Part 4

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In order that his wife might become better acquainted with business methods, Mr. Ferguson handed $100 to her, and instructed her to deposit it in bank in her own name and pay her bills thereafter with checks.

Several weeks afterward she came to him in a high state of indignation.

George, she said, the other day those people down at the bank wrote me a note and told me I had overdrawn my account—whatever that is—and that I would have to send them $4.75 to balance it. I sent it to them right away, but it didn’t satisfy them. They’re bothering me about it again.

You sent the $4.75?

Yes. Same day.

Well, that’s—by the way, Laura, how did you send it?

I sent them a check for it, of course.

* * * * *

Some few days ago a Louisville banker was approached by an impecunious farmer for a loan. Now at times this banker is deaf for commercial purposes. The farmer was chronically wanting to borrow, and his security was getting shaky. I’d like to borrow five thousand, pleaded the farmer. The banker cupped his hand to his ear and said: Speak a little louder and cut down the amount.

* * * * *

Thousands of girls are sent out into the world with what is called finished educations, who cannot even give a proper receipt for money, to say nothing of drawing a promissory note, a draft or a bill, or understanding the significance and importance of business contracts.

Such a woman presented a check for payment to the paying teller of her bank. He passed it back to her with the request that she be kind enough to indorse it. The lady wrote on the back of the check, I have done business with this bank for many years, and I believe it to be all right. Mrs. James B. Brown.

Another society woman in New York presented a check for payment at the bank, and the teller told her that it was not signed. Oh, do they have to be signed? she replied. What an awful lot of red tape there is about a banking business.

I know of a lady whose husband made a deposit for her in a bank and gave her a check book so that she could pay her bills without annoying him. One day she received a notice from the bank that her account was overdrawn. She went to the bank and told the teller that there must be some mistake about it, because she still had a lot of checks left in her book. She knew so little about business that she thought she could keep drawing any amount until the checks were all gone.

Among the more recent stories of feminine banking is one of a young lady who in a fit of abstraction signed a check, Your loving Susie. A still later anecdote is this, from one of our exchanges:

A fund was being raised in New York for the benefit of sufferers by a great disaster, and a certain rich but illiterate woman was approached upon the subject.

Oh, I shouldn’t mind sending the money, she said, but I do hate to have my name in all the papers.

But that could be easily arranged, said the gentleman who had opened the subject.

Why, yes, of course, remarked the woman, I could send an anonymous check. Why didn’t I think of that before?

* * * * *

Four or five ladies bustled into a private office the other day.

What can I do for you, ladies? asked the banker pleasantly.

Why, began one of the visitors, we are taking up a subscription and we knew you wouldn’t like it if we didn’t give you an opportunity to subscribe.

The banker bowed graciously and asked: And the object? Of course it is a worthy one, or you would not be interested in it.

Yes, sir, replied the spokeswoman, we think it a very worthy object. It is to build a home for aged and indigent widows.

Excellent! Excellent! I shall take pleasure in making you out a check.

Oh, how lovely of you! exclaimed the spokeswoman when she received the bit of paper and read the amount—one hundred pounds. Oh, we didn’t expect to get that much from you. We are ever so much obliged.

So good of him! and similar exclamations were heard as the check was passed around for the admiration of the party.

But, said the lady who handled the check last, you haven’t signed it.

That is because I do not wish my benefactions known to the world, said the banker modestly. I wish to give the check anonymously. And he bowed the ladies out with great dignity.

* * * * *

In a banking office in New Orleans is an aged bookkeeper who began his connection with the business the day it was established. As the years went by, the proprietor, who had started with little, but was extremely close, amassed an enormous fortune. The bookkeeper piled up but a small amount of savings.

At last the twenty-fifth anniversary of the firm and of the bookkeeper’s services came along. He remembered it, but thought no one else would. To his surprise, the proprietor spoke of it at once.

Williams, he said, do you know what day this is?

Our twenty-fifth anniversary, sir.

