Part 3

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.

Dear Sir—

I received your letter about what I owes you. Now be pachent. I aint forgot you and as soon as foks pays me I’ll pay you.

If this was judgment day and you no more prepared to met your God than I am your account, your shor going to Hell.

* * * * *

The editor of the “Hardeman Free Press” says:

We fell asleep in a chair at Grand Junction last Wednesday night on our way home from Memphis in our usual soaked condition and let our train leave us. The hotel clerk told us to go upstairs and take the room on the right side of the hall with the lamp burning low. He sed he was crowded and we would have to double up with a man. We went up and pulled off our things and went to bed without waking our bedfellow, who was sleeping sound with the sheet over his head to keep off the muskeeters. Before we fell into the arms of morphine we seen a young lady and a young gent come in and set down by the winder. At first they talked so low we could not hear what they sed. Finally we heard the little miss say: Wallie, ain’t you ashamed to try to kiss me right here where we air setting up with a dead person? We felt cureous. We slowly reached over and touched the nose of the man we wus in bed with, and seen at a glance that he was dead alright. We riz up instantly, and it was a race to a finish twixt us three fer the bottom of the steps. It is useless to say we was furst past the post by two lengths. We didn’t skeer that couple any wuse than the corpse skeered us. We walked through the country to Bolivar and wired for our clothes by express.

* * * * *

Hello, is this you, Abe?

Sure, it’s me.

This is Abe Potash I’m talking to?

Yes, yes. What do you want?

Well, Abe, I want to borrow fifty dollars for—

All right. I’ll tell him as soon as he comes in.

* * * * *

While a customer in one of our prominent stores on Fourth street, I saw an unusually amazing incident. A lady of stupendous dimensions, stylishly attired, entered the store and seated herself to be waited upon. Soon a bald-headed clerk came up to serve her. After rejecting this pair and that, she decided on some brown oxfords. The clerk knelt down to lace them, and she gazed about the room. Suddenly she looked down and saw the bald head. Thinking that it was her roller-topped knee, she modestly drew her skirt over it.

* * * * *

Colonel Phil Thompson tells of the trials experienced by a friend of his who recently acquired a new stenographer. The dear little thing is a trifle weak in orthography but Thompson’s friend has been loath to call her down, in view of the fact that she tries so hard to please. He is too big-hearted to discharge the girl, for she needs the money; so he corrects the spelling.

Recently, however, he was forced to call her attention to the fact that in a letter of some seventy-five words, she had committed eight errors, among which was “fourty”.

My, my! exclaimed the friend. This won’t do, you know; I can’t stand for forty spelt this way!

The willing worker looked over his shoulder at the offending word; Gracious! she exclaimed, how careless of me! I left out the “gh,” didn’t I?

* * * * *

Ikey—I got into a fight last week, and a man kicked me in de synagogue.

Jakey—Ver is de synagogue?

Ikey—In de temple.

* * * * *

This is the true story of a resourceful motorist. Of the ethics of it, there is no condoning. A traffic law in a New England city forbids the parking of cars on the principal business street. A citizen who understood this, was sure he could stop his car, deliver a message and be back in his seat all in a moment. But he was detained. Also he forgot. When he came out a policeman stood by his automobile. Did the man go to his car? He did not. He hurried to his office: He telephoned to police headquarters: My car (giving a detailed description) has been stolen. In a half hour this reply: An officer has found your car. It is here at headquarters. Come and get it. He did. Profuse thanks. Was it clever?

* * * * *

A certain young man wrote the following letter to a prominent business firm, ordering a razor.

Dear Sirs—Please find enclosed 50c for one of your razors as advertised and oblige,

JOHN JONES.

P. S.—I forgot to enclose the 50c but no doubt a firm of your high standing will send the razor anyway.

The firm addressed received the letter and replied as follows—

Dear Sir—Your most valued order received the other day and will say in reply that we are sending the razor as per request, and hope that it will prove satisfactory.

P. S.—We forgot to enclose the razor, but no doubt a man with your cheek will have no need of it.

* * * * *

Can any lady or gentleman in the audience lend me a ten dollar gold piece? asked the professor of magic.

On vot, eagerly shouted the pawnbroker in the front row.

* * * * *

A Philadelphia business man tells this story on himself.

You know in this city there are two telephone companies, he said, and in my office I have a telephone of each company. Last week I hired a new office boy, and one of his duties was to answer the telephone. The other day, when one of the bells rang, he answered the call and then came in and told me I was wanted on the ’phone by my wife.

Which one? I inquired quickly, thinking of the two telephones, of course.

