Part 3

* * * * *

There are some singular discounts allowed in the book trade. They were happily illustrated on one occasion by Mark Twain. One day while the humorist was connected with a publishing house he went into a book store and picking up a volume asked the price. He then suggested that as a publisher he was entitled to 50 per cent discount. To this the clerk assented.

“As I am also an author,” said Mark, “it would appear that I am again entitled to 50 per cent discount.”

Again the clerk bowed.

“And as a personal friend of the proprietor,” he modestly continued, “I presume that you will allow me the usual 25 per cent. discount.”

Another bow from the salesman.

“Well,” drawled the unblushing humorist, “under these conditions I think I may as well take the book. What’s the tax?”

The clerk took out his pencil and figured industriously. Then he said with the greatest obsequiousness:

“As near as I can calculate we owe you the book and about 37-1/2 cents.”

* * * * *

Clyde Fitch tells a new story of Whistler. The artist was in Paris at the time of the coronation of King Edward, and at a reception one evening a duchess said to him: “I believe you know King Edward, Mr. Whistler.”

“No, madame,” replied Whistler.

“Why, that’s odd,” she murmured; “I met the King at a dinner-party last year, and he said that he knew you.”

“Oh,” said the painter, “that was just his brag.”

* * * * *

A London friend who was a member of the same club as Mr. Whistler writes me this, which I have not seen before in print. It seems that the gentle artist in making enemies had not paid his dues and was dunned for them in vain. He either took no notice of requests for a settlement, or replied to them with his usual airy mockery. Finally the secretary wrote to him:

_“Dear Mr. Whistler_--It is not a Nocturne in Purple, or a Symphony in Blue and Gray, that we are after, but An Arrangement in Gold and Silver.”

This drew forth the required pounds and shillings.

* * * * *

Here is another story typical of the great maker of enemies:

Whistler had a French poodle of which he was extravagantly fond. The poodle was seized with an affection of the throat, and Whistler had the audacity to send for the great throat specialist Mackenzie.

Sir Morell, when he saw that he had been called in to treat a dog, didn’t like it much, it was plain. But he said nothing. He prescribed, pocketed a big fee, and drove away.

The next day he sent post-haste for Whistler; and Whistler, thinking he was summoned on some matter connected with his beloved dog, dropped his work and rushed like the wind to Mackenzie’s.

On his arrival Sir Morell said gravely:

“How do you do, Mr. Whistler? I wanted to see you about having my front door painted.”

* * * * *

A story is told of a very popular cavalry officer. He was being tried for drunkenness, and among other witnesses was his Irish orderly. The court, anxious to give the officer every chance, put several questions to this witness with a view of eliciting any facts that might be in his master’s favor. When the orderly said that his master, on going to bed, had expressed a wish to be called early, the members of the court-martial were distinctly pleased.

A man who gave special instructions to be called early could not, surely--they argued to themselves--have been drunk. Hoping to get favorable particulars, the judge advocate put a further question.

“And why did the major wish to be called early?” he asked.

“Faith, an’ he tould me it was because he was to be Queen of the May,” came the answer.

That settled it.

* * * * *

A college professor, noted for his concentration of thought, returned home from a scientific meeting one night, still pondering deeply upon the subject that had been discussed. As he entered his room he heard a noise that seemed to come from under the bed.

“Is there some one there?” he asked absently.

“No, professor,” answered the intruder, who knew of his peculiarities.

“That’s strange,” muttered the professor. “I was almost sure I heard some one under the bed.”

* * * * *

Fond Mother--“Jane, has Johnny come home from school yet?”

Jane--“I think so. I haven’t seen him, but the cat is hiding under the stove.”

* * * * *

Somebody told Mr. Jenks that red flannel worn next to the skin would cure the rheumatism from which he suffered. So he purchased several sets of red flannel undergarments. The clerk assured him that the firm guaranteed the goods in every particular. About two months later, says the New York “Times,” Mr. Jenks revisited the shop, sought out the proprietor and told his woful story.

“The goods are the best in the house,” declared the proprietor. “Of course,” he said, in a reasonable tone used on unreasonable persons, “of course the shirts may have shrunk or faded a little--”

“Shrunk! Faded!” bellowed Mr. Jenks. “What do you think my wife said to me, when I came down to breakfast yesterday with one of them on?”

