Part 5

"You ain't ha'f as sorry ez I is, sah. Jis' look at dis yer lump on my head. I'd ruther not hab my vote counted den ter pay so dear fur it. Ef da hatter hit me to make my vote count w'y, den, I'd ruther they would fling it outen de box. Dat's er mighty cuis way ter do business. Crack er man's skull ter make his vote count. Doan't want no more votes counted in dis town."

--_Arkansaw Traveler._

A Pittsburgh doctor says he can diagnose ailments by examining a single hair of the patient. Two young men, as a joke, took him a hair from a bay horse. The doctor gravely wrote a prescription, and said his fee was $25, as the case was precarious. They were staggered, but paid the fee, and after they got out laughed all the way to the apothecary's. The latter took the prescription and read in amazement: "One bushel of oats, four quarts of water, stir well, and give three times a day, and turn the animal out to grass!" Then the jokers stopped laughing.

--_Denver News._

Undertakers are gravely opposed to cremation.--_Boston Gazette._ Are they in urn est?

C. A. M.

Too Late Even for Lecocq.

A gentleman here who was "burglarized" about two years ago, reported his loss to the detectives and offered naturally to assist them in every way. At first he called frequently to ascertain if any news of the thieves had been obtained, but being met always with a negative his visits became infrequent and finally ceased. He had forgotten the matter altogether until recently, when he was called upon by one of the detectives, who stated:

"We have got a clew."

"That is good. Is it a promising one?"

"Certainly. We have discovered the thief."

"Better still. You have him arrested?"

"We can't do that. It's too late."

"How is that?"

"He died last week, confessing to the robbery."

It's a grand thing to get a clew.

--_Denver News._

CHOLLY--I say, Fweddie, what makes J. Wilkes Brutus take such long stweps? Do all actahs walk that way?

FWEDDIE--Yes. They acquiah that twagic stwide while traveling. They take two ties at one step, ye know.

--_Chicago Liar._

MR. BOWSER AS A WHITEWASHER.

He Is Not a Howling Success at Inside Decorating.

There were several little things I wanted done about the house this fall, and so the other week I engaged a colored man to come and work for a couple of days. It so happened that he came one morning before Mr. Bowser had left the house, and was greeted with:

"Well, what's up now?"

"I'ze dun bin hired to work, sah."

"Who hired you?"

"De lady, sah."

"What to do?"

"Jobbin', sah."

"Well, the lady has changed her mind and doesn't want you."

After the man had gone, Mr. Bowser came into the house and asked:

"Did you hire a colored man?"

"Why, yes."

"What for?"

"I was going to have him whitewash the vegetable cellar, take down and clean the laundry stovepipe and do some other jobs."

"H'm! Mrs. Bowser, I don't believe in encouraging such people. He'd have done about one hour's work and charged you for a whole day. I don't believe he knows any more about whitewashing than I do about playing the harp."

"But he said he did."

"Certainly. Did you ever see a negro who wouldn't say anything to fit the occasion?"

"Well, but---"

"There is no 'but' about it. If there are any little jobs about the house I've got plenty of time to do them. In fact, I need just such exercise. Such work is a diversion to me, and the doctor recommends it."

"Do you mean to say you will do the whitewashing?"

"I do. I don't do it to save a dollar, but for my own benefit. I always like the smell of lime."

"I wish you wouldn't do it. You will get lime in your eyes, and you will blame me for it, and---"

"There you go! Blame you! What would I blame you about? If I get lime in my eyes it's my own fault. Mrs. Bowser, you are getting to be a good deal of a crank lately."

"Well, if you are determined on it, don't say that I asked you or encouraged you."

"That's a funny way to talk to me, Mrs. Bowser! Are you getting ready for the insane asylum? I think I run my own house yet. If I'm willing to peel off and do these odd jobs, I ought to be encouraged instead of insulted."

I was quite sure how it would end, but I said nothing more, and in the course of half an hour he got into his old clothes and went down cellar. I followed him down to give him a few last words of advice, but he didn't need them.

"You go right upstairs and sit down and enjoy yourself," he said. "Here's the brush and here's a pail of lime, and if I don't white-wash more cellar in ten minutes than Moses could in all day, I'll never try it again. Besides, Mrs. Bowser, whitewashing is not the slouch work you imagine it to be. It has got to be done by a person of taste and intelligence or it won't stand. I want a little blueing to give it a tinge."

