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diff --git a/24433.txt b/24433.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8f4c80 --- /dev/null +++ b/24433.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6003 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wit and Humor of America, Volume IX (of +X), by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Wit and Humor of America, Volume IX (of X) + +Author: Various + +Editor: Marshall P. Wilder + +Release Date: January 26, 2008 [EBook #24433] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WIT AND HUMOR *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Annie McGuire, Brian Janes +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +Library Edition + +THE WIT AND HUMOR OF AMERICA + +In Ten Volumes + +VOL. IX + + + + +[Illustration: EDGAR WILSON NYE (BILL NYE) + +Drawing from photo, copyright by Rockwood] + + + + +THE WIT AND HUMOR OF AMERICA + +EDITED BY MARSHALL P. WILDER + +_Volume IX_ + + +Funk & Wagnalls Company +New York and London + +Copyright MDCCCCVII, BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY +Copyright MDCCCCXI, THE THWING COMPANY + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + Ballade of Ping-Pong, A Alden Charles Noble 1690 + Boat that Ain't, The Wallace Irwin 1764 + Budge and Toddie John Habberton 1692 + Cavalier's Valentine, A Clinton Scollard 1782 + Conscientious Curate and the + Beauteous Ballet Girl, The William Russell Rose 1756 + Country School, The Anonymous 1734 + Evan Anderson's Poker Party Benjamin Stevenson 1737 + Experiences of Gentle Jane, The Carolyn Wells 1797 + Few Reflections, A Bill Arp 1799 + Great Celebrator, A Bill Nye 1784 + Gusher, The Charles Battell Loomis 1656 + He Wanted to Know Sam Walter Foss 1794 + Hoss, The James Whitcomb Riley 1759 + How I Spoke the Word Frank L. Stanton 1725 + How Jimaboy Found Himself Francis Lynde 1765 + How the Money Goes John G. Saxe 1780 + "Hullo!" Sam Walter Foss 1706 + Lugubrious Whing-Whang, The James Whitcomb Riley 1669 + Millionaires, The Max Adeler 1675 + Mystery of Gilgal, The Hay 1654 + Natural Philosophy William Henry Drummond 1722 + Nine Little Goblins, The James Whitcomb Riley 1635 + Old-Fashioned Choir, The Benjamin F. Taylor 1790 + Our Polite Parents Carolyn Wells 1688 + Our Very Wishes Harriet Prescott Spofford 1637 + Reflective Retrospect, A John G. Saxe 1703 + Rule of Three, A Wallace Rice 1779 + Runaway Toys, The Frank L. Stanton 1671 + Soldier, Rest! Robert J. Burdette 1796 + Tale of the Tangled Telegram, The Wilbur D. Nesbit 1709 + Threnody, A George Thomas Lanigan 1754 + Tim Flannigan's Mistake Wallace Bruce Amsbary 1673 + University Intelligence Office, The John Kendrick Bangs 1727 + Warrior, The Eugene Field 1708 + When Doctors Disagree S. E. Kiser 1762 + When the Little Boy Ran Away Frank L. Stanton 1792 + Widow Bedott's Visitor, The Frances M. Whicher 1660 + +COMPLETE INDEX AT THE END OF VOLUME X. + + + + +THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS + +BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + + They all climbed up on a high board-fence-- + Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes-- + Nine little Goblins that had no sense, + And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies; + And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat-- + And I asked them what they were staring at. + + And the first one said, as he scratched his head + With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear + And rasped its claws in his hair so red-- + "This is what this little arm is fer!" + And he scratched and stared, and the next one said + "How on earth do _you_ scratch your head?" + + And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge-- + Laughed and laughed till his face grew black; + And when he choked, with a final twinge + Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back + With a fist that grew on the end of his tail + Till the breath came back to his lips so pale. + + And the third little Goblin leered round at me-- + And there were no lids on his eyes at all-- + And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he, + "What is the style of your socks this fall?" + And he clapped his heels--and I sighed to see + That he had hands where his feet should be. + + Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim, + Bowed his head, and I saw him slip + His eyebrows off, as I looked at him, + And paste them over his upper lip; + And then he moaned in remorseful pain-- + "Would--Ah, would I'd me brows again!" + + And then the whole of the Goblin band + Rocked on the fence-top to and fro, + And clung, in a long row, hand in hand, + Singing the songs that they used to know-- + Singing the songs that their grandsires sung + In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue. + + And ever they kept their green-glass eyes + Fixed on me with a stony stare-- + Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise, + And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair, + And I felt the heart in my breast snap to + As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do. + + And they sang, "You're asleep! There is no board-fence, + And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!-- + 'Tis only a vision the mind invents + After a supper of cold mince-pies,-- + And you're doomed to dream this way," they said,-- + "_And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!_" + + + + +OUR VERY WISHES + +BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD + + +It was natural that it should be quiet for Mrs. Cairnes in her empty +house. Once there had been such a family of brothers and sisters there! +But one by one they had married, or died, and at any rate had drifted +out of the house, so that she was quite alone with her work, and her +memories, and the echoes in her vacant rooms. She hadn't a great deal of +work; her memories were not pleasant; and the echoes were no pleasanter. +Her house was as comfortable otherwise as one could wish; in the very +centre of the village it was, too, so that no one could go to church, or +to shop, or to call, unless Mrs. Cairnes was aware of the fact, if she +chose; and the only thing that protected the neighbors from this +supervision was Mrs. Cairnes's mortal dread of the sun on her carpet; +for the sun lay in that bay-windowed corner nearly all the day, and even +though she filled the window full of geraniums and vines and +calla-lilies she could not quite shut it out, till she resorted to +sweeping inner curtains. + +Mrs. Cairnes did her own work, because, as she said, then she knew it +was done. She had refused the company of various individuals, because, +as she said again, she wouldn't give them house-room. Perhaps it was for +the same reason that she had refused several offers of marriage; +although the only reason that she gave was that one was quite enough, +and she didn't want any boots bringing in mud for her to wipe up. But +the fact was that Captain Cairnes had been a mistake; and his relict +never allowed herself to dwell upon the fact of her loss, but she felt +herself obliged to say with too much feeling that all was for the best; +and she dared not risk the experiment again. + +Mrs. Cairnes, however, might have been lonelier if she had been very +much at home; but she was President of the First Charitable, and +Secretary of the Second, and belonged to a reading-club, and a +sewing-circle, and a bible-class, and had every case of illness in town +more or less to oversee, and the circulation of the news to attend to, +and so she was away from home a good deal, and took many teas out. Some +people thought that if she hadn't to feed her cat she never would go +home. But the cat was all she had, she used to say, and nobody knew the +comfort it was to her. Yet, for all this, there were hours and seasons +when, obliged to stay in the house, it was intolerably dreary there, and +she longed for companionship. "Some one with an interest," she said. +"Some one who loves the same things that I do, who cares for me, and for +my pursuits. Some one like Sophia Maybury. Oh! how I should have liked +to spend my last days with Sophia! What keeps Dr. Maybury alive so, I +can't imagine. If he had only--gone to his rest"--said the good woman, +"Sophia and I could join our forces and live together in clover. And how +we should enjoy it! We could talk together, read together, sew together. +No more long, dull evenings and lonely nights listening to the mice. But +a friend, a dear sister, constantly at hand! Sophia was the gentlest +young woman, the prettiest,--oh, how I loved her in those days! She was +a part of my youth. I love her just as much now. I wish she could come +and live here. She might, if there weren't any Dr. Maybury. I can't +stand this solitude. Why did fate make me such a social old body, and +then set me here all alone?" + +If Sophia was the prettiest young woman in those days, she was an +exceedingly pretty old woman in these, with her fresh face and her +bright eyes, and if her hair was not all her own, she had companions in +bangs. Dr. Maybury made a darling of her all his lifetime, and when he +died he left her what he had; not much,--the rent of the Webster +House,--but enough. + +But there had always been a pea-hen in Mrs. Maybury's lot. It was all +very well to have an adoring husband,--but to have no home! The Doctor +had insisted for years upon living in the tavern, which he owned, and if +there was one thing that his wife detested more than another, it was +life in a tavern. The strange faces, the strange voices, the going and +coming, the dreary halls, the soiled table-cloths, the thick crockery, +the damp napkins, the flies, the tiresome _menu_--every roast tasting of +every other, no gravy to any,--the all out-doors feeling of the whole +business, your