Please, sir, stammered the boy, I don’t know how many you have.

* * * * *

William Blue was an engineer in the employ of one of the trunk railway lines in this State. One of his duties was to haul the through freight over the Western division, and his pet engine was No. 2. One night he had an accident. One of the flues in the boiler of his pet engine flew out and he was stalled, blocking the main line. He reported the matter to the division superintendent unwittingly as follows—

Engine two blew out a flue; what’ll I do?—Bill Blue.

Then he sat down to wait instructions. This is what came over the wires from the superintendent’s office twenty minutes later.

Bill Blue—You plug that flue in engine two and pull her through in time to get out of the way of twenty-two.

This order is stuck up in the cab of engine 2.

* * * * *

Friend—My, vot a rotten cigar you giff me.

Storekeeper—You should worry. You got vun, I got five hundred!

* * * * *

Mother—Rachel, your beau was here to see you last night.

Kate—Oh, was he?

Mother—No, not Wuzzy, Izzy.

* * * * *

I hear you give your little boy a quarter every week for behavior, Ignatz.

Sure, but I fool him. I told him the gas meter was a little bank I bought him.

* * * * *

At the luncheon to Nahum Sokolow, the Jewish journalist, attended by New York editors, Adolph Ochs, of the Times, told of a Jew who came to Bishop Potter, stating that he desired to embrace Christianity. The Bishop arranged for him to have a talk with one of the curates, but the applicant was insistent and said he wanted to join right away.

Why are you in such a hurry? inquired the Bishop.

Well, my family done me dirt and I want to disgrace them.

* * * * *

A dying man once sent for an Arkansas editor, who hastened to the death-bed with more alacrity, as he had no heirs. I’m glad you’ve come, said the old man in a deathly whisper. Come closer. The editor approached. You know I have worked hard, and that I have earned every cent I have got. Some time ago, you remember, I subscribed for your paper for six months. There is just one more number due me, and as I am dying and can’t wait until your next issue comes out, just give me a nickel and we’ll call it square.

* * * * *

The following missive was received by the forest ranger of the Pasadena district and read recently at the annual dinner of the Sierra Club in Los Angeles. Kind and Respected Cir—

I see in the paper that a man named J⸺ S⸺ was atacted and et up by a bare whose cubs he was trying to git when the she bare came up and stopt him by eatin him up in the mountains near your town. What i want to know is did it kill him or was he only partly et up am he from this place and all about the bare. I don’t know but what he is a distant husband of mine. My first husband was of that name and I supposed he was killed in the war but the name of the man the bare et being the same i thought it might be him after all and i thought to know if he wasn’t killed either in the war or by the bare for i have been married twice since and their ought to be divorce papers got out by him or me if the bare did not eat him all up. If it is him you will know it by him having six toes on the left foot. He also sings base and has a spread eagle tattoed on his front chest and a ankor on his right arm which you will know him if the bare did not eat up these parts of him. If alive don’t tell him I am married to J⸺ W⸺ for he never liked J⸺. Mebbe you had better let on as if i am ded but find out all you can about him without him knowing anything what it is for. That is if the bare did not eat him all up. If it did i don’t see you can do anything and you needn’t take any trouble. My respeks to your family and please ancer back.

P. S.—Was the bare killed. Also was he married again and did he leave any property worth me laying claim to?

* * * * *

An advertisement in a newspaper calling for a “first-class bookkeeper at $3 a week” drew forth the following answer, the only one attracted by the munificent salary.

I am a young man, thirty-seven years of age, having had a business experience of twenty-three years, being connected with the United States Embassy at Madagascar, and feel confident if you will give me a trial I can prove my worth to you. I am not only an expert bookkeeper, proficient stenographer and typewriter, excellent operator and erudite college graduate, but have several other accomplishments which might make me desirable. I am an experienced snow shoveler, a first-class peanut roaster, have some knowledge of removing superfluous hair and clipping puppy dogs’ ears, have a medal for reciting “Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight.” Am a skilled chiropodist and practical farmer, can also cook, take care of horses, crease trousers, open oysters and repair umbrellas. Being possessed of great physical beauty, I would not only be useful, but would be ornamental as well, lending to the sacred precincts of your office that delightful artistic charm that a Satsuma vase or stuffed billy-goat would. As to salary, I would feel I was robbing the widow and swiping the sponge cake from the orphan if I was to take advantage of your munificence by accepting the too fabulous sum of $3 per week, and I would be entirely willing to give you my services for less, and by accepting $1.37 per week would give you an opportunity of not only increasing your donation to the church, pay your butcher and keep up your life insurance, but also to found a home for indigent fly-paper salesmen and endow a free bed in the cat home.

