Part 6

Gwan, the old clock doesn’t run! replied the neighbor.

Well, drawled Hogan, changing front completely, well perhaps yez won’t win it, and then ye’ll have the laugh on the fellow who does.

* * * * *

Street cleaning commissioner Paul Inglehart, of Baltimore, returned recently from a gunning trip in Anne Arundel county and brought with him a supply of new stories told in the historic old South River Club.

The one that particularly took Mr. Inglehart’s fancy was that of the Irish servant girl who one day asked her mistress what was the meaning of the word “kismet”. After thinking a little while the mistress said:

Why, Bridget, it is another name for fate.

A day or so afterward the mistress discovered Bridget hobbling down the stairs evidently in great pain and walking very lame.

Why, what on earth is the matter with you? she asked.

Oh, sure, ma’am, was the reply, I’ve got bunions on my kismet.

* * * * *

How is this? the detective inquired, with a jerk of his thumb toward the interior of the car.

How’s what? inquired the Irishman.

Nine passengers got on and you only rung up eight fares.

Is that so, responded the conductor, with a look of innocent surprise. He cautiously counted the fares on the large dial. The spotter was waiting. Begorra, yer right. Wan of thim has got to git off.

* * * * *

Thomas Patrick Gallagher, typical Irish traffic copper, was stationed on Madison street in Chicago at the point intersected by the river.

One bustling Saturday afternoon, Gallagher held up his hand to halt traffic for the draw bridge. In front of him was a new handsome limousine motor car.

While waiting for the bridge to close, a runabout flivver crashed into the rear end of the handsome car.

Gallagher was on the job promptly and hustled over to the driver of the flivver.

Phwat in hal does yez mane by smashing into this handsome car? Haven’t you got any eyes? he bellowed at the meek and humble driver. Are you crazy? I’ve a good mind to take you down to the headquarters, you blithering idiot. What’s your name? continued Gallagher, as he extracted a pencil and notebook from his pocket, what is the number of your car?

The answer back in typical Gaelic, me name is Clancy.

Clancy, replied Gallagher. Clancy, what part of Ireland are you from, what county—

I am from County Mayo.

County Mayo, continued the traffic officer, County Mayo, say Clancy, stay here just a minute till I go head to that big car and see why in the devil he backed into you.

* * * * *

The following anecdote is illustrative of eviction days in Ireland. Pat had served part of his time as a bricklayer in the old country. On arrival in America, he was watching some bricklayers at work when the foreman observed him:

Can they do it as quick as that in Ireland, Pat?

They can indeed, and twice as quick, answered Pat.

Do you know, said the foreman, that we start a house here in the morning and it’s finished and a tenant in it before evening.

That’s all you can do, is it? Well, said Pat, in Ireland we start a house in the morning and the landlord is evicting the tenant for back rent before evening.

* * * * *

Strange as it may seem, there is a public man in this city who is blessed or cursed with a tender conscience that worries him in small matters as well as in great. Among the things that he cannot justify to himself is the bidding a servant to say he is not at home when, in reality, he is inside his house. At the same time he is not able to receive the many visitors who call upon him, and his only recourse was to give instructions that polite excuses should be given to a maid, an Irish girl, gifted with the readiness and good-will of her nation.

Then I’m to be saying, sir, that you’re not at home? the maid inquired.

No, Mary, no! was the reply; that would not be true. If anyone should ask for me, you must just put him off—give him some evasive answer, you know.

I’ll do it, sir, never fear, was the maid’s reply. Mary was as good as her word.

That afternoon a person of importance made his appearance, and was duly sent away. The faithful maid reported the circumstance to her employer.

What did you do, Mary? inquired the latter with some trepidation.

Oh, I just put him off, sir, as you told me. I gave him an evasive answer.

Yes, but what did you say to him?

Oh, sure, he axed me if the boss was at home, and I said to him, was his grandmother a monkey?

* * * * *

There were some deficiencies in the early education of Mrs. Donahoe, but she never mentioned them or admitted their existence.

Will you sign your name here? said the young lawyer whom Mrs. Donahoe had asked to draw up a deed transferring a parcel of land to her daughter.

