Part 2

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.