* * * * *

Private John Allen takes a deep interest in the advertising business. Advertisements that he deems exceptionally good he clips out and pastes in a scrap-book. As he was showing this scrap-book to a guest one day, he said:

But the best ad I know of is not in here. For it wasn’t written, but spoken. It earned its originator some thousands of dollars, yet I can never show it. I can only describe it, and description fails to do it justice.

It was the work of a clothier in Nashville. He had, with his partner, the first establishment in town, and the business of the firm was considered very prosperous. The two men had married sisters, and their relationship was more than friendly. Hence the greatest surprise overtook Nashville when the junior partner suddenly took out a summons and hauled his senior into court.

The senior partner is ruining the business, gossip said. He is getting softening of the brain, or paresis, or something of that sort. Now is the height of the spring season, when they ought to be making money hand over fist, but the senior’s cracked methods are spoiling everything.

So all Nashville took a tremendous interest in the case, and on the morning it was called, the courtroom was crowded as in a murder trial.

The junior partner’s complaint was presented strongly and directly. He showed that goods were being sacrificed at a fraction of their value, and he asked that this ruinous trading be stopped, lest ruin ensue.

The defendant’s lawyer, an able fellow, secured an adjournment for three weeks.

On the announcement of this adjournment, the junior partner gave a loud groan. He leaped to his feet, and rushed out like one demented, shouting as he went:

Merciful heavens, then the sacrifice must still go on!

I don’t need to tell you how much business that firm did in the next three weeks.

* * * * *

Man, born of woman, is of a few days and no teeth. And, indeed, it would be money in his pocket sometimes if he had less of either. As for his days, he wasteth one-third of them, and as for his teeth, he has convulsions when he cuts them, and as the last one comes through, lo, the dentist is twisting the first one out, and the last end of that man’s jaw is worse than the first, being full of porcelain and a roof-plate built to hold blackberry seeds.

Stone bruises line his pathway to manhood; his father boxes his ears at home, the big boys cuff him in the play ground, and the teacher whips him in the school-room. He buyeth Northwestern at 110, when he hath sold short at 96, and his neighbor unloadeth upon him Iron Mountain at 65⅝, and it straightway breaketh down to 52¼. He riseth early and sitteth up late that he may fill his barns and store-houses, and lo! his children’s lawyers divide the spoil among themselves and say, Ha, ha! He growleth and is sore distressed because it raineth, and he beateth upon his breast and sayeth, My crop is lost! because it raineth not. The late rains blight his wheat and the frost biteth his peaches. If it be so that the sun shineth, even among the nineties, he sayeth, Woe is me, for I perish, and if the northwest wind sigheth down in forty-two below he crieth, would that I were dead! If he wear sackcloth and blue jeans men say he is a tramp, and if he goeth forth shaven and clad in purple and fine linen all the people cry, shoot the dude!

He carrieth insurance for twenty-five years, until he hath paid thrice over for all his goods, and then he letteth his policy lapse one day, and that same night fire destroyeth his store. He buildeth him a house in Jersey, and his first born is devoured by mosquitoes; he pitcheth his tent in New York, and tramps devour his substance. He moveth to Kansas, and a cyclone carrieth his house away over into Missouri, while a prairie fire and ten million acres of grasshoppers fight for his crop. He settleth himself in Kentucky, and is shot the next day by a gentleman, a colonel and a statesman, because, sah, he resembles, sah, a man, sah, he did not like, sah. Verily, there is no rest for the sole of his feet, and if he had it all to do over again he would not be born at all, for “the day of death is better than the day of one’s birth.”

_Juvenile Jests_

Teacher—Who can make a sentence with gruesome in it?

Ikey—The man stopped shaving and grew some whiskers.

* * * * *

Visitor—How’s your brother, Tommy?

Tommy—He’s in bed; he hurt himself.

Visitor—How did he do it?

Tommy—We were playing who could lean furthest out of a window, and he won.

* * * * *

A lad sat on the floor playing. Suddenly he set up a howl.

Henry, what is the matter? asked the mother.

The cat scratched me.

Why, the cat is not here. When did she scratch you?

Yesterday.

Well, why are you crying now?

’Cause I forgot it then.

* * * * *

This bit of brightness is said to have cropped out in a conversation between two misses not old enough to go to school.

What makes a horse act naughty when he sees an auto?

It is this way—Horses is used to seein’ other horses pull wagons, and they don’t know what to think of ’em goin’ along without a horse. Guess if you saw a pair of pants walkin’ down the street without a man in ’em you’d be scared, too.