You sign it yoursilf an I’ll make me mark, said the old woman, quickly. Since me eyes gave out I’m not able to write a wurrd, young man.

How do you spell it? he asked, pen poised above the proper space.

Spell it what iver way you plaze, said Mrs. Donahoe, recklessly. Since I lost me teeth there’s not a wurrd in the wurrld I can spell.

* * * * *

A story is going the rounds in the court house of an Irishman who recently went before Judge Stephens to be naturalized.

Have you read the Declaration of Independence? the Court asked.

I hov not, said Pat.

Have you read the Constitution of the United States?

I hov not, your honer.

Judge Stephens looked sternly at the applicant and asked:

Well, what have you read?

Patrick hesitated but the fraction of a second before replying:

I hov red hairs on me neck, yer honor.

_Shadowgraphs_

I notice she bowed to you. Is she an old acquaintance?

Y-yes; we’re slightly acquainted. In fact, she’s a sort of distant relation. She was the first wife of my second wife’s first husband.

* * * * *

Do you want the court to understand, he said, that you refuse to renew your dog license?

Yessah, but—

We want no buts. You must renew the license or be fined. You know that it expired January 1, don’t you?

Yessah; so did de dog, sah.

* * * * *

That’s a nice-looking dog, remarked the kindly old gentleman, who takes an interest in everything.

Yes, suh. He looks all right, replied the colored man who was leading him with a piece of rope.

He looks like a pointer.

Yes, suh. Dat’s what he look like. But dat ain’ what he is. He’s a disappointer.

* * * * *

A colored parson, calling upon one of his flock, found the object of his visit out in the back yard working among his hen-coops. He noticed with surprise that there were no chickens.

Why, Brudder Brown, he asked, whar’re all yo’ chickens?

Huh, grunted Brother Brown, without looking up, some fool nigger lef de do’ open and dey all went home.

* * * * *

Rev. Mr. Heavyweight (who has just read Peter’s denial of Christ)—What are you so thoughtful about, Uncle ’Rastus?

Uncle ’Rastus—I was thinking’, massa parsin, dat if de Apostle Peter had only been a cullud gemman, dat rooster wouldn’t have crowed more’n once.

* * * * *

I want to be procrastinated at de nex’ corner, said Mr. Erastus Pinkly.

You want to be what? demanded the conductor.

Don’t lose your temper. I had to look in de dictionary myself befo’ I found out dat procrastinate means put off.

* * * * *

A southern planter was asking one of his colored servants about her wedding. Yes, suh, she said, it was jes the finest weddin’ you ever see—six bridesmaids, flowers everywhere, hundreds ev guests, music, an’ er heap er praying.

Indeed, commented her master. And I suppose Sambo looked as handsome as any of them?

An embarrassed pause. Well no—not exactly, suh. Would you believe it, dat fool nigger neber showed up.

* * * * *

Aunt Mary Wells is one of the few befo-de-wah darkies left in a little Kentucky town. Recently she was discussing with her employer the merry-go-round that was running up on the corner.

Nawsuh, Mr. Malcolm, she said, nawsuh, I don’ ride on none o’ dem things. Why, Mr. Malcolm, I’ve seen some o’ these here fool niggers git on that thing and ride as much as a dollar’s worth, and git off at the very same place they gits on at; an’ I sez to em, Now you spent yo’ money, nigger, whah yo’ been?

* * * * *

Mandy was a good-looking young colored girl and had many admirers. Her mistress often lectured her on behaving with propriety. One evening the mistress, going into the kitchen, was surprised to find a strange darky with his arm around Mandy’s waist.

Why, Mandy, said the mistress indignantly, tell that man to take his arm from around your waist.

Tell him yo’self, said Mandy haughtily. He’s a puffect stranger to me.

* * * * *

A negro was discovered carrying a large armful of books, which brought forth the inquiry—

Going to school?

Yes, sah, boss.

Do you study all those books?

No, sah; dey’s mu brudder’s. I’se ignorant kinder nigger side him, boss. Yer jest oughter see dat nigger figgerin’. He done gone ciphered clean through addition, partition, subtraction, distraction, abomination, creation, justification, amputation and adoption.