The proprietor looked bored.

“Well, sir,” said the aggrieved Jenks, “she looked at me a minute, and then said, ‘What is that little red line round your neck John? It isn’t the baby’s string of coral beads, is it?’”

* * * * *

“Now, Tommy,” said Mrs. Bull, “I want you to be good while I’m out.”

“I’ll be good for a nickel,” replied Tommy.

“Tommy,” she said, “I want you to remember that you can not be a son of mine unless you are good for nothing.”

* * * * *

Bill Jones is a country storekeeper down in Louisiana, and last spring he went to New Orleans to purchase a stock of goods. The goods were shipped immediately and reached home before he did. When the boxes of goods were delivered at his store by the drayman his wife happened to look at the largest; she uttered a loud cry and called for a hammer. A neighbor, hearing the screams, rushed to her assistance and asked what was the matter. The wife, pale and faint, pointed to an inscription on the box which read as follows:

“Bill inside.”

* * * * *

Customer--“Are these five or six wedding rings all you have in stock? Why, you’ve got a whole trayful of engagement rings.”

Jeweler--“Yes, sir, and it will take that whole trayful of engagement rings to work off those five or six wedding rings.”

* * * * *

They were newly married and on a honeymoon trip. They put up at a skyscraper hotel. The bridegroom felt indisposed, and the bride said she would slip out and do a little shopping.

In due time she returned and tripped blithely up to her room, a little awed by the number of doors that looked all alike. But she was sure of her own and tapped gently on the panel.

“I’m back, honey; let me in,” she whispered.

No answer.

“Honey, honey, let me in!” she called again, rapping louder. Still no answer.

“Honey, honey, it’s Mabel. Let me in.”

There was silence for several seconds; then a man’s voice, cold and full of dignity, came from the other side of the door:

“Madame, this is not a beehive; it’s a bathroom.”

* * * * *

Leigh Hunt was asked by a lady at dessert if he would not venture on an orange. “Madam,” he replied, “I should be happy to do so, but I am afraid I should tumble off.”

* * * * *

Mrs. Prattle looked at her visitor with reproach in her wide blue eyes. “Talk,” she said eagerly, “our baby talk? Well, I guess he can. He’s three months younger than my cousin’s boy and he’s a year ahead of him in language. You know often people tell you their children can say things, and when you hear them you have to work hard with your imagination to tell what they’re saying.

“Now, there’s my cousin’s baby--the one I spoke of. They declare that child has a vocabulary of fifteen words, but, my dear, if you could hear him. He says ‘bay’ for bread, and ‘flis’ for fish, and ‘cang’ for candle, and ‘hort’ for horse, and ‘apa’ for father. Now I’ll try Harold with those very words, and you’ll see the difference.

“Say bread, Harold--bread--bre-e-ad.”

“Wed,” said the baby.

“Now say fish, fi-sh.”

“Whish,” said the baby.

“And now horse,” said Harold’s mother. “Horse--ho-orse, ho-r-se.”

“Woss,” said the baby.

“And now will precious say father, fa-ather, fa-a-ar-ther?”

“Wahwah,” said the baby.

“There, you see!” cried Mrs. Prattle in triumph. “He seems to catch the sound of every word. Now say good-by, darling, and then nurse will take you upstairs. Good-by--goo-ood-by-y-y.”

“Wy wy,” said the baby.

* * * * *

The superintendent of a Sunday-school class in Philadelphia recently called upon a visitor to “say a few words” to the class, the members of which are mostly children of tender age.

The visitor, a speaker well known for his verbose and circumlocutory mode of speech, began his address as follows:

“This morning, children, I purpose to offer you an epitome of the life of St. Paul. It may be perhaps that there are among you some too young to grasp the meaning of the word ‘epitome.’

“‘Epitome,’ children, is in its signification synonymous with synopsis.”

* * * * *

A milliner endeavored to sell to a colored woman one of the last season’s hats at a very moderate price. It was a big white picture-hat.