"You understand," I said, as I got what he wanted, "that I did not ask you to do this work."

"Ask me! What on earth ails you, Mrs. Bowser? You are making fuss enough over ten minutes' work to warrant a year's job."

"It must be well done."

"Certainly."

"Two coats all around."

"Just so."

"Even if it takes you all day?"

"Even if it takes me over half an hour, which it won't. I'll show you a job here that will make a black man turn green with envy. Just run upstairs and make yourself comfortable."

I retreated up the stairs to the kitchen door and waited for results, which I knew were sure to come. Mr. Bowser dipped and dished and sozzled and stirred until he had the liquid to his liking, and as he began on the stone wall I heard him chuckling:

"I said fifteen minutes, but I'll go slow and take twenty. The idea of a colored man sloshing around here all day to do this work. Let's see. I believe I'll take the overhead first."

I held my breath in suspense for a long minute. Then a yell arose from that cellar which jumped the cook out of her old slippers and made her cry out:

"For heaven's sake, Mrs. Bowser, have we been struck by another cyclone?"

There was a second and a third yell, and as I hurried downstairs Mr. Bowser stood in the middle of the cellar, hands out-stretched and jumping up and down as if he had fire under his feet.

"For heaven's sake, what is it, Mr. Bowser?" I asked.

"Whitewash--lime--fire!"

"Where?"

"In my eyes! I'm blind! I've burned them out!"

I got hold of him and led him out to the laundry tubs and set the water to running. He had indeed got a dose in his eyes, but it was more painful than dangerous. He could hardly see daylight after we had washed out all the lime, and as I led him upstairs he said:

"I shall never see again!"

I washed his eyes with milk and got him to lie down on the lounge, and in a couple of hours he was pretty near all right. His eyes were sore, but no great damage had been done. He was very gentle until he discovered this. Then he suddenly turned on me with:

"Mrs. Bowser, what possible excuse can you urge in extenuation of your conduct?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? That's a cool question to ask me! In view of what has transpired what have you to say?"

"I say that you were foolish to undertake the job. I warned you how it would turn out."

"Mrs. Bowser!" he shouted, squirting tears of lime water out of his eyes, "do you pretend to deny that you didn't encourage me to undertake a task which you knew would put my whole future happiness, if not my life, in peril?"

"I do, sir. I did all I possibly could to dissuade you."

"And you are not to blame?"

"Not in the least."

"Mrs. Bowser, this is too much--too much! I could forgive one who had wronged me, if penitent, but when they attempt to brazen it out it is time for action. We will settle on the amount of alimony right here and now."

But we didn't. After blinking around for half a day he went down town, and when he came home to supper he was as good-natured as pie. I got a colored man to come and do the work, and two or three days later, when Mr. Bowser happened down cellar, I heard him saying to himself:

"Yes, it's a mighty slick job I did on this, and I'll tackle that stovepipe to-morrow morning."

--_Detroit Free Press._

MR. DE TEEZE (returning late from the smoking room, and seeing for the first time the hose stretched)--Wha-wha-whash _thish_ mean? Awful bad, thish time! Oh, I shee. I unishtan. 'Sh all ri. No worsh'n ush'l. Shnakes on shore, shea sherp'ns on ships. Or ri'. Qui' proper too.

--_Ocean._

New York can't decide upon a site for the world's fair. An excellent place to hold the fair, after the old folks have retired, is on your lap. P. S.--So we've been told.

--_Norristown Herald._

The Latest About Kissing.

Men have often remarked on the fertility of woman's mind. Physiologists declare she never reasons, but as an instinctive creature she often reaches a correct conclusion much quicker than a man. If they lack the intricate process of ratiocination they have the happy faculty of walking straight through mental difficulties like a somnambulist in sleep.

The fellows who discuss "Is Marriage a Failure?" or "Why I am a Bachelor," have wondered lately how women reach their cute noses with a handkerchief since the advent of the new fangled veil. It covers the greater part of the face, and is as ornamental possibly as protective.