It is indeed, Williams. And now I have thought to commemorate the event, and I have put in this envelope for you a small gift to express my appreciation of your faithful service.

The bookkeeper, his hopes raised high, took the envelope from his employer and opened it. The token was a photograph of the employer.

Well? demanded the donor, as the other hesitated. What do you want to say about it?

It’s just like you! murmured the bookkeeper. It’s just like you.

_Disciples of Hippocrates_

Aren’t you pretty young to be a practicing physician? asked the severe-looking female person sternly.

Well, you see, I only doctor children, said the young medico, nervously.

* * * * *

Doctor, are you sure my husband has pneumonia? I have heard of doctors treating patients for pneumonia who finally died of typhoid fever.

Well, madam, I don’t make such blunders. If I treat a patient for pneumonia, he dies of pneumonia.

* * * * *

Patient—Doctor, it hurts me to breathe. In fact, the only trouble now seems to be with my breath.

Physician—All right. I’ll give you something that will soon stop that.

* * * * *

A young doctor in a country district was called one night by an old farmer to his first case. The patient was the farmer’s son, who was lying on the bed in much pain. The young medico threw out his chest and said: This should cause you no alarm. It is nothing but a corrustified exegesis antispasmodically emanating from the physical refrigerator, producing a prolific source of irritability in the pericranial epidermis.

The farmer looked at him and replied, just what I said, but his mother thought it was the stomachache.

* * * * *

Wife—Now dear, here’s the doctor to see you.

Merchant Prince—Send him away and fetch the undertaker! You know I never deal with middlemen.

* * * * *

A doctor came up to a patient in an insane asylum, slapped him on the back and said: Well, old man, you’re all right. You can run along and write your folks that you’ll be back home in two weeks as good as new.

The patient went off gayly to write his letter. He had it finished and sealed, but when he was licking the stamp it slipped through his fingers to the floor lighted on the back of a cockroach that was passing and stuck. The patient hadn’t seen the cockroach. What he did see was his escaped postage stamp zigzagging aimlessly across the floor to the baseboard, wavering up over the baseboard and following a crooked track up the wall and across the ceiling. In depressed silence he tore up the letter that he had just written and dropped the pieces on the floor.

Two weeks! Hell! he said. I won’t be out of here in three years.

* * * * *

He had just hung out his shingle. That morning a stranger entered. The doctor asked to be excused as he hurried to the phone.

Taking down the receiver, he said: Yes, this is Dr. Whoosit. Yes, will be ready for you at two-ten this afternoon. But please be prompt, for I am very busy. Two hundred dollars? Yes, that was the estimate I gave you.

Hanging up the receiver, he turned to the stranger and rubbing his hands asked: Now, sir, what can I do for you?

Nothing, replied the stranger quietly. I only came in to connect up the telephone.

* * * * *

The following item is taken from a county officer’s health report: The patient died of blood poison from a broken ankle contracted in an automobile accident, which was a very strange occurrence, since he was struck between the lamp post and the radiator.

* * * * *

Herr Doctor, my wife and I are possessed! Can’t you cure us? What sort of a demon is it possesses you? Peasant: The fighting demon; it forces us to come to blows, and we are both sorry for it afterward. Doctor (making three times the sign of the cross): Begone, foul demon of discord, begone! So that was only the preliminary cure, now I will write a prescription for you. When the fit comes on again, the one who is not yet begun to scold and fight is to take the medicine bottle and a spoon and go out of the room, while the other remains inside. After ten minutes the first one is to come in again, count twenty-seven drops into the spoon, and give them to the other; then the latter is to take the spoon and count twenty-seven drops and give them to the first one, after which you shake hands together. Not a word to be spoken the whole time. Three months later the peasant came again with his wife: Herr Doctor, we have come to make you a present of this ham for having cured us so thoroughly! This is a true story, and occurred in Holstein.

_Legal Luminaries_

Yours is certainly an unusual case, said the lawyer, and it will be necessary to consult a number of books.

