Part 12

5. Washed the Servant of the High Priest and put carmine on his cheek, 0 1 0

6. Renewed Heaven, adjusted two Stars, and cleaned the Moon, 1 16 0

7. Re-animated the Flames of Purgatory and restored Souls, 6 7 0

8. Revived the Flames of Hell, put a New Tail on the Devil, mended his left hoof, and did several jobs for the damned, 1 16 6

9. Re-bordering the Robe of Herod and re-adjusting his Wig, 0 17 3

10. Put new Spotted Dashes on the Son of Tobias and dressing on his sack 0 7 6

11. Cleaned the Ears of Balaam’s Ass and shod him, 0 9 0

12. Put Earrings in the Ears of Sarah, 0 9 2

13. Put a New Stone in David’s Sling, enlarged the Head of Goliath, and extended his Legs, 0 8 8

14. Decorated Noah’s Ark, 0 17 6

15. Mended the Shirt of the Prodigal Son and cleaned his ears, 0 15 3

--_P. Sylvester, Summerfield, Warham_ -------- _Road, Croydon._ £17 10 5

* * * * *

Shortly after two o’clock one bitter winter morning a physician drove four miles in answer to a telephone call. On his arrival the man who had summoned him said:

“Doctor, I ain’t in any particular pain, but somehow or other I’ve got a feeling that death is nigh.”

The doctor felt the man’s pulse and listened to his heart.

“Have you made your will?”

The man turned pale.

“Why, no, doctor, at my age--oh, Doc, it ain’t true is it? It can’t be true!”

“Who’s your lawyer?”

“Higginbotham.”

“Well, you’d better send for him at once.”

The patient, white and trembling, went to the ’phone.

“Who’s your pastor?” continued the doctor.

“The Rev. Kellogg M. Brown,” mumbled the patient. “But, doctor, do you think--”

“Send for him immediately. Your father, too, should be summoned; also your--”

“Say, doctor, do you really think I’m going to die?” The man began to blubber softly.

The doctor looked at him hard.

“No, I don’t,” he replied grimly. “There’s nothing at all the matter with you. But I’d hate to be the only man you’ve made a fool of on a night like this.”

* * * * *

Dr. L. E. Wilson, a wealthy young Baltimore physician, was awakened one stormy night by a man who declared the doctor’s services were wanted three miles out in the country. Just before the doctor called up the stable for his horse, the visitor asked what the charge would be. “Three dollars,” was the reply. When the house containing the supposed patient was reached, the man alighted first, and, handing the doctor three dollars, remarked: “That will be all, doctor. I couldn’t find a hackman who would do it for less than six dollars.”

* * * * *

A certain prosy preacher recently gave an endless discourse on the prophets. First he dwelt at length on the minor prophets. At last he finished them, and the congregation gave a sigh of relief. He took a long breath and continued: “Now I shall proceed to the major prophets.”

After the major prophets had received more than ample attention the congregation gave another sigh of relief.

“Now that I have finished with the minor prophets and the major prophets, what about Jeremiah? Where is Jeremiah’s place?”

At this point a tall man arose in the back of the church. “Jeremiah can have my place,” he said; “I’m going home.”

* * * * *

Any one who has traveled on the New York subway in rush hours can easily appreciate the following:

A little man, wedged into the middle of a car, suddenly thought of pickpockets, and quite as suddenly remembered that he had some money in his overcoat. He plunged his hand into his pocket and was somewhat shocked upon encountering the fist of a fat fellow-passenger.

“Aha” snorted the latter. “I caught you that time!”

“Leggo!” snarled the little man. “Leggo my hand!”

“Pickpocket!” hissed the fat man.

“Scoundrel!” retorted the little one.

Just then a tall man in their vicinity glanced up from his paper.

“I’d like to get off here,” he drawled, “if you fellows don’t mind taking your hands out of my pocket.”

* * * * *

Aunt Mahaly, an old negress with a worthless husband, was relating her troubles to her minister. The usual condolences were offered by the latter and remedies suggested, but at each one Aunt Mahaly shook a doubting head--she had tried them all without avail.

The minister sighed and pondered, and at last had an inspiration. He leaned to Aunt Mahaly, who brightened visibly.