* * * * *

Uncle Ephraim had put on a clean collar and his best coat, says the Chicago Tribune, and was walking majestically up and down the street.

Aren’t you working to-day, uncle? asked one of his acquaintances.

No, suh. I’s celebratin’ my golden weddin’, suh.

You were married fifty years ago to-day?

Yes, suh.

Well, why isn’t your wife helping you celebrate?

My present wife, suh, replied Uncle Ephraim, with dignity, ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. She’s de fourth, suh.

* * * * *

Sambo—You know, Rastus, dat every time ah kiss mah wife she closes her eyes an’ holler.

Rastus—Ah say she do!

Sambo—What’s dat, nigger?

Rastus—Ah say, do she?

* * * * *

Lord Babbington was instructing the new colored servant in his duties, adding—Now, Zeke, when I ring for you, you must answer me by saying—My lord, what will you have?

A few hours afterward, having occasion to summon the servant, his lordship was astonished with the following—

My Gawd, whut does you want now?

* * * * *

A negro had made several ineffectual efforts to propose to the object of his affections, but on each occasion his courage failed him at the last moment. After thinking the matter over he finally decided to telephone, which he did. Is that you, Samantha? he inquired upon being given the proper number. Yes, it’s me, returned the lady. Will you marry me, Samantha, and marry me quick? Yes, I will, was the reply, who’s speaking?

* * * * *

They installed a new furnace, or some sort of a heating apparatus, at the Brazilian Embassy in Washington this winter.

The Charge went down to look it over. He picked up the shaker. It was large and heavy.

Here, James, he said to the negro butler, you call up that furnace man and tell him this shaker is too heavy. Why, none but a modern Ajax could use it.

Yassir, said the butler, and went to the telephone. Heah, yo’ furnace man, he said, this yere shaker yo’ done put in the Brazilian Embassy is too heavy. Why, nobody short of a modern jackass could use it.

* * * * *

Two darkies engaged in a horse trade. After the sale was made one darky had the other darky’s horse, for which he parted with $30.00. A few days later the buyer of the horse came across the other darky and complained bitterly of being robbed. Why, Rastus, that horse ain’t no good at all. He can’t see. He’s blind.

What makes you think he’s blind, Sam?

Why, the other day I turned him out in the field and he run into the fence, then he stumbled over a great big rock and then he run plumb into a tree.

Aw, go long, nigger, that horse ain’t blind. He just don’t give a damn.

* * * * *

One morning, while visiting in Richmond, a New York lady overheard the following conversation between the hostess and the cook—

Please, Mis’ Gawdon, may I git off nex’ Sunday to go to the fun’ral of a friend of mine?

Next Sunday? Why, Eliza, this is only Monday! They wouldn’t put a funeral off for a week.

Yas’m, respectfully; but dey has to, ’cause he ain’t dead yit.

Not dead! I am positively ashamed of you. How can you be so heartless as to arrange to attend the funeral of a man who is still living? Why, he may not die at all.

Yas’m, but he will; dey ain’t no hope.

It is impossible to say that, Eliza; the best doctors are often mistaken. But even if they do know a case to be hopeless, they cannot predict the exact time of a man’s death with such a certainty that the funeral can be arranged so long beforehand.

Yas’m, with calm assurance; but he will be buried nex’ Sunday, for all dat, ’cause he’s gwin’ to be hung on Friday.

* * * * *

When General John Corson Smith was lieutenant governor of Illinois, one of the colored janitors of the state house at Springfield came into his office one morning and related the following incident, which he said occurred the previous evening in the negro lodge of which he was a member—

The ballot box had been passed and the worshipful master asked—How is the ballot in the south, Brother Junior Warden? Clar in the south, worshipful. How is the ballot in the west, Brother Senior Warden? Clar in the west, worshipful. The W. M. then inspected the box and said—And clar in the east. I therefore declar Mr. Josephus Johnson duly elected to take the degrees in this lodge. Up jumped a big coon, as black as the ace of spades, and cried, That’s a ’fernal lie,’ worshipful master. I put in four black balls myself.

* * * * *

A negro boy walked into a drug store and asked permission to use the telephone. Then the following conversation took place—

Is that you, Mistah Jones?

Yes, apparently was the reply.