affairs in everybody's mouth, the banging doors, the +restless feet, the stamping of horses in the not distant stable, the +pandemonium of it all! She tried to make a little home in the corner of +it; but it was useless. And when one day Dr. Maybury suddenly died, +missing him and mourning him, and half distracted as she was, a thrill +shot across the darkness for half a thought,--now at any rate she could +have a home of her own! But presently she saw the folly of the +thought,--a home without a husband! She staid on at the tavern, and took +no pleasure in life. + +But with Dr. Maybury's departure, the thought recurred again and again +to Mrs. Cairnes of her and Sophia's old dream of living together. "We +used to say, when we were girls, that we should keep house together, for +neither of us would ever marry. And it's a great, great pity we did! I +dare say, though, she's been very happy. I know she has, in fact. But +then if she hadn't been so happy with him, she wouldn't be so unhappy +without him. So it evens up. Well, it's half a century gone; but perhaps +she'll remember it. I should like to have her come here. I never could +bear Dr. Maybury, it's true; but then I could avoid the subject with +her. I mean to try. What a sweet, comfortable, peaceful time we should +have of it!" + +A sweet, comfortable, peaceful time! Well; you shall see. For Mrs. +Maybury came; of course she came. Her dear, old friend Julia! Oh, if +anything could make up for Dr. Maybury's loss, it would be living with +Julia! What castles they used to build about living together and working +with the heathen around home. And Julia always went to the old East +Church, too; and they had believed just the same things, the same +election, and predestination and damnation and all; at one time they had +thought of going out missionaries together to the Polynesian Island, but +that had been before Julia took Captain Cairnes for better or worse, +principally worse, and before she herself undertook all she could in +converting Dr. Maybury,--a perfect Penelope's web of a work; for Dr. +Maybury died as he had lived, holding her fondest beliefs to be old +wives' fables, but not quarreling with her fidelity to them, any more +than with her finger-rings or her false bangs, her ribbons, and what she +considered her folderols in general. And how kind, she went on in her +thoughts, it was of Julia to want her now! what comfort they would be to +each other! Go,--of course she would! + +She took Allida with her; Allida who had been her maid so long that she +was a part of herself; and who, for the sake of still being with her +mistress, agreed to do the cooking at Mrs. Cairnes's and help in the +house-work. The house was warm and light on the night she arrived; +other friends had dropped in to receive her, too; there were flowers on +the table in the cosy red dining-room, delicate slices of ham that had +been stuffed with olives and sweet herbs, a cold queen's pudding rich +with frosting, a mold of coffee jelly in a basin of whipped cream, and +little thin bread-and-butter sandwiches. + +"Oh, how delightful, how homelike!" cried Mrs. Maybury. How unlike the +great barn of a dining-room at the Webster House! What delicious bread +and butter! Julia had always been such a famous cook! "Oh, this is home +indeed, Julia!" she cried. + +Alas! The queen's pudding appeared in one shape or another till it lost +all resemblance to itself, and that ham after a fortnight became too +familiar for respect. + +Mrs. Cairnes, when all was reestablished and at rights, Sophia in the +best bedroom, Allida in the kitchen, Sophia's board paying Allida's +wages and all extra expense, Sophia's bird singing like a little +fountain of melody in the distance, Mrs. Cairnes then felt that after a +long life of nothingness, fate was smiling on her; here was friendship, +interest, comfort, company, content. No more lonesomeness now. Here was +a motive for coming home; here was somebody to come home to! And she +straightway put the thing to touch, by coming home from her +prayer-meeting, her bible-class, her Ladies' Circle, her First +Charitable, and taking in a whole world of pleasure in Sophia's waiting +presence, her welcoming smile, her voice asking for the news. And if +Sophia were asking for the news, news there must be to give Sophia! And +she went about with fresh eagerness, and dropped in here, there, and +everywhere, and picked up items at every corner to retail to Sophia. She +found it a little difficult to please Sophia about the table. Used to +all the variety of a public-house, Mrs. Maybury did not take very +kindly to the simple fare, did not quite understand why three people +must be a whole week getting through with a roast,--a roast that, served +underdone, served overdone, served cold, served warmed up with herbs, +served in a pie, made five dinners; she didn't quite see why one must +have salt fish on every Saturday, and baked beans on Sunday; she +hankered after the flesh-pots that, when she had them, she had found +tiresome, and than which she had frequently remarked she would rather +have the simplest home-made bread and butter. Apples, too. Mrs. +Cairnes's three apple-trees had been turned to great account in her +larder always; but now,--Mrs. Maybury never touched apple-sauce, +disliked apple-jelly, thought apple-pie unfit for human digestion, +apple-pudding worse; would have nothing with apples in it, except the +very little in mince-pie which she liked as rich as brandy and sherry +and costly spices could make it. + +"No profit in this sort of boarder," thought the thrifty Mrs. Cairnes. +But then she didn't have Sophia for profit, only for friendliness and +companionship; and of course there must be some little drawbacks. Sophia +was not at all slow in expressing her likes and dislikes. Well, Mrs. +Cairnes meant she should have no more dislikes to express than need be. +Nevertheless, it made Mrs. Cairnes quite nervous with apprehension +concerning Mrs. Maybury's face on coming to the dinner-table; she left +off having roasts, and had a slice of steak; chops and tomato-sauce; a +young chicken. But even that chicken had to make its reappearance till +it might have been an old hen. "I declare," said Mrs. Cairnes, in the +privacy of her own emotions, "when I lived by myself I had only one +person to please! If Sophia had ever been any sort of a housekeeper +herself--it's easy to see why Dr. Maybury chose to live at a hotel!" +Still the gentle face opposite her at the table, the lively warmth of a +greeting when she opened the door, the delight of some one with whom to +talk things over, the source of life and movement in the house; all this +far outweighed the necessity of having to plan for variety in the little +dinners. + +"I really shall starve to death if this thing does on," Mrs. Maybury had +meanwhile said to herself. "It isn't that I care so much for what I have +to eat; but I really can't eat enough here to keep me alive. If I went +out as Julia does, walking and talking all over town, I daresay I could +get up the same sort of appetite for sole-leather. But I haven't the +heart for it. I can't do it. I have to sit at home and haven't any +relish for anything. I really will see if Allida can't start something +different." But Allida could not make bricks without straw; she could +only prepare what Mrs. Cairnes provided, and as Mrs. Cairnes had never +had a servant before, she looked on the whole tribe of them as marauders +and natural enemies, and doled out everything from a locked store-room +at so much a head. "Well," sighed Mrs. Maybury, "perhaps I shall get +used to it." From which it will be seen that Julia's efforts after all +were not particularly successful. But if Mrs. Cairnes had been lonely +before Mrs. Maybury came, Mrs. Maybury was intolerably lonely, having +come; the greater part of the time, Allida being in the kitchen, or out +herself, and no one in the house but the sunshine, the cat, and the +bird; and she detested cats, and had a shudder if one touched her. +However, this was Julia's cat, this great black and white evil spirit, +looking like an imp of darkness; she would be kind to it if it didn't +touch her. But if it touched her--she shivered at the thought--she +couldn't answer for the consequences. Julia was so good in taking her +into her house, and listening to her woes, and trying to make her +comfortable,--only if this monster tried to kill her bird,--Mrs. +Maybury, sitting by herself, wept at the thought. How early it was dark +now, too! She didn't see what kept Julia so,--really she was doing too +much at her age. She hinted that gently to Julia when Mrs. Cairnes did +return. And Mrs. Cairnes could not quite have told what it was that was +so unpleasant in the remark. "My age," she said, laughing. "Why, I am as +young as ever I was, and as full of life. I could start on an exploring +expedition to Africa, to-morrow!" But she began to experience a novel +sense of bondage,--she who had all her life been responsible to no one. +And presently, whenever she went out, she had a dim consciousness in her +mental background of Sophia's eyes following her, of Sophia's thoughts +upon her trail, of Sophia's face peering from the bay-window as she went +from one door to another. She begged some slips, and put a half dozen +new flower-pots on a bracket-shelf in the window, in order to obscure +the casual view, and left the inner curtain drawn. + +She came in one day, and there was that inner curtain strung wide open, +and the sun pouring through the plants in a broad radiance. Before she +took off her bonnet she stepped to the window and drew the curtain. + +"Oh!" cried Mrs. Maybury, "what made you do that? The sunshine is so +pleasant." + +"I can't have the sun streaming in here and taking all the color out of +my carpet, Sophia!" said