“Sis’ Mahaly,” he said, “hab you eber tried heapin’ coals er fire on his haid?”

The gleam of hope faded from Aunt Mahaly’s face.

“No, Bre’r Jackson, I ain’t never done dat, but I’s tried po’in’ hot water ovuh him.”

* * * * *

A barber in South Bend, having been out late the night before, had a shaky hand the next morning and cut a patron’s cheek four times. After each accident the barber said, as he sponged away the blood: “Oh, dear me, how careless!”

The patron took all these gashes in grave silence. But when the shave was over he filled a glass at the water-cooler, took a mouthful of water, and, with compressed lips, proceeded to shake his head from side to side.

“What is the matter?” the barber asked. “You ain’t got the toothache, have you?”

“No,” said the customer; “I only wanted to see if my mouth would still hold water without leaking.”

* * * * *

At one of the lectures by Professor George Kirchwey, dean of Columbia Law College, New York, the students were uneasy. There was something wrong in the air. Books were dropped, chairs were pushed along the floor. There were various interruptions. The nerves of all were on edge. The members of the class kept their eyes on the clock and awaited the conclusion of the hour of the lecture. The clock beat Professor Kirchwey by perhaps a minute, but at the expiration of the schedule time the students started to their feet and prepared to leave. “Wait a minute,” objected Professor Kirchwey; “don’t go just yet. I have a few more pearls to cast.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Flint _always_ demanded instant and unquestioning obedience from her children. One afternoon a storm came up and she sent her son John to close the trapdoor leading to the roof.

“But mother--” said John.

“John, I told you to shut the trapdoor.”

“Yes, but, Mother--”

“John, shut that trapdoor.”

“All right, Mother, if you say so, but--”

“John!”

John slowly climbed the stairs and shut the trapdoor. The storm howled and raged. Two hours later the family gathered for tea. When the meal was half over Aunt Mary had not appeared, and Mrs. Flint started an investigation. She did not have to ask many questions; John answered the first one:

“Please, Mother, she is up on the roof.”

* * * * *

An absent-minded scientist, in the employ of the government at Washington, recently met his physician in the street.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me, Doctor,” said the man of science. “I am limping badly to-day. Do you think it’s locomotor ataxia?”

“Scarcely that,” replied the physician. “You are walking with one foot on the curb and the other in the gutter.”

* * * * *

One Sunday John Wanamaker visited the Sunday-school classes in which he was greatly interested, and after talking the lesson over told the pupils he would try to answer any questions the boys or girls wanted to ask him.

One little girl raised her hand, and spoke out timidly: “Will you please tell me, Mr. Wanamaker, how much those large French dolls are that you have in your show-window?”

* * * * *

Judge--“Have you been arrested before?”

Prisoner--“No, sir.”

Judge--“Have you been in this court before?”

Prisoner--“No, sir.”

Judge--“Are you certain?”

Prisoner--“I am, sir.”

Judge--“But your face looks decidedly familiar. Where have I seen it before?”

Prisoner--“I’m the bartender in the saloon across the way, sir.”

* * * * *

Henry Guy Carleton, wit, journalist, and playwright, has an impediment in his speech about which he is not in the least sensitive. Meeting Nat Goodwin one day he asked:

“G-g-goodwin, c-c-an you g-g-give m-m-me f-f-fifteen m-m-minutes?”

“Certainly,” replied the comedian, “what is it?”

“I w-w-want to have f-f-five m-m-minutes’ c-c-conversation with you.”

* * * * *

A German pedler rapped timidly at the kitchen entrance. Mrs. Kelly, angry at being interrupted in her washing, flung open the door and glowered at him.

“Did yez wish to see me?” she demanded in threatening tones.

The pedler backed off a few steps.

“Vell, if I did,” he assured her with an apologetic grin, “I got my vish, thank you.”

* * * * *

A lady from South America possessed of a decidedly quick temper came to New York with a very incomplete knowledge of the English language. At her hotel she rang for the chambermaid. But a waiter came instead. Having ascertained that the name of the chambermaid was Susan, the lady marshaled her meager knowledge of English in a desperate effort to make the waiter understand that he should call the chambermaid. What she said to him, however, was:

“Call me Susan!”