Well, Mistah Jones, I saw your ad in de paper the other day and yo’ wanted a cullud boy. Did yo’ get one?

Yes, seemed to be the answer again.

Well, Mistah Jones, is he givin’ perfect satisfaction?

The reply appeared still to be affirmative.

Well, Mistah Jones, providen dis cullud boy don’t give perfect satisfaction, you call me at 54.

The boy turned and started out, and the druggist, who had overheard, remarked—You didn’t do any good, did you?

Yes, sah, came the reply. I’s dat cullud boy what’s workin’ down there. I’se jest checkin’ up to see how I stand.

* * * * *

Edward M. Flesh, of the United States Food Commission, was talking in St. Louis about snobbishness.

Snobbishness penetrates everywhere, he said. It even penetrates our churches.

I know of an old darky who got religion last month and decided to join the church. He selected, of course, the richest and handsomest church in town, the church with the finest music and the best preaching. Then he called on the pastor and stated his design.

But the pastor hemmed and hawed. He felt that his fashionable flock wouldn’t welcome such an addition as the old darky. He didn’t want to hurt the old fellow’s feelings, however, and finally he said—

Go home, Uncle Rooster. Go home and pray over it. This is an important matter, and it should be made a subject of prayer.

Old Uncle Rooster went home, and in a few days he was back again.

Well? said the divine. Well, what’s the verdict now?

Ah prayed an’ Ah prayed, said Uncle Rooster, an’ de good Lawd He say to me, Rooster, mah son, Ah wouldn’t bothah mah haid about dat mattah no mo.’ Ah’ve been a-tryin’ to git into dat chu’ch mahself fo’ de last twenty-nine yeahs an’ Ah ain’t had no luck, nuther.

* * * * *

At the end of the first six months of his pastorate in Kentucky the Rev. Silas Johns had learned the ways of his flock so thoroughly that he knew exactly how to deal with them. One Sunday the collection was deplorably small. The next week he made a short and telling speech at the close of his sermon. I don’t want any man to gib more dan his share, bredren, he said, gently, bending toward the congregation, but we must all gib according as we are favored and according to what we rightly hab. I say rightly hab, bredren, he went on, after a short pause, because we don’t want any tainted money in de box. Squire Blinks told me dat he’d missed some chickens dis week. Now, if any one ob my pore benighted bredren has fallen by de way in connection wid does chickens, let him stay his hand from de box when it comes to him. Brudder Mose, will you pass de box while I watch de signs and see if dere’s one in de congregation dat needs me to wrestle in prayer for him?

* * * * *

An excellent story is told by Kate Douglas Wiggin, the popular writer. A negro servant, wishing to get married, asked his master to buy him a license in the neighboring town. The master, being in haste, did not ask the name of the happy woman, but as he drove along he reflected on the many tender attentions that he had seen John lavish upon Euphemia Wilson, the cook, and, concluding that there could be no mistake, had the license made out in her name.

There’s your license to marry Euphemia, he said to the servant that night. You’re as good as married already, and you owe me only two dollars.

The darky’s face fell.

But, Mas’ Tom, Euphemia Wilson ain’t de lady I’se gwine to marry. Dat wan’t nothin’ mo’n a little flirtation. Georgiana Thompson, the la’ndress, is the one I’se gwine to marry.

Oh, well, John, said the master, amused and irritated at the same time, there’s no great harm done. I’ll get you another license to-morrow, but it will cost you two dollars more, of course.

The next morning the darky came out to the carriage as it was starting for town, and leaning confidentially over the wheel, said—Mas’ Tom, you needn’t git me no udder license; I’ll use the one I’se got. I’se been t’inkin’ it over in de night, an’ to tell you de troof, Mas’ Tom, de conclusion o’ my jedgment is dat dar ain’t two dollars’ worth o’ diff’rence between dem two ladies.

* * * * *

Until recently there was a partnership existing between two darky blacksmiths in an Alabama town. The dissolution of this association was made known by a notice nailed upon the door of the smithy, which notice ran as follows—

The kopardnershipp heretofor resisting between me and Mose Jenkins is heerby resolved. All perrsons owing the firm will settel with me, and all perrsons that the firm owes to will settel with Mose.