Two women veiled alike met yesterday. It was evident that they hadn't seen each other for some time, and they rushed together in a long embrace. The inevitable kiss came next. Both essayed the attempt, but the veils rendered this impossible. Quick as a flash one of the ladies turned the side of her face to her companion and the latter smacked a spot on her cheek somewhere below the ear. This was satisfactory and then followed the usual storm of quick womanly ejaculations.

"Is kissing on the lips no longer fashionable?" queried a reporter of a lady he met after this event.

"No, not since the introduction of the new veil," she answered sweetly. "You see the lips are completely covered, and it has become the fashion to press the lips against the cheek. This thing of kissing is a nuisance anyhow, and I wish the ladies would all stop it."

--_Pittsburgh Dispatch._

Conclusive.

Careful Papa--But which loves Clara most--Brown, Jones or Smith?

Observant Mamma--Why, Mr. Smith, to be sure.

Papa--How can you make that out? Last night Brown asked and plead with her to sing; when she finished, Jones was enthusiastic in praise; but Smith didn't say a word!

Mamma--No, but to-night he asked her to sing again----

Papa--Poor Smith, he must, indeed, love her!

--_Light._

THE HONEYMOON.

HE--O, my darling, you are so much better than I am, and I am so unworthy of you!

SHE--Love, I don't see what you can find about me to love!

SHE--I don't see why I ever married such a brute. I am going straight home to mother.

HE--Brute, eh? I want you to understand, young woman, that I only married you out of pity.

--_Lawrence American._

The Sly Way in Which Prohibition Works.

A week or two ago a well-known dealer in live stock of this city went over to Washington County to make a deal with a big stock raiser, who is also prominent as a strict Prohibitionist. The cattle having been inspected and the price agreed upon, the Washington County man retired to the house to make out a receipt and so on, leaving the Pittsburgher in his son's hands. As soon as the old man had disappeared indoors his son, a bright lad, nearing his majority, said to the Pittsburgher:

"This is rather dry work talking all day, ain't it?"

The Pittsburgher vehemently assented.

"Well," continued the young man, "I've a bottle out in the haymow, and we might as well get a taste of the stuff while dad's not by."

The Pittsburgher said "yes" again, and the two repaired to the haymow and looked upon the contents of the black bottle. Then the young Washingtonian hid the bottle in the haymow, saying as he did so: "Don't tell the old man anything about this--he's awful down on drinking."

Of course the Pittsburgher vowed silence as he smacked his lips and left the barn. Two minutes later he was in the house paying over the money to the old stock raiser. After the business in hand had been dispatched and the bargain had been closed the Pittsburgher was about to take his leave, when the old man said, rather awkwardly: "Say, are you feelin' dry? I've a jug down in the cellar, and the liquor's fine."

It is hardly necessary to say they were soon in the cellar. As the old Prohibitionist drained his glass he said to his guest: "Don't say nothing 'bout this to them boys o' mine--they don't know about the jug!"

--_Pittsburgh Dispatch._

His Last Resort.

Mrs. Smalltalk (two minutes later)--Well, doctor, why in the world don't you look at my tongue, if you want to, instead of writing away like a newspaper editor? How long do you expect I am going to sit here with my mouth wide open?

Physician--Just one moment more, please, madame; I only wanted you to keep still long enough so that I could write this prescription.

--_Somerville Journal._

How She Told the Latest Joke.

Mrs. Jason came home the other evening with her face "wreathed in smiles," as the novelists have it.

"Well, what are you grinning at?" was the cordial greeting of her lord and master.

"I heard something funny down town," she answered.

"Well, what was it?"

"Oh, nothing much. I happened to meet little Johnny Figg, who used to keep the apple stand across the way, you know, and he's got a better one down town now. I asked him how he was getting along and he says to me, 'Oh, I'm still keeping a stand, you see.' I thought it was the cutest thing I had heard for a good while."

"Oh, you did, did you, Maria? If I ever see where the laugh comes in I'll try and smile, even if I have to get up in the middle of the night to do so," was his crushing reply, to which she deigned no answer.

About two o'clock in the morning Mr. Jason was awakened from a dream of being stabbed by a masked assassin, to find his wife energetically nudging him below the fifth rib.

"Oh, Jehiel, I had that wrong," she twittered, in a tone of one who has made a great discovery. "Johnny said his business was at a stand still. You see the point now, don't you?"