The waiter leaned against the wall much alarmed.

“Call me Susan!” shouted the South American.

The waiter became appalled.

“Call me Susan!” roared the lady, her eyes flashing furiously.

“Susan, then--if you will have it!” exclaimed the poor waiter. Then he fled precipitately.

* * * * *

“Please, mum,” began the aged hero in appealing tones, as he stood at the kitchen-door on washday, “I’ve lost my leg--”

“Well, I ain’t got it,” snapped the woman, slamming the door.

* * * * *

In the absence of the regularly appointed spokesman, Mr. Makinbrakes had reluctantly consented to make a presentation speech.

“Miss Higham,” he said, “unfortunately it is my--er--fortunate lot to fulfill the embarrassing--the pleasant duty of--of inflicting a few remarks upon this occasion--which is highly appreciated, I assure you, and by none more so than myself, for the reason that--in short, as I may say, it falls to my lot to convey, so to speak, the assurances of--that is, with the assurances of those to whom--to whom I have occasion to refer to--more or less--in this connection, together with the best wishes, if I may so express myself, of those who have clubbed together--who have associated themselves--not that you need anything of the kind, of course, but as a token of--as a token of--of--with which few remarks, Miss Higham, it is my--my pleasant surprise to hand you this gold watch and chain. I--I thank you.”

* * * * *

The reputed affinity between the Southern negro and unguarded poultry is the subject of a story told by Senator Bacon, of Georgia. An old colored man, notorious for his evil ways, after attending a revival meeting, desired to lead a better life. At a later meeting he was called up to be questioned.

“Well, Rastus,” said the revivalist, “I hope you are now trying to live a Christian life in accordance with the rules of the Church. Have you been stealing any chickens lately?”

“No, sah! I ain’t stole no chicken ob late.”

“Any turkeys or pigs?”

Rastus, grieved, replied: “No, sah!”

“I am very glad to hear that you have been doing better lately,” replied the evangelist. “Continue to lead a holy and Christian life, Rastus.”

After the meeting was over, Rastus drew a long breath of relief, and turning to his wife exclaimed:

“Mandy, if he’d said ducks I’d been a lost nigger, suah!”

* * * * *

The late Moses Coit Tyler, so long Professor of History in Cornell, was at one time a popular professor in the University of Michigan. One raw February morning as he was calling the roll of an 8 o’clock class in English, he called “Mr. Robbins,” and receiving no answer called again: “Mr. Robbins?” Still no reply. “Ah,” said Professor Tyler, looking around upon the class in his inimitable manner, “it is rather early for robins.”

* * * * *

He--“Isn’t dinner ready yet?”

She--“No, dear. I got it according to the time you set the clock when you came in last night, and dinner will be ready in four hours.”

* * * * *

A foreigner, meeting an American friend, said to him, “How are you?” The latter replied, “Out of sight.”

The man considered this very clever, and decided to use the expression on the next occasion. Shortly after he was met by a friend, who asked, “How are you?” With visible pride he answered, “You don’t see me.”

* * * * *

There is a clerk in the employ of a Philadelphia business man who, while a fair worker, is yet an individual of pronounced eccentricity.

One day a wire basket fell off the top of the clerk’s desk and scratched his cheek. Not having any court plaster at hand, he slapped on three two-cent postage stamps and continued his work.

A few minutes later he had occasion to take some papers to his employer’s private office. When he entered, the “old man” observing the postage stamps on his cheek fixed him with an astonished stare. “Look here, Jenkins!” he exclaimed. “You are carrying too much postage for second-class matter!”

* * * * *

“I suppose,” said the facetious stranger, watching a workman spread a carpet from the church door to the curb, “that’s the high road to heaven you’re fixing there?”

“No,” replied the man; “this is merely a bridal path.”

* * * * *

“I hope my little Tommy has taken to heart mama’s talk of last night about charity and usefulness,” said a fond mother. “How many acts of kindness has he done? How many hearts has my Tommy made grateful and glad?”

Her Tommy replied:

“I’ve done a lot of good, ma; I gave your new hat to a beggar woman, and I gave the cook’s shoes to a little girl in busted rubbers what I seen on the street, and I gave a poor, lame shoe-string seller pa’s black suit, the open front one that he hardly ever wears.”