So? queried the client.

Yes, answered the legal light, and we will begin with your pocketbook.

* * * * *

He had finished his speech at a dinner party, and on seating himself a lawyer rose, shoved his hands deep into his trousers pockets, as was his habit, and laughingly inquired of those present:

Doesn’t it strike this company as a little unusual that a professional humorist should be funny!

When the laughter that greeted this sally had subsided, Mark Twain drawled out—Doesn’t it strike this company as a little unusual that a lawyer should have his hands in his own pockets?

* * * * *

As a prisoner was brought before the judge for sentence the clerk happened to be absent. The judge asked the officer in charge of the prisoner what the offence was with which he was charged.

Bigotry, your honor. He’s been married to three women.

Why, officer, that’s not bigotry, said the judge, that’s trigonometry.

* * * * *

There was an old man who was charged with illicit distilling and was brought up before the court. The Judge, who was a witty fellow, asked the prisoner what was his Christian name. The prisoner replied, Joshua, and the Judge answered, Are you the man that made the sun shine? and the prisoner replied, No, sir, your honor; I’m the one that made the moonshine.

* * * * *

A jury recently met to inquire into a case of suicide. After sitting through the evidence the twelve men retired, and, after deliberating, returned with the following verdict—

The jury are all of one mind—temporarily insane!

* * * * *

In a lawsuit in Pennsylvania not long ago the question was put to a miner on the witness stand.

Were you ever hurt in the mines?

Indade I was, responded the man, I was half kilt once.

Now tell the court whether you were injured at any other time, continued the cross-examiner.

Yes. I was half kilt in another accident shortly after that.

Your Honor, smilingly interjected counsel for the other side, I object to this man’s testimony.

Upon what ground? asked the judge.

On the ground that, having been half killed twice, he is a dead man and therefore incompetent as a witness.

* * * * *

In a suit recently tried in a Virginia town a young lawyer of limited experience was addressing the jury on a point of law, when good-naturedly he turned to opposing counsel, a man of much more experience than himself, and asked—

That’s right, I believe, Colonel Hopkins?

Whereupon Hopkins, with a smile of conscious superiority, replied—

Sir, I have an office in Richmond wherein I shall be delighted to enlighten you on any point of law for a consideration.

The youthful attorney, not in the least abashed, took from his pocket a half-dollar piece, which he offered Col. Hopkins with this remark—

No time like the present. Take this, sir, tell us what you know and give me the change.

* * * * *

Secretary Elihu Root was talking about the humanity of judges.

They are humane men, he said. I could tell you many moving stories of the pain that they have suffered in the infliction of severe sentences. It is not altogether pleasant to be a judge.

That is why I can not credit a story that was told me the other day about a judge in the West. A criminal on trial before this man had been found guilty. He was told to rise, and the judge said to him—

Have you ever been sentenced to imprisonment before?

No, your honor, said the criminal, and he burst into tears.

Well, said the judge, don’t cry, you’re going to be now.

* * * * *

This story of the election expenses of a Georgia lawyer who was defeated for county commissioner in the recent primary, reaches us by way of the _Newark Ledger_ in a dispatch from Atlanta. His sworn statement runs—

Lost 1,349 hours’ sleep thinking about the election. Lost two front teeth and a whole lot of hair in a personal encounter with an opponent. Donated one beef, four shoats, and five sheep to a county barbecue. Gave away two pairs of suspenders, four calico dresses, $5 cash, and thirteen baby rattles. Kissed 126 babies. Kindled fourteen kitchen fires. Put up four stoves. Walked 4,076 miles. Shook hands with 9,508 persons. Told 10,101 lies, and talked enough to make, in print, 1,000 volumes. Attended sixteen revival meetings, and was baptized four different times by immersion, and twice some other way. Contributed $50 to foreign missions, and made love to nine grass widows. Hugged forty-nine old maids. Got dog-bit thirty-nine times, and was defeated.