Julia, with some asperity. + +"But the sun is so very healthy," urged Mrs. Maybury. + +"Oh, well! I can't be getting a new carpet every day." + +"You feel," said Mrs. Maybury, turning away wrath, "as you did when you +were a little girl, and the teacher told you to lay your wet slate in +your lap: 'It'll take the fade out of my gown,' said you. How long ago +is it! Does it seem as if it were you and I?" + +"I don't know," said Julia tartly. "I don't bother myself much with +abstractions. I know it is you and I." And she put her things on the +hall-rack, as she was going out again in the afternoon to bible-class. + +She had no sooner gone out than Mrs. Maybury went and strung up every +curtain in the house where the sun was shining, and sat down +triumphantly and rocked contentedly for five minutes in the glow, when +her conscience overcame her, and she put them all down again, and went +out into the kitchen for a little comfort from Allida. But Allida had +gone out, too; so she came back to the sitting-room, and longed for the +stir and bustle and frequent faces of the tavern, and welcomed a +book-canvasser presently as if she had been a dear friend. + +Perhaps Julia's conscience stirred a little, too; for she came home +earlier than usual, put away her wraps, lighted an extra lamp, and said, +"Now we'll have a long, cosy evening to ourselves." + +"We might have a little game of cards," said Sophia, timidly. "I know a +capital double solitaire--" + +"Cards!" cried Julia. + +"Why--why not?" + +"Cards! And I just came from bible-class!" + +"What in the world has that got to do with it?" + +"Everything!" + +"Why, the Doctor and I used--" + +"That doesn't make it any better." + +"Why, Julia, you can't possibly mean that there's any harm,--that,--that +it's wicked--" + +"I think we'd better drop the subject, Sophia," said Julia loftily. + +"But I don't want to drop the subject!" exclaimed Mrs. Maybury. "I don't +want you to think that the Doctor would--" + +"I can't help what the Doctor did. I think cards are wicked! And that's +enough for me!" + +"Well!" cried Mrs. Maybury, then in great dudgeon. "I'm not a member of +the old East Church in good and regular standing for forty years to be +told what's right and what's wrong by any one now!" + +"If you're in good and regular standing, then the church is very lax in +its discipline, Sophia; that's all I've got to say." + +"But, Julia, things have been very much liberalized of late years. The +minister's own daughter has been to dancing-school." The toss of Julia's +head, and her snort of contempt only said, "So much the worse for the +minister's daughter!" + +"Nobody believes in infant damnation now," continued Mrs. Maybury. + +"I do." + +"O Julia!" cried Mrs. Maybury, for the moment quite faint, "that is +because," she said, as soon as she had rallied, and breaking the +dreadful silence, "you never had any little babies of your own, Julia." +This was adding insult to injury, and still there was silence. "I don't +believe it of you, Julia," she continued, "your kind heart--" + +"I don't know what a kind heart has to do with the immutable decrees of +an offended deity!" cried the exasperated Julia. "And this only goes to +show what forty years' association with a free-thinking--" + +"You were right in the beginning, Julia; we had better drop the +subject," said Mrs. Maybury; and she gathered up her Afghan wools +gently, and went to her room. + +Mrs. Maybury came down, however, when tea was ready, and all was serene +again, especially as Susan Peyster came in to tell the news about Dean +Hampton's defalcation at the village bank, and had a seat at the table. + +"But I don't understand what on earth he has done with the money," said +Mrs. Maybury. + +"Gambled," said Susan. + +"Cards," said Mrs. Cairnes. "You see!" + +"Not that sort of gambling!" cried Susan. "But stocks and that." + +"It's the same thing," said Mrs. Cairnes. + +"And that's the least part of it! They do say"--said Susan, balancing +her teaspoon as if in doubt about speaking. + +"They say what?" cried Mrs. Cairnes. + +But for our part, as we don't know Mr. Dean Hampton, and, therefore, can +not relish his misdoings with the same zest as if we did, we will not +waste time on what was said. Only when Susan had gone, Mrs. Maybury +rose, too, and said, "I must say, Julia, that I think this dreadful +conversation is infinitely worse and more wicked than any game of cards +could be!" + +"What are you talking about?" said Julia, jocosely, and quite +good-humored again. + +"And the amount of shocking gossip of this description that I've heard +since I've been in your house is already more than I've heard in the +whole course of my life! Dr. Maybury would never allow a word of gossip +in our rooms." And she went to bed. + +"You shall never have another word in mine!" said the thunderstricken +Julia to herself. And if she had heard that the North Pole had tipped +all its ice off into space, she wouldn't have told her a syllable about +it all that week. + +But in the course of a fortnight, a particularly choice bit of news +having turned up, and the edge of her resentment having worn away, Mrs. +Cairnes could not keep it to herself. And poor Mrs. Maybury, famishing +now for some object of interest, received it so kindly that things +returned to their former footing. Perhaps not quite to their former +footing, for Julia had now a feeling of restraint about her news, and +didn't tell the most piquant, and winked to her visitors if the details +trenched too much on what had better be unspoken. "Not that it was +really so very--so very--but then Mrs. Maybury, you know," she said +afterward. But she had never been accustomed to this restraint, and she +didn't like it. + +In fact Mrs. Cairnes found herself under restraints that were amounting +to a mild bondage. She must be at home for meals, of course; she had +been in the habit of being at home or not as she chose, and often of +taking the bite and sup at other houses, which precluded the necessity +of preparing anything at home. She must have the meals to suit another +and very different palate, which was irksome and troublesome. She must +exercise a carefulness concerning her conversation, and that of her +gossips, too, which destroyed both zest and freedom. She strongly +suspected that in her absence the curtains were up and the sun was +allowed to play havoc with her carpets. She was remonstrated with on her +goings and comings, she who had had the largest liberty for two score +years. And then, when the minister came to see her, she never had the +least good of the call, so much of it was absorbed by Mrs. Maybury. And +Mrs. Maybury's health was delicate, she fussed and complained and +whined; she cared for the things that Mrs. Cairnes didn't care for, and +didn't care for the things that Mrs. Cairnes did care for; Mrs. Cairnes +was conscious of her unspoken surprise at much that she said and did, +and resented the somewhat superior gentleness and refinement of her old +friend as much as the old friend resented her superior strength and +liveliness. + +"What has changed Sophia so? It isn't Sophia at all! And I thought so +much of her, and I looked forward to spending my old age with her so +happily!" murmured Julia. "But perhaps it will come right," she reasoned +cheerily. "I may get used to it. I didn't suppose there'd be any rubbing +of corners. But as there is, the sooner they're rubbed off the better, +and we shall settle down into comfort again, at last instead of at +first, as I had hoped in the beginning." + +Alas! "I really can't stand these plants of yours, Julia, dear," said +Mrs. Maybury, soon afterward. "I've tried to. I've said nothing. I've +waited, to be very sure. But I never have been able to have plants about +me. They act like poison to me. They always make me sneeze so. And you +see I'm all stuffed up--" + +Her plants! Almost as dear to her as children might have been! The chief +ornament of her parlors! And just ready to bloom! This was really asking +too much. "I don't believe it's the plants at all," said Julia. "That's +sheer nonsense. Anybody living on this green and vegetating earth to be +poisoned by plants in a window! I don't suppose they trouble you any +more than your lamp all night does me; but I've never said anything +about that. I can't bear lamplight at night; I want it perfectly dark, +and the light streams out of your room--" + +"Why don't you shut the door, then?" + +"Because I never shut my door. I want to hear if anything disturbs the +house. Why don't you shut yours?" + +"I never do, either. I've always had several rooms, and kept the doors +open between. It isn't healthy to sleep with closed doors." + +"Healthy! Healthy! I don't hear anything else from morning till night +when I'm in the house." + +"You can't hear very much of it, then." + +"I should think, Sophia Maybury, you wanted to live forever!" + +"Goodness knows I don't!" cried Mrs. Maybury, bursting into tears. And +that night she shut her bedroom door and opened the window, and sneezed +worse than ever all day afterward, in spite of the fact that Mrs. +Cairnes had put all her cherished plants into the dining-room alcove. + +"I can't imagine what has changed Julia so," sighed Mrs. Maybury. "She +used to be so bright and sweet and good-tempered. And now I really don't +know what sort of an answer I'm to have to anything I say. It keeps my +nerves stretched on the _qui vive_ all day. I am so disappointed. I am +sure the Doctor would be very unhappy if he knew how I felt." + +But Mrs. Maybury had need to pity herself; Julia didn't pity her. "She's +been made a baby of so long," said Julia, "that now she really can't go +alone." And perhaps she was a little bitterer about it than she would +have been had Captain Cairnes ever made a baby of her in