wouldn’t go; then I got crosslikeand went—” (here the Yankee makes a chirruping sound which bids defiance to orthography).
“I can’t spell that,” said the Englishman.
“Oh, ye can’t spell that, can’t ye? Then ye needn’t write any more for me.”
“Need not write any more!”
“No more,” was the composed reply of the Yankee, as he laid his hand over his fat pocket and said:
“I ’spose ye remember our agreement?”
“Yes, I do, but what’s to be done with all this paper?”
“Keep it to tie up gape-seed in. Good bye, sir!” and the Yankee made a speedy exit.
Arranged by S. Anna Gesemyer.