“Law, no, honey!” exclaimed the woman. “I could nevah wear that. I’d look jes’ like a blueberry in a pan of milk.”

* * * * *

A few years ago the celebrated Potter family, of which Bishop Potter was a member, held a reunion the chief feature of which was a banquet. During the banquet the various heads of the different families of Potters arose and gave a short account of the pedigrees and deeds of their ancestors and each head seemed to be able to demonstrate that their branch was the oldest and most renowned. After all the speakers had finished, Honorable William M. Evarts, who was present as the legal adviser of the New York branch, was called upon for a speech and responded by saying that he felt there was little left for him to say, but after listening to the ancestry and history of the family he felt he could cast his eyes toward heaven and say, “Oh, Lord! thou art the clay and we are the Potters.”

* * * * *

A Massachusetts minister was making his first visit to Kentucky several years ago. He had to spend the night in a small mountain town where feuds and moonshine still abounded. Engaging in conversation with one of the natives, he said:

“My friend, this is a very bibulous State, I hear.”

“Lord!” replied the man, “there hain’t twenty-five Bibles in all Kentucky.”

* * * * *

An elderly gentleman opposed to the use of tobacco approached a young man who stood on a street corner smoking a cigar, and asked him severely, “How many cigars a day do you smoke?” “Three,” was the reply. “How much do you pay for them?” he went on. “Fifteen cents each,” replied the young man patiently. “Do you realize,” went on his inquisitor, “that if you would save that money, by the time you are as old as I am you would own that big building on the corner?” “Do _you_ own it?” inquired the smoker. “No,” was the response. “Well, I do,” said the young man.

* * * * *

EVERYBODY’S FRIEND IN NOVA SCOTIA

J. R. FULLER,

Dealer in Soft and Hard Coal, Ice Cream, Wood, Lime, Cement, Perfumery, Nails, Putty, Spectacles, and Horse Radish. Chocolate Caramels and Tar Roofing, Gas-Fitting and Undertaking in all its Branches.

Hides, Tallow, and Maple Sirup, Fine Gold Jewelry, Silverware, and Salt, Glue, Codfish, and Gents’ Neckwear. Undertaker and Confectioner. Diseases of Horses and Children a Specialty. Five Islands, N. S.

* * * * *

A Lady going out for the day locked everything up carefully, and for the grocer’s benefit left a card on the back door.

“All out. Don’t leave anything,” it read.

On her return she found her house ransacked and all her choicest possessions gone. To the card on the door was added, “Thanks. We haven’t left much.”

* * * * *

“Edward Everett Hale,” said a lawyer, “was one of the guests at a millionaire’s dinner.

“The millionaire was a free spender, but he wanted full credit for every dollar put out.

“And as the dinner progressed, he told his guests what the more expensive dishes had cost.

“‘This terrapin,’ he would say, ‘was shipped direct from Baltimore. A Baltimore cook came on to prepare it. The dish actually cost one dollar a teaspoonful.’

“So he talked of the fresh peas, the hot-house asparagus, the Covent Garden peaches, and the other courses. He dwelt especially on the expense of the large and beautiful grapes, each bunch a foot long, each grape bigger than a plum. He told down to a penny what he had figured it out that the grapes had cost him apiece.

“The guests looked annoyed. They ate the expensive grapes charily. But Dr. Hale, smiling, extended his plate and said:

“‘Would you mind cutting me off about $1.87 worth more, please?’”

* * * * *

Joe Jefferson had but one person with him who did not reverence the man and the name.

This individual, one Bagley by name, was the property man and annoyed the great comedian with undue familiarity. He had called Mr. Jefferson “Joey” during his entire thirty years’ service.

Just previous to an auspicious opening in one of the big cities, Mr. Jefferson discharged Bagley for humiliating him before a number of friends. Bagley got drunk right away, and that night paid his way to the gallery to see Mr. Jefferson present “Rip Van Winkle.” The angry Frau has just driven poor, destitute Rip from the cottage when Rip turns and, with a world of pathos, asks: “Den haf I no interest in dis house?” The house is deathly still, the audience half in tears, when Bagley’s cracked voice responds: “Only eighty per cent, Joey--only eighty per cent.”