* * * * *

Sam Kalleton, a member of the Arkansas Legislature, was very fond of offering amendments to bills introduced. That was the limit of his legislative capacity. One morning, after a night’s hilarity, he entered the legislative hall just as the chaplain was asking divine aid. The old man took a chew of tobacco, and listened attentively until the chaplain closed his petition with an effective recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. Mr. Speaker, said the old man, arising, I move to strike out the words daily bread, and insert as much bread as may be found necessary for twenty days. We have already done enough for the flood sufferers.

* * * * *

A prominent lawyer of New York says that many years ago he went West, but as he got no clients, and stood a good chance of starving, he decided to come East again. Without any money he boarded a train for Nashville, Tenn., intending to seek employment as reporter on one of the daily newspapers, says the _New York Telegraph_. When the conductor called for his ticket, he said—

I am on the staff of the ⸺ of Nashville. I suppose you will pass me.

The conductor looked at him sharply.

The editor of that paper is in the smoker; come with me; if he identifies you, all right.

He followed the conductor into the smoker; the situation was explained. Mr. Editor said—

Oh, yes, I recognize him as one of the staff; it is all right.

Before leaving the train the lawyer again sought the editor.

Why did you say you recognized me? I’m not on your paper.

I’m not the editor either. I’m traveling on his pass, and was scared to death lest you should give me away.

* * * * *

Judge Ben. B. Lindsey, the noted reformer of Denver, was lunching one day—it was very warm—when a politician paused beside his table.

Judge, said the politician, I see you’re drinkin’ hot cawfee. That’s a heatin’ drink.

Yes? said Judge Lindsey.

Oh, yes. In this weather you want iced drinks, judge—sharp, iced drinks. Did you ever try gin and ginger ale?

No, said the judge, smiling, but I’ve tried several fellows who have.

* * * * *

Harry Bulger has recently added to his repertoire of stories a new character vignette which has been received with laughter in the South. As Mr. Bulger will be the guest of the Forty Club in Chicago during the “Woodland” engagement in that city, he is reserving this story for the post-prandial gossip.

It relates largely to a lawyer and a Jewish client during a civil action. The attorney, watching the evidence and the countenance of the Judge, whose reputation for severity was well known in the district, whispered to his Hebrew client.

It looks very bad. We are going to lose the case. Whereupon the client responded.

Vell, I will send the Judge a box of cigars.

Great heavens, no! That would end it.

The following day much to the surprise of the plaintiff’s attorney, the decision was rendered for his client. Meeting his Jewish friend later the lawyer exclaimed—

By Jove, I cannot understand this decision. Beats anything I ever heard. Tell me, did you send the Judge a box of cigars?

Certainly. Of course I did.

What?

Yes, but I sent it with the card of the other fellow in it.

_Clerical Comicalities_

The blessed man that preached for us last Sunday, said Mr. Partington, served the Lord for thirty years—first as a circus rider, and then as a locust-preacher, and last as an exhauster.

* * * * *

Patience—Is your preacher sensational?

Patrice—I should say so! Why, he preached a sermon last Sunday and he took for his subject, It’s hard to keep a good man down. Well? Oh, it was all about Jonah and the whale.

* * * * *

A series of revival services were being held recently in a Missouri city, and placards giving notice of the services were posted in conspicuous places. One day the following notice was posted:

Hell, Its Location and Absolute Certainty. Thomas Jones, barytone soloist, will sing, Tell Mother I’ll Be There.

* * * * *

There was once a clergyman’s son, who was educated for the ministry. He finished his theological course at Oxford and returned home with the Oxford accent. On the following Sunday he was invited to fill his father’s pulpit for the morning service. The young preacher announced his text as follows: And they wequiahed of him Bawabbas. Now Bawabbas was a wobbah. At the evening service the old man resumed his pulpit and preached an eloquent sermon from the text, O Lord, have mercy upon us, for this my son is lunatic and we are sore distressed.