* * * * *

Charles Francis Adams was escorting a literary friend about Boston. They were viewing the different objects of attraction and finally came to Bunker Hill. They stood looking at the splendid monument when Adams remarked: “This is the place, sir, where Warren fell.”

“Ah!” replied the Englishman, evidently not very familiar with American history. “Was he seriously hurt by his fall?”

Mr. Adams looked at his friend. “Hurt!” said he. “He was killed, sir.”

“Ah, indeed,” the Englishman replied, still eying the monument and commencing to compute its height in his own mind. “Well, I should think he might have been--falling so far.”

* * * * *

“Darling,” said his bride, “I had a terrible feeling of sadness come over me this afternoon--a sort of feeling that you were doing something that would break my heart if I knew of it. Think, sweet, what were you doing this afternoon at four o’clock?”

“Dearest,” replied her husband, tenderly and reassuringly, “at that hour I was licking stamps and pasting them on envelopes.”

* * * * *

A few years ago a dear old lady, who formerly lived in Ipswich, and was a relative of the poet Whittier, had occasion to go on a journey which necessitated a night’s ride in a sleeping car. Being subject to attacks of acute indigestion, she took the precaution to place a few leaves of the commercial mustard plaster in her hand bag.

During the night, pains, either real or imaginary, warned her of trouble and prevented sleep. Deciding upon the application of a plaster, she reached in the dark for the hand bag, and, having secured it, proceeded to put one of the leaves where it would do the most good, and immediately felt comforted and enjoyed a refreshing sleep until morning.

Upon removing the plaster, what was her astonishment to find that it was a $10 bank note that had brought such speedy relief.

* * * * *

Beerbohm Tree was once endeavoring to get a well-known actor back into his company. He invited the man to call and received him in his dressing room as he was making-up. “How much would you want to come back to me?” inquired Mr. Tree, busy with his paint pots. The other named an exorbitant salary to which Tree merely retorted as he went on making up: “Don’t slam the door when you go out, will you?”

* * * * *

“Oh, mama,” she cried, rushing into her mother’s room, and flinging her arms around her mother’s neck, “He loves me! He loves me!”

“My dear child, I’m so glad! Has he told you? Has he asked you to be his wife?”

“No, but he’s down in the library learning to play chess with papa.”

* * * * *

“If I had only known that this pleasure was in store for me,” said the doctor, as he shook hands cordially with his wife’s cousins, “I should certainly have arranged my business so as to be home earlier.”

“Why, pa,” piped up little Tommy, “don’t you remember that ma told you they were coming, and you said, ‘Oh, the devil!’”

* * * * *

A minister of a fashionable church had always left the greeting of strangers to be attended to by the ushers until he read some newspaper articles in reference to the matter.

“Suppose a representative should visit our church,” said his wife. “Wouldn’t it be awful?”

“It would,” the minister admitted.

The following Sunday evening he noticed a plainly dressed woman in one of the free pews. She sat alone and was clearly not a member of the flock. After the benediction the minister hastened and intercepted her at the door.

“How do you do?” he said, offering his hand. “I am very glad to have you with us.”

“Thank you,” replied the young woman.

“I hope we may see you often in our church home,” he went on. “We are always glad to welcome new faces.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you live in this parish?” he asked.

The girl looked blank.

“If you will give me your address my wife and I will call on you some evening.”

“You wouldn’t need to go far, sir,” said the young woman. “I’m your cook.”

* * * * *

The mission-workers on the East Side frequently see the humorous as well as the sadder side of life. A man prominent in reform work in New York City recounts the experience of a certain young woman, new to the task, who set about posting herself as to conditions in a neighborhood near Avenue A.

The ambitious missionary had entered the house of an Irishwoman, and had made some preliminary inquiries, when she was suddenly interrupted by the woman, who said:

“Say, youse is fresh at dis business, ain’t youse?”

The amateur in mission work blushingly admitted such to be the case, adding, “I have never visited you before, Mrs. Muldoon.”

“Thin,” explained the Irishwoman, “I tell ye what to do. Ye sit down in that chair there, ye read me a short psalm, ye gives me fifty cints, an’ thin ye goes.”