the least, at +any time. + +They were sitting together one afternoon, a thunderstorm of unusual +severity having detained Mrs. Cairnes at home, and the conversation had +been more or less acrimonious, as often of late. Just before dusk there +came a great burst of sun, and the whole heavens were suffused with +splendor. + +"O Julia! Come here, come quick, and see this sunset!" cried Mrs. +Maybury. But Julia did not come. "Oh! I can't bear to have you lose it," +urged the philanthropic lover of nature again. "There! It's streaming up +the very zenith. I never saw such color--do come." + +"Mercy, Sophia! You're always wanting people to leave what they're about +and see something! My lap's full of worsteds." + +"Well," said Sophia. "It's for your own sake. I don't know that it will +do me any good. Only if one enjoys beautiful sights." + +"Dear me! Well, there! Is that all? I don't see anything remarkable. The +idea of making one get up to see that!" And as she took her seat, up +jumped the great black and white cat to look out in his turn. Mrs. +Maybury would have been more than human if she had not said "Scat! scat! +scat!" and she did say it, shaking herself in horror. + +It was the last straw. Mrs. Cairnes took her cat in her arms and moved +majestically out of the room, put on her rubbers, and went out to tea, +and did not come home till the light up stairs told her that Mrs. +Maybury had gone to her room. + +Where was it all going to end? Mrs. Cairnes could not send Sophia away +after all the protestations she had made. Mrs. Maybury could never put +such a slight on Julia as to go away without more overt cause for +displeasure. It seemed as though they would have to fight it out in the +union. + +But that night a glare lit the sky which quite outdid the sunset; the +fire-bells and clattering engines called attention to it much more +loudly than Sophia had announced the larger conflagration. And in the +morning it was found that the Webster House was in ashes. All of Mrs. +Maybury's property was in the building. The insurance had run out the +week before, and meaning to attend to it every day she had let it go, +and here she was penniless. + +But no one need commiserate with her. Instead of any terror at her +situation a wild joy sprang up within her. Relief and freedom clapped +their wings above her. + +It was Mrs. Cairnes who felt that she herself needed pity. A lamp at +nights, oceans of fresh air careering round the house, the everlasting +canary-bird's singing to bear, her plants exiled, her table +revolutionized, her movements watched, her conversation restrained, her +cat abused, the board of two people and the wages of one to come out of +her narrow hoard. But she rose to the emergency. Sophia was penniless. +Sophia was homeless. The things which it was the ashes of bitterness to +allow her as a right, she could well give her as a benefactress. Sophia +was welcome to all she had. She went into the room, meaning to overwhelm +the weeping, helpless Sophia with her benevolence. Sophia was not there. + +Mrs. Maybury came in some hours later, a carriage and a job-wagon +presently following her to the door. "You are very good, Julia," said +she, when Julia received her with the rapid sentences of welcome and +assurance that she had been accumulating. "And you mustn't think I'm not +sensible of all your kindness. I am. But my husband gave the institution +advice for nothing for forty years, and I think I have rights there now +without feeling under obligations to any. I've visited the directors, +and I've had a meeting called and attended,--I've had all your energy, +Julia, and have hurried things along in quite your own fashion. And as I +had just one hundred dollars in my purse after I sold my watch this +morning, I've paid it over for the entrance-fee, and I've been admitted +and am going to spend the rest of my days in the Old Ladies' Home. I've +the upper corner front room, and I hope you will come and see me there." + +"Sophia!" + +"Don't speak! Don't say one word! My mind was made up irrevocably when I +went out. Nothing you, nothing any one, can say, will change it. I'm one +of the old ladies now." + +Mrs. Cairnes brought all her plants back into the parlor, pulled down +the shades, drew the inside curtain, had the cat's cushion again in its +familiar corner, and gave Allida warning, within half an hour. She +looked about a little while and luxuriated in her freedom,--no one to +supervise her conversation, her movements, her opinions, her food. Never +mind the empty rooms, or the echoes there! She read an angry psalm or +two, looked over some texts denouncing pharisees and hypocrites, thought +indignantly of the ingratitude there was in the world, felt that any +way, and on the whole, she was where she was before Sophia came, and +went out to spend the evening, and came in at the nine-o'clock +bell-ringing with such a sense of freedom, that she sat up till midnight +to enjoy it. + +And Sophia spent the day putting her multitudinous belongings into +place, hanging up her bird-cage, arranging her books and her +bureau-drawers, setting up a stocking, and making the acquaintance of +the old ladies next her. She taught one of them to play double solitaire +that very evening. And then she talked a little while concerning Dr. +Maybury, about whom Julia had never seemed willing to hear a word; and +then she read, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and +I will give you rest," and went to bed perfectly happy. + +Julia came to see her the next day, and Sophia received her with open +arms. Every one knew that Julia had begged her to stay and live with her +always, and share what she had. Julia goes now to see her every day of +her life, rain or snow, storm or shine; and the whole village says that +the friendship between those two old women is something ideal. + + + + +THE MYSTERY OF GILGAL + +BY JOHN HAY + + + The darkest, strangest mystery + I ever read, or heern, or see + Is 'long of a drink at Taggart's Hall-- + Tom Taggart's of Gilgal. + + I've heern the tale a thousand ways, + But never could git through the maze + That hangs around that queer day's doin's; + But I'll tell the yarn to youans. + + Tom Taggart stood behind his bar, + The time was fall, the skies was fa'r, + The neighbors round the counter drawed, + And ca'mly drinked and jawed. + + At last come Colonel Blood of Pike, + And old Jedge Phinn, permiscus-like, + And each, as he meandered in, + Remarked, "A whisky-skin." + + Tom mixed the beverage full and fa'r, + And slammed it, smoking, on the bar. + Some says three fingers, some says two,-- + I'll leave the choice to you. + + Phinn to the drink put forth his hand; + Blood drawed his knife, with accent bland, + "I ax yer parding, Mister Phinn-- + Jest drap that whisky-skin." + + No man high-toneder could be found + Than old Jedge Phinn the country round. + Says he, "Young man, the tribe of Phinns + Knows their own whisky-skins!" + + He went for his 'leven-inch bowie-knife:-- + "I tries to foller a Christian life; + But I'll drap a slice of liver or two, + My bloomin' shrub, with you." + + They carved in a way that all admired, + Tell Blood drawed iron at last, and fired. + It took Seth Bludso 'twixt the eyes, + Which caused him great surprise. + + Then coats went off, and all went in; + Shots and bad language swelled the din; + The short, sharp bark of Derringers, + Like bull-pups, cheered the furse. + + They piled the stiffs outside the door; + They made, I reckon, a cord or more. + Girls went that winter, as a rule, + Alone to spellin'-school. + + I've sarched in vain, from Dan to Beer- + Sheba, to make this mystery clear; + But I end with hit as I did begin,-- + WHO GOT THE WHISKY-SKIN? + + + + +THE GUSHER + +BY CHARLES BATTELL LOOMIS + + +Of course an afternoon tea is not to be taken seriously, and I hold that +any kind of conversation goes, as long as it is properly vacuous and +irrelevant. + +One meets many kinds of afternoon teas--the bored, the bashful, the +intense, and once in a while the interesting, but for pure delight there +is nothing quite equals the gusher. She is generally very pretty. Nature +insists upon compensations. + +When you meet a real gusher--one born to gush--you can just throw all +bounds of probability aside and say the first thing that comes into your +head, sure that it will meet with an appreciative burst of enthusiasm, +for your true gusher is nothing if she is not enthusiastic. There are +those who listen to everything you say and punctuate it with "Yes-s-s, +yes-s-s, yes-s-s," until the sibilance gets on your nerves; but the +attention of the Simon-pure gusher is purely subconscious. She could not +repeat a thing of what you have told her a half minute after hearing it. +Her real attention is on something else all the while--perhaps on the +gowns of her neighbors, perhaps on the reflection of her pretty +face--but never on the conversation. And why should it be? Is a tea a +place for the exercise of concentration? Perish the thought. + +You are presented to her as "Mr. Mmmm," and she is "delighted," and +smiles so ravishingly that you wish you were twenty years younger. You +do not yet know that she is a gusher. But her first remark labels her. +Just to test her, for there is something in the animation of her face +and the farawayness of the eye that makes you suspect her sincerity, you +say: + +"I happen to have six children--" + +"Oh, how perfectly dee-ar! How old are they?" + +She scans the gown of a woman who has just entered the room and, being +quite sure that she is engaged in a mental valuation of it, you say: + +"They're all of them six." + +"Oh, how lovely!" Her unseeing eyes look you in the face. "Just the +right age to be companions." + +"Yes, all but one." + +The eye has wandered to another gown, but the sympathetic