"Yes, I reckon so," said the old man in no gracious tones, "and if I feel the point of your infernal elbow jabbing me in the ribs any more to-night I'll go to sleep in the barn. Do you hear?"

"And he didn't laugh either as he promised to," was her reflection as she settled down to sleep again with the sweet consciousness of duty performed.

--_Terre Haute Express._

On General Principles.

Weather Bureau Chief (to assistant)--Well, what's the forecast for Pennsylvania?

First Assistant (looking perplexed)--Very confusing. There's a falling barometer in Lehigh, a rising one in Lancaster, easterly winds in Berks and----

Chief (pettishly)--Oh, well! make it "showery," then.

--_Philadelphia Inquirer._

His First Shave.

This is a momentous event in a boy's life, as it is to him the line of demarcation between boyhood and manhood.

The microscopic indications under his chin are becoming annoying to him, and he considers it a duty to society to have them removed without delay.

He has already made several surreptitious attempts with his father's razor, to the great detriment of both the razor and his face, and although he succeeded, in a measure, in removing the obnoxious down, yet it was with the unpleasant accompaniment of some of his chin. Therefore he determines to do the thing in a manly way, and resolves to submit to the barber's delicate manipulations without delay.

It takes him some time to muster up the requisite courage to enter the barber's shop, as he has certain misgivings that the barber might indulge in facetious and satirical remarks concerning his beard.

He passes the shop many times and looks in; but his heart sinks within him. There is always some drawback--either too many people inside or too few; in either case of which he thinks he will be noticed. Once he does enter; and one of the barbers venturing the inquiry, "Hair cut, sir?" involves him in delightful confusion, and to avoid further embarrassment, he submits to having his hair cut, and still remains unshaved.

At last, in sheer desperation, he makes a very firm resolve either to get shaved that day or never. With this heroic resolve, and twopence in his hand, he sallies forth to the barber's, and at a favorable moment walks in and tremblingly awaits his turn.

The sharp, short "Next!" sends the blood thrilling up his backbone, and he feebly climbs into the chair, and hurriedly says, "Shave me, please," and shuts his eyes.

The barber, with an eye to the twopence, says nothing, and proceeds to shave him, figuratively speaking. There is only one drawback to the boy's cup of happiness, and that is the entire absence of that peculiarly pleasant rasping sound which comes only from a long experience.

--_Liverpool Post._

The season has come again when a fine string of fish in the hand is worth two dollars out of pocket to the man who didn't catch the fish.

--_Albany Express._

Considering how little the bell knows it is wonderful how much it has tolled.

--_Merchant Traveler._

MR. RETIRED POLITICIAN (to Society Artist)--Now you are sure you can make a good likeness of me?

SOCIETY ARTIST--Oh, yes; you see yours is a very simple face--er, er, I mean to draw, you know.

A great deal of fault can be found with a defaulter.

--_Pittsburgh Chronicle._

Two Kinds of Accompaniment.

Policeman (to street musician)--Have you a permit to play on the streets?

Itinerant Musician--No.

Policeman (making him a prisoner)--Then accompany me.

Itinerant Musician--With the greatest pleasure. What do you wish to sing?

--_Fliegende Blätter._

A Sure Sign.

Husband--I guess Sarah and that young man that calls on her are engaged by this time.

Wife--Why do you think so?

Husband--The gas bills aren't as large as they used to be.

--_Yankee Blade._

A Fair Estimate.

"Have you ever tried, Lawrence, to estimate the height of my father's regard for you?"

"No, but it occurred to me last night that it was about a foot."

--_Glens Falls Republican._

Didn't Intend to Hit Him.

"Did you intend to hit this man when you shot at him?" asked the Judge.

"Did I ten' to hit 'im?"

"Yes."

"No, sah; if I had 'tended to hit 'im I would 'er tuck a club."

--_Merchant Traveler._

Eager for Absorption.

Citizen (to tramp)--Poor fellow! You look as if you had been in the soup.

Tramp (half famished)--For heaven's sake, tell me on which side to open my mouth.

--_Burlington Free Press._

There is nothing novel in the announcement that Mrs. Chamer has abandoned literature. Amelie's literature has always been more or less abandoned.

--_Omaha Bee._

LE SAWFT--Why, captain, what in the world is that flat boat for?