* * * * *

Dean Hole, the noted English clergyman who died recently, was the leading figure in many humorous stories. On one occasion he was crossing the Channel after a visit to the Continent, the voyage being very stormy.

The Dean was a bad sailor and had suffered a great deal on the trip. At Dover he was looking over the railway company’s rules on the station wall as a passenger came up. Said the Dean: “After that stormy voyage we have at least one advantage in making the subsequent trip to London. I see the company carries returning empties at reduced rates.”

* * * * *

Gilbert Stuart, though a celebrated artist, was likewise a great braggart. On one occasion a great public dinner was given to Isaac Hull by the town of Boston, and he was asked to sit for his picture to the artist.

When Hull visited the studio Stuart took great delight in entertaining him with anecdotes of his English success, stories of the marquis of this and the baroness of that, which showed how elegant was the society to which he had been accustomed.

Unfortunately, in the midst of this grandeur, Mrs. Stuart, who did not know that there was a sitter, came in with apron on and her head tied up with some handkerchiefs, from the kitchen, and cried out: “Do you mean to have that leg of mutton boiled or roasted?” to which Stuart replied, with great presence of mind, “Ask your mistress.”

* * * * *

This story is related of an old-time Judge in Sullivan County, N. Y.:

During a session of court there was so much talking and laughter going on that the Judge, becoming angry and confused, shouted in great wrath:

“Silence, here! We have decided half a dozen cases this morning, and I have not heard a word of one of them.”

* * * * *

Irving Bacheller, the author of “Eben Holden,” went a little farther north than usual one summer while on his vacation, and penetrated Newfoundland. He caught a good many fish, but this did not prevent his keeping an eye on the natives. He was particularly impressed by the men who spent the day lounging about the village stores.

“What do you fellows do when you sit around the store like this?” he asked of the crowd arranged in a circle of tilted chairs and empty boxes and maintaining a profound silence.

“Well,” drawled one of the oldest, “sometimes we set and think, and then again other times we jest set.”

* * * * *

Not long before his death Thomas B. Reed visited some friends at their summer residence at Watch Hill, R. I. Late in the afternoon he was driven up to Westerly to take the 7 o’clock train for Boston. It was a warm evening, the horses lagged and he missed the train, the last Boston-bound train stopping at Westerly that night.

As Mr. Reed had an important engagement in Boston early the next day, he seemed worried until he learned that there was a Boston express which passed Westerly at 9 o’clock. Then he smiled.

Going to the telegraph office, he directed a telegram to the superintendent of the road in Boston, and sent the following message:

“Will you stop the 9 o’clock express at Westerly to-night for a large party for Boston.”

The answer came: “Yes. Will stop train.”

Mr. Reed read the message, and smiled. When the train pulled in Mr. Reed quietly started to board it, when the conductor said: “Where is that large party we were to stop for?”

“I am the large party,” replied Mr. Reed, and he boarded the train.

* * * * *

Wilfred was sitting upon his father’s knee watching his mother arranging her hair.

“Papa hasn’t any Marcel waves like that,” said the father, laughingly.

Wilfred, looking up at his father’s bald pate, replied, “Nope; no waves; it’s all beach.”

* * * * *

The Prince of Wales is fond of telling a good story to his friends in connection with his visit to Ottawa some few years ago. The Prince--then Duke of York--stole away for a quiet bicycle spin early one morning, and in his ramblings met a farmer, heading marketward, his wagon temporarily stalled by the loss of a nut belonging to the whiffletree bolt. His Royal Highness, with his usual democratic kindness, assisted him in putting things right. On parting, the farmer expressed his rough thanks and asked if he might know the name of the person to whom he was indebted. The royal cyclist replied modestly: “I am the Duke of York. And may I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?” A broad, amused smile beamed from the farmer’s face as he said: “Me! Me! Why, I’m your uncle, the Czar of Russia!”

* * * * *

“All right on behind there?” called the conductor from the front of the car.

“Hold on,” cried a shrill voice. “Wait till I get my clothes on!”

The passengers craned their necks expectantly. A small boy was struggling to get a basket of laundry aboard.