voice says: + +"Oh, what a pi-i-ty!" + +"Yes, isn't it? But he's quite healthy." + +It's a game now--fair game--and you're glad you came to the tea! + +"Healthy, you say? How nice. It's perfectly lovely to be healthy. Do you +live in the country?" + +"Not exactly the country. We live in Madison Square, under the trees." + +"Oh, how perfectly idyllic!" + +"Yes; we have all the advantages of the city and the delights of the +country. I got a permit from the Board of Education to put up a little +bungalow alongside the Worth monument, and the children bathe in the +fountain every morning when the weather is cold enough." + +"Oh, how charming! How many children have you?" + +"Only seven. The oldest is five and the youngest is six." + +"Just the interesting age. Don't you think children fascinating?" + +Again the roaming eye and the vivacious smile. + +"Yes, indeed. My oldest--he's fourteen and quite original. He says that +when he grows up he doesn't know what he'll be." + +"Really? How cute!" + +"Yes, he says it every morning, a half-hour before breakfast." + +"Fancy! How old did you say he was?" + +"Just seventeen, but perfectly girl-like and masculine." + +She nods her head, bows to an acquaintance in a distant part of the +room, and murmurs in musical, sympathetic tones: + +"That's an adorable age." + +"What, thirteen?" + +"Yes. Did you say it was a girl?" + +"Yes, his name's Ethel. He's a great help to her mother." + +"Little darling." + +"Yes; I tell them there may be city advantages, but I think they're much +better off where they are." + +"Where did you say you were?" + +"On the Connecticut shore. You see, having only the one child, Mrs. +Smith is very anxious that it should grow up healthy" (absent-minded +nods indicative of full attention), "and so little Ronald never comes to +the city at all. He plays with the fisherman's child and gets great +drafts of fresh air." + +"Oh, how perfectly entrancing! You're quite a poet." + +"No; I'm a painter." + +Now she is really attentive. She thought you were just an ordinary +beast, and she finds that you may be a lion. Smith? Perhaps you're +Hopkinson Smith. + +"Oh, do you paint? How perfectly adorable! What do you paint--landscapes +or portraits?" + +Again the eye wanders and she inventories a dress, and you say:-- + +"Oils." + +"Do you ever allow visitors come to your studio?" + +"Why, I never prevent them, but I'm so afraid it will bore them that I +never ask them." + +"Oh, how could anybody be bored at anything?" + +"But every one hasn't your enthusiasm. My studio is in the top of the +Madison Square tower, and I never see a soul from week's end to week's +end." + +"Oh, then you're not married." + +"Dear, no; a man who is wedded to his art mustn't commit bigamy." + +"Oh, how clever. So you're a bachelor?" + +"Yes, but I have my wife for a chaperon and I'd be delighted to have you +come and take tea with us some Saturday from six until three." + +"Perfectly delighted!" Her eye now catches sight of an acquaintance just +coming in, and as you prepare to leave her you say:-- + +"Hope you don't mind a little artistic unconventionality. We always have +beer at our teas served with sugar and lemons, the Russian fashion." + +"Oh, I think it's much better than cream. I adore unconventionality." + +"You're very glad you met me, I'm sure." + +"Awfully good of you to say so." + +Anything goes at an afternoon tea. But it's better not to go. + + + + +THE WIDOW BEDOTT'S VISITOR + +BY FRANCES M. WHICHER + + +Jest in time, Mr. Crane: we've jist this minit sot down to tea. Draw up +a cheer and set by. Now, don't say a word: I shan't take _no_ for an +answer. Should a had things ruther different, to be sure, if I'd +suspected _you_, Mr. Crane; but I won't appolligize,--appolligies don't +never make nothin' no better, you know. Why, Melissy, you hain't half +sot the table: where's the plum-sass? thought you was a-gwine to git +some on't for tea? I don't see no cake, nother. What a keerless gal you +be! Dew bring 'em on quick; and, Melissy, dear, fetch out one o' them +are punkin pies and put it warmin'. How do you take your tea, Mr. Crane? +clear, hey? How much that makes me think o' husband! he always drunk +hisen clear. Now, dew make yerself to hum, Mr. Crane: help yerself to +things. Do you eat johnny-cake? 'cause if you don't I'll cut some white +bread. Dew, hey? We're all great hands for injin bread here, 'specially +Kier. If I don't make a johnny-cake every few days he says to me, says +he, "Mar, why don't you make some injin bread? it seems as if we hadn't +never had none." Melissy, pass the cheese. Kier, see't Mr. Crane has +butter. This 'ere butter's a leetle grain frouzy. I don't want you to +think it's my make, for't ain't. Sam Pendergrass's wife (she 'twas Sally +Smith) she borrowed butter o' me t'other day, and this 'ere's what she +sent back. I wouldn't 'a' had it on if I'd suspected company. How do you +feel to-day, Mr. Crane? Didn't take no cold last night! Well, I'm glad +on't. I was raly afeard you would, the lectur'-room was so turrible hot. +I was eny-most roasted, and I wa'n't dressed wonderful warm nother,--had +on my green silk mankiller, and that ain't very thick. Take a pickle, +Mr. Crane. I'm glad you're a favorite o' pickles. I think pickels a +delightful beveridge,--don't feel as if I could make out a meal without +'em. Once in a while I go visitin' where they don't have none on the +table, and when I git home the fust thing I dew's to dive for the +butt'ry and git a pickle. But husband couldn't eat 'em: they was like +pizen tew him. Melissy never eats 'em nother: she ain't no pickle hand. +Some gals eat pickles to make 'em grow poor, but Melissy hain't no such +foolish notions. I've brung her up so she shouldn't have. Why, I've +heered of gals drinkin' vinegar to thin 'em off and make their skin +delekit. They say Kesier Winkle--Why, Kier, what be you pokin' the sass +at Mr. Crane for? Melissy jest helped him. I heered Carline Gallup say +how't Kesier Winkle--Why, Kier, what do you mean by offerin' the cold +pork to Mr. Crane? jest as if he wanted pork for his tea! You see, +Kier's been over to the Holler to-day on bizness with old Uncle Dawson, +and he come hum with quite an appertite: says to me, says he, "Mar, dew +set on some cold pork and 'taters, for I'm as hungry as a bear." Lemme +fill up your cup, Mr. Crane. Melissy, bring on that are pie: I guess +it's warm by this time. There, I don't think anybody'd say that punkin +was burnt a-stewin! Take another pickle, Mr. Crane. Oh, I was a-gwine to +tell what Carline Gallup said about Kesier Winkle. Carline Gallup was a +manty-maker--What, Kier? ruther apt to talk? well, I know she was; but +then she used to be sewin' 't old Winkle's about half the time, and she +know'd purty well what went on there: yes, I know sewin'-gals is +ginerally tattlers.... But I was gwine to tell what Carline Gallup said. +Carline was a very stiddy gal: she was married about a year +ago,--married Joe Bennet,--Philander Bennet's son: you remember Phil +Bennet, don't you, Mr. Crane?--he 'twas killed so sudding over to +Ganderfield? Though, come to think, it must 'a' ben arter you went away +from here. He'd moved over to Ganderfield the spring afore he was +killed. Well, one day in hayin'-time he was to work in the +hay-field--take another piece o' pie, Mr. Crane: oh, dew! I insist +on't--well, he was to work in the hay-field, and he fell off the +hay-stack. I s'pose 'twouldn't 'a' killed him if it hadn't 'a' ben for +his comin' kermash onto a jug that was a-settin' on the ground aside o' +the stack. The spine of his back went right onto the jug and broke +it,--broke his back, I mean,--not the jug: that wa'n't even cracked. +Cur'us, wa'n't it? 'Twas quite a comfort to Miss Bennet in her +affliction: 'twas a jug she valleyed,--one 'twas her mother's.... + +Take another cup o' tea, Mr. Crane. Why, you don't mean to say you've +got done supper! ain't you gwine to take nothin' more? no more o' the +pie? nor the sass? Well, won't you have another pickle? Oh, that reminds +me: I was a-gwine to tell what Carline Gallup said about Kesier Winkle. +Why, Kier, seems to me you ain't very perlite to leave the table afore +anybody else does. Oh, yes, I remember now; it's singin'-school night: I +s'pose it's time you was off. Melissy, you want to go tew, don't you? +Well, I guess Mr. Crane'll excuse you. We'll jest set back the table +ag'in' the wall. I won't dew the dishes jest now. Me and Melissy does +the work ourselves, Mr. Crane. I hain't kept no gal sense Melissy was +big enough t' aid and assist me. I think help's more plague than +profit. No woman that has growed-up darters needn't keep help if she's +brung up her gals as she'd ought tew. Melissy, dear, put on your cloak: +it's a purty tejus evenin'. Kier, you tie up your throat: you know you +was complainin' of a soreness in't to-day; and you must be keerful to +tie it up when you cum hum: it's dangerous t' egspose yerself arter +singin'--apt to give a body the brown-critters,--and that's turrible. +You couldn't sing any more if you should git that, you know. You'd +better call for Mirandy and Seliny, hadn't you? Don't be out late. + +Now, Mr. Crane, draw up to the stove: you must be chilly off there. You +gwine to the party to Major Coon's day arter to-morrow? S'pose they'll +give out ther invatations to-morrow. Do go, Mr. Crane: it'll chirk you +up and dew you good to go out into society ag'in. They say it's to be +quite numerous. But I guess ther won't be no dancin' nor highty-tighty +dewin's. If I thought ther would be I shouldn't go myself; for I don't +approve on 'em, and couldn't countenance 'em. What do you think Sam +Pendergrass's wife told me? She said how't the widder Jinkins (she 'twas +Poll Bingham) is a-havin' a new gownd made a purpose to wear to the +party,--one of these 'ere flambergasted, blazin' plaid consarns, with +tew awful wide kaiterin' flounces around the skirt. Did you ever! How +reedickilous for a woman o' her age, ain't it? I s'pose she expects t' +astonish the natyves, and make her market tew, like enough. Well, she's +to be pitied. Oh, Mr. Crane, I thought I _should go off_ last night when +I see that old critter squeeze up and hook onto you. How turrible +imperdent, wa'n't it! But seems to me I shouldn't 'a' felt as if I was +obleeged to went hum with her if I'd 'a' ben in your place, Mr. Crane. +She made a purty speech about me to the lectur': I'm 'most ashamed to +tell you on't, Mr. Crane, but it shows what the critter is. Kier says +he heered her stretch her neck acrost and whisper to old Green, "Mr. +Green, don't you think the widder Bedott seems to be wonderfully took up +with _crainiology_?" She's the brazin'-facedest critter 't ever lived; +it does beat all; I never _did_ see her equill. But it takes all sorts +o' folks to make up the world, you know. What did I understand you to +say, Mr. Crane?