* * * * *

When was the automobile first mentioned in the Bible?

When Elijah crossed the river Jordan by a Ford and went up on high.

* * * * *

Clergyman—examining a Sunday School, Now, can any of you tell me what are the sins of omission?

Small Scholar—Yes, sir, they’re the sins you ought to have committed, and haven’t.

* * * * *

Rev. Goodman—Mr. Slick, our Sunday-school superintendent is a tried and trusted employe of yours, is he not?

Banker—He was trusted, and he’ll be tried if we’re only fortunate enough to catch him.

* * * * *

It is reported that Pope Gregory XVI offered his snuff-box to a Cardinal, who declined it, saying: No, your holiness, I have not that vice. To which the Pope replied in thoroughly human way, if it had been a vice you would have had it.

* * * * *

Mama, said little Elsie, do men ever go to heaven?

Why of course, my dear. What makes you ask?

Because I never see any pictures of angels with whiskers.

Well, said the mother, thoughtfully, some men do go to heaven, but they get there by a close shave.

* * * * *

The Bishop, addressing the little folks at the children’s service, became impressive. Only think, children, he said, in Africa, there are 10,000,000 square miles of territory without a single Sunday school where little girls and boys can spend their Sunday afternoons. Now, what should we all try to save up our money for?

The children (unanimously)—To go to Africa.

* * * * *

At a sewing circle all the women were talking, and some of the subjects got hopelessly confused. For instance, the subject of crickets and church choirs. I never heard such a horrid noise as they made last Sunday, said one woman, referring to the choir. Nor I, said another, thinking she referred to the fall crickets. They say they make that noise with their hind legs.

* * * * *

An evangelist who was conducting nightly services announced that on the following evening he would speak on the subject of Liars. He advised his hearers to read in advance the seventeenth chapter of Mark.

The next night he arose and said: I am going to preach on Liars tonight, and I would like to know how many read the chapter I suggested. A hundred hands were upraised.

Now, he said, you are the very persons I want to talk to—there isn’t any seventeenth chapter of Mark.

* * * * *

A Baltimore man tells us of attending a church on one occasion when the minister delivered a sermon of but ten minutes’ duration—a most unusual thing for him.

Upon the conclusion of his remarks the minister had added: I regret to inform you, brethren that my dog, who appears to be particularly fond of paper, this morning ate that portion of my sermon that I have not delivered.

After the service, the clergyman was met at the door by a man who, as a rule, attended divine service in another parish. Shaking the good man by the hand, he said:

Doctor, I should like to know whether that dog of yours has pups. If so, I want to get one to give to my minister.

* * * * *

A clergyman preached a rather long sermon from the text, Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting. After the congregation had listened about an hour, some began to get weary and went out; others soon followed, greatly to the annoyance of the minister. Another person started, whereupon the preacher stopped his sermon and said: That is right gentlemen; as fast as you are weighed, pass out! He continued his sermon some time after that, but no one disturbed him by leaving.

* * * * *

Not a few preachers would be glad to be the victims of such a practical joke as was recently played upon the Rev. Mr. Hageman, of Oxford, Mich. At the annual meeting of the church of which he is pastor the question of hiring a preacher comes up for discussion.

At the last meeting of this society, when the subject was brought up, a good deacon arose and said: All those in favor of retaining Brother Hageman for another year—at the same salary—will please rise.

Not a person rose, and the minister, who was present, felt as uncomfortable as possible, and heartily wished himself anywhere else. Then the good deacon who had put the question arose again and said, with a twinkle of the eye:

I see not one favors that motion, so I will put it again in this way: All those in favor of keeping the Rev. Mr. Hageman—at an increased salary—will please rise.

Everyone got upon his feet. Then it dawned upon Mr. Hageman that he had been the victim of a joke, and a smile lighted his eye, and the color returned to his cheeks. Some of his best friends had planned the surprise, and the little scheme had worked to perfection.

* * * * *