CAPTAIN--That is for use in landing dudes.

--_Ocean._

Claus Spreckels wants to build houses of sugar. If an apartment building of this material is erected we are willing to take a sweet of rooms.

--_Lawrence American._

MR. BOWSER IN THE COUNTRY.

He Enjoys Fresh Air and Mosquitoes to His Heart's Content--His Original Method of Milking Not Indorsed by the Cow.

"Well, what do you think!" exclaimed Mr. Bowser as he came hurrying home from the office the other afternoon.

"Have you gone and got some more hens or bought another horse?"

"Mrs. Bowser, the event of our life is about to happen."

"What is it?"

"You know Gregg? Well, Gregg owns a little farm out here about twelve miles. There's a good house on it, and he says we can occupy it for the summer. We will have a cow and a horse, pigs, poultry and other stock, and we'll go out there and tan up and get fat and have the best time in the world."

"I don't think much of the idea, Mr. Bowser."

"You don't. You don't want cool breezes--fresh eggs--fresh berries--rich milk--songs of birds--lowing of the kine and rest from care!"

"You will be disappointed if you expect any such thing."

"I will, eh? Perhaps I don't know what the country is. You are always ready to throw cold water on any of my plans. I shall go, anyhow."

That was the beginning, and at the end of three days I yielded, womanlike.

One Monday morning we took the train and started, having engaged a farmer's daughter to take charge of the kitchen, and at the nearest railroad station we were met by a farmer and his lumber wagon. The sun poured down its hottest, the dust had covered grass and bushes, and as we jogged and jolted along the farmer queried of Mr. Bowser:

"Come out for your health, I suppose?"

"We did. Ah! this country air has already refreshed me."

"Has, eh? Well, there's heaps of it, and I'm thinking you'll get all you want in about a week. I think a city chap is a blamed fool to come out here."

"Do you? Why, the doctors recommended it. That boy ought to gain a pound a day, and I am sure my wife will brace right up with these pastoral scenes before her eyes."

"The doctors and pastoral scenes be darned!" growled the farmer, as he turned to his horses, and those were the last words he uttered until he landed us at the gate.

It was a comfortable frame house, and I did not observe the surroundings until after dinner. The barn had partly fallen in, giving it a weird and lonely look; most of the fencing was down, a gust of wind had laid the smoke-house on its back, and nearly every tree and bush about the house was dead or dying.

"Is this one of the pastoral scenes you referred to?" I asked Mr. Bowser.

"There you go!" he snapped. "You can't expect things to look as nice out here as in Central Park. We come for the balmy breezes and the rest."

"You spoke of hunting hens' eggs in the meadow grass."

"So we will--come on."

He made a dash for a big patch of burdocks near the back door, got tangled up in the ruins of a barrel, and when he got up he had a cut on his chin and his nose was bleeding. He tried to make light of the affair, but it was hard work.

When I asked after the horse and vehicle in which we were to take our morning jaunts he walked down to the barnyard and pointed out a raw-boned old yellow horse, so weak that he could not brush the flies away, and a one-horse wagon, quaint enough to have taken its place in a museum.

"You'll have our photographs taken after we all get seated in that rig, won't you?" I asked.

"That's it; just as I expected. Mrs. Bowser, what did you come out here for?"

"Because you obliged me to."

"I did, eh! Not by a long shot! You came to restore your health and to give our child a chance for his life. It will be the making of him. No more doctor's bills for us."

In the afternoon Mr. Bowser swung his hammock in the orchard. This was something he had doted on for a week. He had scarcely dropped into it when three or four caterpillars dropped on to him, and he put in the rest of the afternoon on the hard boards of the veranda. The cow came sauntering up about 5 o'clock, covered with flies and mosquitoes, and the girl hinted to Mr. Bowser that he was expected to milk.

"Oh, certainly," he replied. "I wouldn't give a cent for farm life unless I could milk a cow or two. I used to sing a ballad while I was milking."

The girl and I watched him as he took the pail and stool and approached the cow. The cow also watched him. Folks generally sit down on the right-hand side of the cow to milk. Mr. Bowser took the other side.

"What are you trying to do?" I called to him from the gate.

"Mrs. Bowser, when I want to learn anything about a cow I'll ask you for the information. I think I know my business."