--a few minnits' conversation with me? Deary me! Is it +anything pertickler, Mr. Crane? Oh, dear suz! how you _dew_ frustrate +me! Not that it's anything oncommon fer the gentlemen to ax to have +private conversations with me, you know; but then--but then--bein' you, +it's different: circumstances alter cases, you know. What was you +a-gwine to say, Mr. Crane? + +Oh, no, Mr. Crane, by no manner o' means; 'tain't a minute tew soon for +you to begin to talk about gittin' married ag'in. I am amazed you should +be afeerd I'd think so. See--how long's Miss Crane been dead? Six +months!--land o' Goshen!--why, I've know'd a number of individdiwals get +married in less time than that. There's Phil Bennet's widder 't I was +a-talkin' about jest now,--she 'twas Louisy Perce: her husband hadn't +been dead but _three_ months, you know. I don't think it looks well for +a _woman_ to be in such a hurry; but for a _man_ it's a different thing: +circumstances alter cases, you know. And then, sittiwated as you be, Mr. +Crane, it's a turrible thing for your family to be without a head to +superintend the domestic consarns and 'tend to the children,--to say +nothin' o' yerself, Mr. Crane. You dew need a companion, and no mistake. +Six months! Good grevious! Why, Squire Titus didn't wait but six _weeks_ +after he buried his fust wife afore he married his second. I thought +ther' wa'n't no partickler need o' his hurryin' so, seein' his family +was all growed up. Such a critter as he pickt out, tew! 'Twas very +onsuitable; but every man to his taste,--I hain't no dispersition to +meddle with nobody's consarns. There's old farmer Dawson, tew,--his +pardner hain't ben dead but ten months. To be sure, he ain't married +yet; but he would 'a' ben long enough ago, if somebody I know on 'd gin +him any incurridgement. But 'tain't for me to speak o' that matter. He's +a clever old critter, and as rich as a Jew; but--lawful sakes!--he's old +enough to be my father. And there's Mr. Smith,--Jubiter Smith: you know +him, Mr. Crane,--his wife, (she 't was Aurory Pike) she died last +summer, and he's ben squintin' round among the wimmin ever since, and he +_may_ squint for all the good it'll dew him so far as I'm +consarned,--though Mr. Smith's a respectable man,--quite young and +hain't no family,--very well off, tew, and quite intellectible,--but I'm +purty partickler. Oh, Mr. Crane, it's ten years come Jinniwary sense I +witnessed the expiration o' my belovid companion!--an uncommon long time +to wait, to be sure; but 'tain't easy to find anybody to fill the place +o' Hezekier Bedott. I think _you're_ the most like husband of ary +individdiwal I ever see, Mr. Crane. Six months! murderation! cur'us you +should be afeard I'd think 'twas too soon. Why, I've knowed-- + +_Mr. Crane_--Well, widder, I've been thinking about taking another +companion, and I thought I'd ask you-- + +_Widow_--Oh, Mr. Crane, egscuse my commotion; it's so onexpected. Jest +hand me that are bottle of camfire off the mantletry shelf: I'm ruther +faint. Dew put a little mite on my handkercher and hold it to my nuz. +There, that'll dew: I'm obleeged tew ye. Now I'm ruther more composed: +you may perceed, Mr. Crane. + +_Mr. C._--Well, widder, I was a-going to ask you whether--whether-- + +_Widow_--Continner, Mr. Crane,--dew. I know it's turrible embarrassin'. +I remember when my dezeased husband made his suppositions to me he +stammered and stuttered, and was so awfully flustered it did seem as if +he'd never git it out in the world; and I suppose it's ginerally the +case,--at least it has been with all them that's made suppositions to +me: you see they're generally oncerting about what kind of an answer +they're a-gwine to git, and it kind o' makes 'em narvous. But when an +individdiwal has reason to s'pose his attachment's reciperated, I don't +see what need there is o' his bein' flustrated,--though I must say it's +quite embarrassin' to me. Pray continner. + +_Mr. C._--Well, then, I want to know if you're willing I should have +Melissy. + +_Widow_--The dragon! + +_Mr. C._--I hain't said anything to her about it yet,--thought the +proper way was to get your consent first. I remember when I courted +Trypheny we were engaged some time before mother Kenipe knew anything +about it, and when she found it out she was quite put out because I +didn't go to her first. So when I made up my mind about Melissy, thinks +me, I'll do it right this time, and speak to the old woman first-- + +_Widow_--_Old woman_, hey! That's a purty name to call me!--amazin' +perlite, tew! Want Melissy, hey! Tribble-ation! gracious sakes alive! +Well, I'll give it up now! I always knowed you was a simpleton, Tim +Crane, but, I _must_ confess, I didn't think you was _quite_ so big a +fool. Want Melissy, dew ye? If that don't beat all! What an everlastin' +old calf you must be, to s'pose she'd _look_ at _you_! Why, you're old +enough to be her father, and more, tew; Melissy ain't only in her +twenty-oneth year. What a reedickilous idee for a man o' your age! As +gray as a rat, tew! I wonder what this world _is_ a-comin' tew: 'tis +astonishin' what fools old widdiwers will make o' themselves! Have +Melissy! Melissy! + +_Mr. C._--Why, widder, you surprise me. I'd no idee of being treated in +this way, after you'd ben so polite to me, and made such a fuss over me +and the girls. + +_Widow_--Shet yer head, Tim Crane; nun o' yer sass to me. _There's_ your +hat on that are table, and _here's_ the door; and the sooner you put on +_one_ and march out o' t'other the better it will be for you. And I +advise you, afore you try to git married ag'in, to go out West and see +'f yer wife's cold; and arter yer satisfied on that p'int, jest put a +little lampblack on yer hair,--'twould add to yer appearance, +undoubtedly, and be of sarvice tew you when you want to flourish round +among the gals; and when ye've got yer hair fixt, jest splinter the +spine o' your back,--'twouldn't hurt your looks a mite: you'd be +intirely unresistible if you was a _leetle_ grain straiter. + +_Mr. C._--Well, I never! + +_Widow_--Hold your tongue, you consarned old coot you! I tell you +_there's_ your hat, and _there's_ the door: be off with yerself, quick +metre, or I'll give ye a h'ist with the broomstick. + +_Mr. C._--Gimmeni! + +_Widow_ (rising)--Git out, I say! I ain't a-gwine to stan' here and be +insulted under my own ruff; and so git along; and if ever you darken my +door ag'in, or say a word to Melissy, it'll be the wuss for you,--that's +all. + +_Mr. C._--Treemenjous! What a buster! + +_Widow_--Go 'long,--go 'long,--go long, you everlastin' old gum! I won't +hear another word (stops her ears). I won't. I won't. I won't. (Exit Mr. +Crane.) + + * * * * * + +(Enter Melissy, accompanied by Captain Canoot.) + +Good-evenin', cappen! Well, Melissy, hum at last, hey? Why didn't you +stay till mornin'? Purty business keepin' me up here so late waitin' for +you, when I'm eny-most tired to death iornin' and workin' like a slave +all day,--ought to ben abed an hour ago. Thought ye left me with +agreeable company, hey? I should like to know what arthly reason you had +to s'pose old Crane's was agreeable to me? I always despised the +critter; always thought he was a turrible fool, and now I'm convinced +on't. I'm completely dizgusted with him; and I let him know it to-night. +I gin him a piece o' my mind't I guess he'll be apt to remember for a +spell. I ruther think he went off with a flea in his ear. Why, cappen, +did ye ever hear of such a piece of audacity in all yer born days? for +him--_Tim Crane_--to durst to expire to my hand,--the widder o' Deacon +Bedott! Jest as if _I_'d condescen' to look at _him_,--the old numskull! +He don't know B from a broomstick; but if he'd 'a' stayed much longer +I'd 'a' teached him the difference, I guess. He's got his +_walkin'-ticket_ now. I hope he'll lemme alone in futur'. And where's +Kier? Gun home with the Cranes, hey! Well, I guess it's the last time. +And now, Melissy Bedott, you ain't to have nothin' more to dew with them +gals,--d'ye hear? You ain't to 'sociate with 'em at all arter this: +'twould only be incurridgin' the old man to come a-pesterin' me ag'in; +and I won't have him round,--d'ye hear? Don't be in a hurry, cappen, and +don't be alarmed at my gettin' in such a passion about old Crane's +persumption. Mebby you think 'twas onfeelin' in me to use him so,--and I +don't say but what 'twas, _ruther_; but then he's so awful dizagreeable +tew me, you know: 'tain't _everybody_ I'd treat in such a way. Well, if +you _must_ go, good-evenin'! Give my love to Hanner when you write +ag'in: dew call frequently, Captain Canoot,--dew. + + + + +THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG + +BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + + The rhyme o' The Raggedy Man's 'at's best + Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs,-- + 'Cause that-un's the strangest of all o' the rest, + An' the worst to learn, an' the last one guessed, + An' the funniest one, an' the foolishest.-- + Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! + + I don't know what in the world it means-- + Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!-- + An' nen when I _tell_ him I don't, he leans + Like he was a-grindin' on some machines + An' says: Ef I _don't_, w'y, I don't know _beans_! + Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! + + Out on the margin of Moonshine Land, + Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! + Out where the Whing-Whang loves to stand, + Writing his name with his tail in the sand, + And swiping it out with his oogerish hand; + Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! + + Is it the gibber of Gungs or Keeks? + Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! + Or what _is_ the sound that the Whing-Whang seeks? + Crouching low by the winding creeks + And holding his breath for weeks and weeks! + Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! + + Anoint him, the wraithest of wraithly things! + Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! + 'Tis a fair Whing-Whangess, with phosphor rings, + And bridal-jewels of fangs and stings; + And she sits and as sadly and softly sings + As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings,-- + Tickle me, Dear, + Tickle me here, + Tickle me, Love, in me Lonesome Ribs! + + + + +THE RUNAWAY TOYS + +BY FRANK L. STANTON + + + The Hobby Horse was so tired that day, + With never a bite to eat, + That he whispered the Doll: "I shall run away!" + And he galloped out to the street + With the curly-headed Doll Baby on his back; + And hard at his heels went the Jumping Jack! + And the little boy--he never knew, + Though the little Steam Engine blew and blew! + + Then the Humming Top went round and round, + And crashed through the window-pane, + And the scared Tin Monkey made a bound + For the little red Railroad Train. + The painted Duck went "Quack! quack! quack!" + But the Railroad Train just whistled back! + Till the Elephant saw what the racket meant + And packed his trunk and--away he went! + + The little Toy Sheep in the corner there + Was bleating long and loud; + But the Parrot said "Hush!" and pulled his hair, + And he galloped off with the crowd! + And the Tin Horn blew and the Toy Drum beat, + But away they went down the frightened street, + Till they all caught up with the Railroad Train, + And they never went back to their homes again! + + The blue policeman and all the boys + Went racing away--away! + For a big reward for the runaway Toys + Was cried in the streets that day. + But they kept right on round the world so wide, + While the Little Boy stood on the steps and cried. + Where did they go to, and what did they do? + Bored a hole to China and--dropped through! + + + + +TIM FLANAGAN'S MISTAKE + +BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY + + + Dat Irishman named Flanagan, + He's often joke wid me, + He leeve here now mos' twanty year, + Ver' close to Kankakee; + I always look for chance to gat + An' even op wid heem, + But he's too smart, exception wance, + Dis Irishman named Tim. + + Wan Sunday tam' I'm walking out + I meet Tim on de knoll, + We bot' are hav' a promenade + An' mak' a leddle stroll; + We look down from de top of hill, + An' on de reevere's edge + Is w'at you call a heifer calf,-- + He stan' dere by de hedge. + + Dat calf stan' still an' wag hees tail + On eas' an' den wes' side, + An' den he wag it to de sout' + For whip flies off hees hide; + I say to Tim dat heifer calf + Dat stan' so quiet still, + You can not push him on de stream; + He say, "By gosh, I will." + + An' den he grin an' smile out loud, + He fall opon de groun', + An' den he laugh wance mor' again + An' roll de place aroun': + He say, 'twill be a ver' good joke + Opon dat heifer calf, + An' wance mor' he start op h'right quick + An' mak' de beeg horse laugh. + + Says Tim, "You watch me now, ma frien', + I'll geeve dat calf wan scare, + I will rone down an' push him quick + On Kankakee Reevere." + An' he laugh out a beeg lot mor', + Den he t'row off hees hat, + An' start down hill two-forty gait, + He fly as swif' as bat. + + Dat calf he stan' an' wag hees tail + For 'bout two t'ree tam' mor'; + W'en Tim com' ronnin' down de hill + She move two yard down shore; + But Tim now com' lak' cannon ball, + He can't turn right nor lef', + He miss de calf an' den, by gosh! + Fall on reevere himse'f. + + Dose Sunday close dat Tim had on + He wet dem t'roo an' t'roo, + An' w'en he pick himse'f op slow + An' walk heem out de sloo, + He say, "Dat's good I mak' a laugh + Before I tak' dat fall; + I laugh not den, I hav' no fone + Out of dis t'ing at all." + + + + +THE MILLIONAIRES + +BY MAX ADELER + + +It had always been one of the luxuries of the Grimeses to consider what +they would do if they were rich. Many a time George and his wife, +sitting together of a summer evening upon the porch of their own pretty +house in Susanville, had looked at the long unoccupied country-seat of +General Jenkins, just across the way, and wished they had money enough +to buy the place and give it to the village for a park. + +Mrs. Grimes often said that if she had a million dollars, the very first +thing she would do would be to purchase the Jenkins place. George's idea +was to tear down the fences, throwing everything open, and to dedicate +the grounds to the public. Mrs. Grimes wanted to put a great free +library in the house and to have a club for poor working-women in the +second-floor rooms. George estimated that one hundred thousand dollars +would be enough to carry out their plans. Say fifty thousand dollars for +purchase money, and then fifty more invested at six per cent. to +maintain the place. + +"But if we had a million," said George, "I think I should give one +hundred and fifty thousand to the enterprise and do the thing right. +There would always be repairs and new books to buy and matters of that +kind." + +But this was not the only benevolent dream of these kind-hearted people. +They liked to think of the joy that would fill the heart of that poor +struggling pastor, Mr. Borrow, if they could tell him that they would +pay the whole debt of the Presbyterian Church, six thousand dollars. + +"And I would have his salary increased, George," said Mrs. Grimes. "It +is shameful to compel that poor man to live on a thousand dollars." + +"Outrageous," said George. "I would guarantee him another thousand, and +maybe more; but we should have to do it quietly, for fear of wounding +him." + +"That mortgage on the Methodist Church," said Mrs. Grimes. "Imagine the +happiness of those poor people in having it lifted! And so easy to do, +too, if we had a million dollars." + +"Certainly, and I would give the Baptists a handsome pipe-organ instead +of that wheezing melodeon. Dreadful, isn't it?" + +"You can get a fine organ for $2,000," said Mrs. Grimes. + +"Yes, of course, but I wouldn't be mean about it; not mean on a million +dollars. Let them have a really good organ, say for $3,000 or $3,500; +and then build them a parsonage, too." + +"The fact is," said Mrs. Grimes, "that people like us really ought to +have large wealth, for we know how to use it rightly." + +"I often think of that," answered George. "If I know my own soul I long +to do good. It makes my heart bleed to see the misery about us, misery I +am absolutely unable to relieve. I am sure that if I really had a +million dollars I should not want to squander it on mere selfish +pleasure, nor would you. The greatest happiness any one can have is in +making others happy; and it is a wonder to me that our rich people don't +see this. Think of old General Jenkins and his twenty million dollars, +and what we would do for our neighbors with a mere fraction of that!" + +"For we really want nothing much for ourselves," said Mrs. Grimes. "We +are entirely satisfied with what we have in this lovely little home and +with your $2,000 salary from the bank." + +"Almost entirely," said George. "There are some few little things we +might add in--just a few; but with a million we could easily get them +and more and have such enormous amounts of money left." + +"Almost the first thing I would do," said Mrs. Grimes, "would be to +settle a comfortable living for life on poor Isaac Wickersham. That man, +George, crippled as he is, lives on next to nothing. I don't believe he +has two hundred dollars a year." + +"Well, we could give him twelve hundred and not miss it and then give +the same sum to Widow Clausen. She can barely keep alive." + +"And there's another thing I'd do," said Mrs. Grimes. "If we kept a +carriage I would never ride up alone from the station or for pleasure. I +would always find some poor or infirm person to go with me. How people +can be so mean about their horses and carriages as some rich people are +is beyond my comprehension." + +It is delightful pastime, expending in imagination large sums of money +that you haven't got. You need not regard considerations of prudence. +You can give free rein to your feelings and bestow your bounty with +reckless profusion. You obtain almost all the pleasure of large giving +without any cost. You feel nearly as happy as if you were actually doing +the good deeds which are the children of your fancy. + +George Grimes and his wife had considered so often the benevolences they +would like to undertake if they had a million dollars that they could +have named them all at a moment's notice without referring to a +memorandum. Nearly everybody has engaged in this pastime, but the +Grimeses were to have the singular