* * * * *

The following conversation was overheard during a hunting trip in Scotland:

Fitz--“I say, are all your beaters out of the wood?”

Keeper--“Yes, sir.”

Fitz--“Are you sure?”

Keeper--“Yes, sir.”

Fitz--“Have you counted them?”

Keeper--“No, sir; but I know they’re all right.”

Fitz--“Then I’ve shot a deer!”

* * * * *

Joe--“I love you; I love you. Won’t you be my wife?”

Jess--“You must see mama first.”

Joe--“I have seen her several times, but I love you just the same.”

* * * * *

Long after the victories of Washington over the French and English had made his name familiar to all Europe, Benjamin Franklin chanced to dine with the English and French Ambassadors, when the following toasts were drunk:

“‘England’--The Sun, whose bright beams enlighten and fructify the remotest corners of the earth.”

The French Ambassador, filled with national pride, but too polite to dispute the previous toast, offered the following:

“‘France’--The Moon, whose mild, steady and cheering rays are the delight of all nations, consoling them in darkness and making their dreariness beautiful.”

Doctor Franklin then arose, and, with his usual dignified simplicity, said:

“‘George Washington’--The Joshua who commanded the Sun and Moon to stand still, and they obeyed him.”

* * * * *

The following appeal of a Western editor is still going the rounds, although it is to be hoped that by this time the writer’s only trouble is in having his vest made large enough:

“We see by an esteemed contemporary that a young lady in Chicago is so particular that she kneads bread with her gloves on. What of that? The editor of this paper needs bread with his coat on; he needs bread with his trousers on; in fact he needs bread with all of his clothes on. And if some of his debtors don’t pay up pretty quick he’ll need bread without anything at all on, and this Western climate is no Garden of Eden.”

* * * * *

The unconscious humors of country journalism, says William Allen White, are often more amusing than the best efforts of the alleged “funny man.”

According to Mr. White there once appeared in a Kansas paper the following “personal notice”:

“Our prominent townsman Theodore Monkton is seriously ill. He is being attended twice a day by Doctor Smith, in consultation with Doctor Morgan. His recovery, therefore, is in great doubt.”

* * * * *

A crowd of small boys were gathered about the entrance of a circus tent in one of the small cities in New Hampshire one day, trying to get a glimpse of the interior. A man standing near watched them for a few moments, then walking up to the ticket-taker he said:

“Let all these boys in, and count them as they pass.”

The man did as requested, and when the last one had gone, he turned and said, “Twenty-eight.”

“Good!” said the man, “I guessed just right,” and walked off.

* * * * *

The editor of a rural newspaper determined to adopt the idea of posting bulletins on a bulletin board for all important events that happened in the town. Soon afterward he was told one morning by the local physician that Deacon Jones was seriously ill. The deacon was a man of some distinction in the community, so the editor posted a series of bulletins as follows:

10 A. M.--Deacon Jones no better.

11 A. M.--Deacon Jones has relapse.

12.30 P. M.--Deacon Jones weaker. Pulse failing.

1 P. M.--Deacon Jones has slight rally.

2.15 P. M.--Deacon Jones’s family has been summoned.

3.10 P. M.--Deacon Jones has died and gone to heaven.

Later in the afternoon a traveling salesman happened by, stopped to read the bulletins, and going to the bulletin board, made another report concerning the deceased. It was:

4.10 P. M.--Great excitement in heaven. Deacon Jones has not yet arrived.

* * * * *

A group of drummers were trading yarns on the subject of hospitality, when one, a little Virginian with humorous eyes and a delightful drawl, took up his parable thus:

“I was down in Louisiana last month, travelin’ ‘cross country with a friend, when we kinder got lost in a mighty lonesome sort of road just about dark. We rode along a right good piece after sundown, and when we saw a light ahead, I tell you it looked first-rate. We drove up to the light, finding ’twas a house, and when I hollered like a lost calf the man came out and we asked him to take us in for the night. He looked at us mighty hard, then said:

“‘Wal, I reckon I kin stand it if you kin.’

“So we went in and found ’twas only a two-room shanty, just swarmin’ with children. He had six, from four to eleven years old; as there didn’t seem to be but one bed, me an’ Stony wondered what in thunder would become of us.