_Alliterations_

I wonder if you know that Betty Botter baked a bit of batter, but her batter was so bitter that to make her bitter batter better Betty Botter bought a bit of better butter, and with this bit of better butter Betty Botter made her bitter batter better.

* * * * *

In reply to the question, How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck would chuck wood? I would say, if a woodchuck would chuck all the wood that a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood, a woodchuck would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood.

* * * * *

When the tramp begged for somthun to do for a bite o’ bread, the lady of the house said—Did you happen to notice that pile of wood in the yard?

Yes’m, I seen it.

You should mind your grammar. You mean you saw it.

No’m. You saw me see it, but you ain’t seen me saw it.

* * * * *

An old farmer of Arkansas, whose sons had all grown up and left him, hired a young man by the name of Esau Buck to help him on his farm. On the evening of the first day they hauled up a small load of poles for wood, and unloaded them. The next morning the old man said to the hired man—

Esau, I’m going to town today, and while I am gone you may saw wood and keep the old ram out of the garden.

When the old man had gone, Esau went out to saw the wood, but when he saw the saw he wouldn’t saw. When Esau saw the saw he couldn’t saw with that saw. Esau looked around for another saw, but that was the only saw he saw, so he didn’t saw. When the old man came home he said to Esau—

Esau, did you saw the wood?

Esau said—I saw the wood, but I wouldn’t saw it.

The old man went out to see the saw, and when he saw the saw he saw that Esau couldn’t saw with that saw. When Esau saw that the old man saw that he couldn’t saw with the saw, Esau picked up the ax and chopped up the wood and made a seesaw.

The next day the old man went to town and bought a new buck-saw for Esau Buck, and when he came home he hung the buck-saw for Esau Buck on the saw-buck by the seesaw.

Just at that time Esau Buck saw the old buck in the garden eating cabbage, and when driving him from the garden to the barn-yard Esau Buck saw the buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw.

When the old buck saw Esau Buck looking at the new buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw, he made a dive for Esau, hit the seesaw, knocked the seesaw against Esau Buck, who fell on the buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw.

When the old man saw the old buck dive at Esau Buck, and miss Esau and hit the seesaw and knock the seesaw against Esau, and Esau Buck fall on the buck-saw on the saw-buck by the seesaw, he picked up an ax to kill the old buck. But the buck saw him coming and dodged the blow and countered on the old man’s stomach, knocked the old man over the seesaw onto Esau Buck, who was getting the seesaw, crippled Esau Buck, broke the buck-saw and the saw-buck and the seesaw.

* * * * *

A Yale student is reported to be responsible for the following alliteration—

Bill had a billboard. Bill also had a board bill. The board bill bored Bill so that Bill sold the bill board to pay the board bill. So after Bill sold the bill board to pay his board bill the board bill no longer bored Bill.

It is said that with little practice on either exercise a salesman will so loosen his tongue and grease his vocal organs that he can sell Russian bonds to a Japanese.

_Poet’s Corner_

IN KENTUCKY.

The moonlight falls the softest, In Kentucky; The summer days come oftest, In Kentucky; Friendship is the strongest, Love’s light glows the longest, Yet, wrong is always wrongest, In Kentucky.

Life’s burdens bear the lightest, In Kentucky; The home fires burn the brightest, In Kentucky; While players are the keenest, Cards come out the meanest, The pocket empties cleanest, In Kentucky.

The sun shines ever brightest, In Kentucky; The breezes whisper lightest, In Kentucky; Plain girls are the fewest, Their little hearts are truest, Maiden’s eyes the bluest, In Kentucky.

Orators are the grandest, In Kentucky; Officials are the blandest, In Kentucky; Boys are all the fliest, Danger ever nighest, Taxes are the highest, In Kentucky.

The bluegrass waves the bluest, In Kentucky; Yet, bluebloods are the fewest (?), In Kentucky; Moonshine is the clearest, By no means the dearest, And, yet, it acts the queerest, In Kentucky.

The dove-notes are the saddest, In Kentucky; The streams dance on the gladdest, In Kentucky; Hip pockets are the thickest, Pistol hands the slickest, The cylinder turns quickest, In Kentucky.