* * * * *

One of the jokes of which Kentuckians never grow weary concerns Senator Blackburn and his loyal appreciation of the liquid products of his native State. The Senator had gone to pay a visit to a friend of his who lived many miles distant. His friend met the Senator as he alighted at the station.

“How are you Joe?” his friend asked.

“I’m up against it,” was the reply. “I lost the best part of my baggage en route.”

“Did you misplace it, or was it stolen?” his friend inquired solicitously.

“Neither,” said the Senator. “The cork came out.”

* * * * *

Kentucky Tailor--“What size shall I make your hip pockets, Colonel, pint or quart?”

* * * * *

Once, during his second term, Grover Cleveland was asked to speak at a function in a certain town, and when he arrived at the depot the wind was blowing a gale, sleet was driving, and hailstones nearly as large as marbles were fiercely falling. Of course, the inevitable brass band was there, and at the sight of the President the performers struck up with all the strenuosity at their command.

“That is the most realistic music I ever heard,” remarked Cleveland.

“What are they trying to play?” asked Secretary Olney, who accompanied him.

“‘Hail to the Chief’!” replied the President, with a cheerful smile.

* * * * *

The chaplain of one of his Majesty’s ships was giving a magic-lantern lecture, the subject of which was “Scenes from the Bible.” He arranged with a sailor who possessed a gramophone to discourse appropriate music between the slides. The first picture shown was Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. The sailor cudgeled his brain but could think of nothing suitable. “Play up,” whispered the chaplain. Suddenly a large idea struck the jolly tar and to the great consternation of the chaplain and the delight of the audience the gramophone burst forth with the strains of “There’s only one girl in the world for me.”

* * * * *

The craze for giving and accepting coupons for purchases of merchandise, to be redeemed by prizes, was given a more or less merited rebuke by Nat C. Goodwin. He bought a bill of goods, and the salesman offered him the coupons that the amount of the purchase called for. Mr. Goodwin shook his head. “I don’t want ’em,” he said.

“You had better take them, sir,” persisted the clerk; “we redeem them with very handsome prizes. If you can save up a thousand coupons we give a grand piano.”

“Say, look here,” replied Mr. Goodwin, “if I ever drank enough of your whisky or smoked enough of your cigars to get a thousand of those coupons I wouldn’t want a piano. I’d want a harp.”

* * * * *

He--“You’ve got to have a pull to get ahead.”

She--“Yes, and you’ve got to have a head to get a pull.”

* * * * *

A Southern lawyer tells of a case that came to him at the outset of his career, wherein his principal witness was a darky named Jackson, supposed to have knowledge of certain transactions not at all to the credit of his employer, the defendant.

“Now, Jackson,” said the lawyer, “I want you to understand the importance of telling the truth when you are put on the stand. You know what will happen, don’t you, if you don’t tell the truth?”

“Yassir,” was Jackson’s reply; “in dat case I expects our side will win de case.”

* * * * *

The Suitor--“They say that Love is blind.”

The Heiress--“But nowadays he has a marvelous sense of touch.”

* * * * *

A small boy who had recently passed his fifth birthday was riding in a suburban car with his mother, when they were asked the customary question, “How old is the boy?” After being told the correct age, which did not require a fare, the conductor passed on to the next person.

The boy sat quite still as if pondering over some question, and then, concluding that full information had not been given, called loudly to the conductor, then at the other end of the car: “And mother’s thirty-one!”

* * * * *

One of the uptown banks, on a conspicuous corner, gained a bad name with the daily crowd of New York pedestrians. Its financial standing was of course beyond question, but its clock ran on a very eccentric and confusing system. The timepiece stood in a spot easily observable and was consulted for years in spite of its tendency to wander from strict accuracy. A woman excusing her lateness for luncheon said she thought she was on time by the clock in the bank.

“Oh, nobody can go by that,” said her companion contemptuously. “We call that the bank where the wild time grows.”

* * * * *

In a certain home where the stork recently visited there is a six-year-old son of inquiring mind. When he was first taken in to see the new arrival he exclaimed: “Oh, mamma, it hasn’t any teeth! And no hair!” Then, clasping his hands in despair, he cried: “Somebody has done us! It’s an old baby.”

* * * * *