* * * * *

Little Elsie—Brother Johnny can’t come to school; he has diphtheria.

Teacher—Indeed! Where did he get it?

Little Elsie—In the neck.

* * * * *

The passionate rhythms of “The Merry Widow” waltz floated through the office, and the boss looked up from his desk impatiently.

Frederic, he said, I wish you wouldn’t whistle at your work.

I ain’t workin’, sir, the office boy replied calmly. I’m only just whistlin’.

* * * * *

After a teacher had recited “The Landing of the Pilgrims,” she requested each pupil to try to draw from his or her imagination, a picture of Plymouth Rock.

Most of them went to work at once, but one little fellow hesitated, and at length raised his hand.

Well, Willie, what is it? asked the teacher.

Please, ma’am, do you want us to draw a hen or a rooster?

* * * * *

Here is Jimmie’s essay on pants: Pants are made for men and not for women. Women are made for men and not for pants. When a man pants for a woman and a woman pants for a man they are a pair of pants. Such pants don’t last. Pants are like molasses—they are thinner in hot weather and thicker in cold. Men are often mistaken in pants; such mistakes are breaches of promise. There has been much discussion whether pants is singular or plural. Seems to me when men wear pants it is plural, and when they don’t wear pants it is singular. Men go on a tear in their pants and it is all right, but when the pants go on a tear it is all wrong. If you want to make pants last, make the coat first.

* * * * *

Pop, I got in trouble at school today and it’s all your fault.

How’s that my son?

Well, you remember when I asked you how much a million dollars was?

Yes, I remember.

Well, teacher asked me today, and “helluva lot” isn’t the right answer.

* * * * *

The pupils of a certain school were asked to write original compositions on “kings.” The prize was carried off by the youth who handed in the following:

The most powerful king on earth, is Wor-king; the laziest, Shir-king; one of the worst kings, Smo-king; the wittiest, Jo-king; the quietest, Thin-king; the thirstiest, Drin-king; the slyest, Win-king; the noisiest, Tal-king.

* * * * *

At a public school the children were training for the annual flag day celebration. One boy, in order to show good reason why he should take a prominent part in the ceremonies, said that he had a real gun; another had a pistol; a small girl had a flag, and so on.

Finally, one tow-haired lad of six came up to the teacher, and stood waiting for her to see him.

Well, what is it? she asked.

I has a union suit, he said.

* * * * *

Now in order to subtract, explained a teacher to the class in mathematics, things always have to be of the same denomination. For instance, we couldn’t take three apples from four years, nor six horses from nine dogs.

A hand went up in the back of the room.

Well, Johnny? smiled the unsuspecting teacher.

Please, ma’am! shouted the boy, can’t you take four quarts of milk from three cows?

* * * * *

Little Elizabeth and her mother were having luncheon together, and the mother, who always tried to impress facts upon her young daughter, said—

These little sardines, Elizabeth, are sometimes eaten by the larger fish.

Elizabeth gazed at the sardines in wonder, and then asked—

But, mother, how do the large fish get the cans open?

* * * * *

A teacher had been telling her class of boys recently that worms had become so numerous that they destroyed the crops, and it was necessary to import the sparrow to exterminate them. The sparrows multiplied very fast and were gradually driving away our native birds.

Johnny was apparently very inattentive, and the teacher, thinking to catch him napping, said—

Johnny, which is worse, to have worms or sparrows?

Johnny hesitated a moment and then replied: Please, I never had the sparrows.

* * * * *

George, George, mind; your hat will be blown off if you lean so far out of the window! exclaimed a fond father to his little son, who was traveling with him in a railway carriage. Quickly snatching the hat from the head of the refractory youngster, papa hid it behind his back.

There, now, the hat has gone! he cried, pretending to be angry. And George immediately set up a howl. After a time the father remarked—

Come, be quiet; if I whistle your hat will come back again.

Then he whistled and replaced the hat on the boy’s head. There, it’s back again, you see. Afterward, while papa was talking to mamma, a small, shrill voice was heard saying—

Papa, papa, I’ve thrown my hat out of the window! Whistle again, will you?

_Frenzied Finance_

The bank teller in a snippy way said: But I don’t know you, madam!

The woman was red-headed, and she got red-headed in a minute. She said: Oh, yes, you do. I don’t need anyone to identify me. I’m the red-headed hen next door to you whose “imps of boys” are always running across your garden. When you started to town this morning your wife said: Now, Henry, if you want a dinner fit to eat this evening, you’ll have to leave me a little money. I can’t keep this house on Christian Science.

Here is your money, interrupted the paying teller very faintly.