experience of the power to make their +dream a reality placed in their hands. + +For one day George came flying home from the bank with a letter from the +executors of General Jenkins (who died suddenly in Mexico a week or two +before) announcing that the General had left a million dollars and the +country-seat in Susanville to George Grimes. + +"And to think, Mary Jane," said George when the first delirium of their +joy had passed, "the dear old man was kind enough to say--here, let me +read it to you again from the quotation from the will in the letter: 'I +make this bequest because, from repeated conversations with the said +George Grimes, I know that he will use it aright.' So you see, dear, it +was worth while, wasn't it, to express our benevolent wishes sometimes +when we spoke of the needs of those who are around us?" + +"Yes, and the General's kind remark makes this a sacred trust, which we +are to administer for him." + +"We are only his stewards." + +"Stewards for his bounty." + +"So that we must try to do exactly what we think he would have liked us +to do," said George. + +"Nothing else, dear?" + +"Why, of course we are to have some discretion, some margin; and +besides, nobody possibly could guess precisely what he would have us +do." + +"But now, at any rate, George, we can realize fully one of our longing +desires and give to the people the lovely park and library?" + +George seemed thoughtful. "I think, Mary Jane," he said, "I would not +act precipitately about that. Let us reflect upon the matter. It might +seem unkind to the memory of the General just to give away his gift +almost before we get it." + +They looked at each other, and Mrs. Grimes said: + +"Of course there is no hurry. And we are really a little cramped in this +house. The nursery is much too small for the children and there is not a +decent fruit tree in our garden." + +"The thing can just stay open until we have time to consider." + +"But I am so glad for dear old Isaac. We can take care of him, anyhow, +and of Mrs. Clausen, too." + +"To be sure," said George. "The obligation is sacred. Let me see, how +much was it we thought Isaac ought to have?" + +"Twelve hundred a year." + +"H-m-m," murmured George, "and he has two hundred now; an increase of +five hundred per cent. I'm afraid it will turn the old man's head. +However, I wouldn't exactly promise anything for a few days yet." + +"Many a man in his station in life is happy upon a thousand." + +"A thousand! Why, my dear, there is not a man of his class in town that +makes six hundred." + +"George?" + +"Well?" + +"We must keep horses, and there is no room to build a stable on this +place." + +"No." + +"Could we live here and keep the horses in the General's stables across +the way, even if the place were turned into a park?" + +"That is worth thinking of." + +"And George?" + +"Well, dear?" + +"It's a horrid thing to confess, but do you know, George, I've felt +myself getting meaner and meaner, and stingier and stingier ever since +you brought the good news." + +George tried to smile, but the effort was unsuccessful; he looked +half-vexed and half-ashamed. + +"Oh, I wouldn't put it just that way," he said. "The news is so exciting +that we hardly know at once how to adjust ourselves to it. We are simply +prudent. It would be folly to plunge ahead without any caution at all. +How much did you say the debt of the Presbyterian Church is?" + +"Six thousand, I think." + +"A good deal for a little church like that to owe." + +"Yes, but--" + +"You didn't promise anything, Mary Jane, did you, to Mrs. Borrow?" + +"No, for I had nothing to promise, but I did tell her on Sunday that I +would help them liberally if I could." + +"They will base large expectations on that, sure. I wish you hadn't said +it just that way. Of course, we are bound to help them, but I should +like to have a perfectly free hand in doing it." + +There was silence for a moment, while both looked through the window at +the General's place over the way. + +"Beautiful, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Grimes. + +"Lovely. That little annex on the side would make a snug den for me; and +imagine the prospect from that south bedroom window! You would enjoy +every look at it." + +"George?" + +"What?" + +"George, dear, tell me frankly, do you really feel in your heart as +generous as you did yesterday?" + +"Now, my dear, why press that matter? Call it meaner or narrower or what +you will; maybe I am a little more so than I was; but there is nothing +to be ashamed of. It is the conservative instinct asserting itself; the +very same faculty in man that holds society together. I will be liberal +enough when the time comes, never fear. I am not going to disregard what +one may call the pledges of a lifetime. We will treat everybody right, +the Presbyterian Church and Mr. Borrow included. His salary is a +thousand, I think you said?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I am willing to make it fifteen hundred right now, if you are." + +"We said, you remember, it ought to be two thousand." + +"Who said so?" + +"You did, on the porch here the other evening." + +"I never said so. There isn't a preacher around here gets that much. The +Episcopalians with their rich people only give eighteen hundred." + +"And a house." + +"Very well, the Presbyterians can build a house if they want to." + +"You consent then to pledge five hundred more to the minister's salary?" + +"I said I would if you would, but my advice is just to let the matter go +over until to-morrow or next day, when the whole thing can be +considered." + +"Very well, but, George, sixty thousand dollars is a great deal of +money, and we certainly can afford to be liberal with it, for the +General's sake as well as for our own!" + +"Everything depends upon how you look at it. In one way the sum is +large. In another way it isn't. General Jenkins had just twenty times +sixty thousand. Tremendous, isn't it? He might just as well have left us +another million. He is in Heaven and wouldn't miss it. Then we could +have some of our plans more fully carried out." + +"I hate to be thought covetous," answered Mrs. Grimes, "but I do wish he +had put on that other million." + +The next day Mr. Grimes, while sitting with his wife after supper, took +a memorandum from his pocket and said: + +"I've been jotting down some figures, Mary Jane, just to see how we will +come out with our income of sixty thousand dollars." + +"Well?" + +"If we give the place across the street for a park and a library and a +hundred thousand dollars with which to run it, we shall have just nine +hundred thousand left." + +"Yes." + +"We shall want horses, say a carriage pair, and a horse for the station +wagon. Then I must have a saddle horse and there must be a pony for the +children. I thought also you might as well have a gentle pair for your +own driving. That makes six. Then there will have to be, say, three +stable men. Now, my notion is that we shall put up a larger house +farther up town with all the necessary stabling. Count the cost of the +house and suitable appointments, and add in the four months' trip to +Europe which we decided yesterday to take next summer, and how much of +that fifty-four thousand do you think we shall have left at the end of +the year?" + +"But why build the house from our income?" + +"Mary Jane, I want to start out with the fixed idea that we will not cut +into our principal." + +"Well, how much will we have over?" + +"Not a dollar! The outlay for the year will approximate fifty-six +thousand dollars." + +"Large, isn't it?" + +"And yet I don't see how we can reduce it if we are to live as people +in our circumstances might reasonably be expected to live." + +"We must cut off something." + +"That is what I think. If we give the park and the library building to +the town why not let the town pay the cost of caring for them?" + +"Then we could save the interest on that other hundred thousand." + +"Exactly, and nobody will suffer. The gift of the property alone is +magnificent. Who is going to complain of us? We will decide now to give +the real estate and then stop." + +Two days later Mr. Grimes came home early from the bank with a letter in +his hand. He looked white and for a moment after entering his wife's +room he could hardly command utterance. + +"I have some bad news for you, dear--terrible news," he said, almost +falling into a chair. + +The thought flashed through Mrs. Grimes' mind that the General had made +a later will which had been found and which revoked the bequest to +George. She could hardly whisper: + +"What is it?" + +"The executors write to me that the million dollars left to me by the +General draws only about four per cent. interest." + +"George!" + +"Four per cent! Forty thousand dollars instead of sixty thousand! What a +frightful loss! Twenty thousand dollars a year gone at one breath!" + +"Are you sure, George?" + +"Sure? Here is the letter. Read it yourself. One-third of our fortune +swept away before we have a chance to touch it!" + +"I think it was very unkind of the General to turn the four per cents. +over to us while somebody else gets the six per cents. How _could_ he do +such a thing? And you such an old friend, too!" + +"Mary Jane, that man always had a mean streak in him. I've said so to +myself many a time. But, anyhow, this frightful loss settles one thing; +we can't afford to give that property across the street to the town. We +must move over there to live, and even then, with the huge expense of +keeping such a place in order, we shall have to watch things narrowly to +make ends meet." + +"And you never were good at retrenching, George." + +"But we've _got_ to retrench. Every superfluous expenditure must be cut +off. As for the park and free library, that seems wild now, doesn't it? +I don't regret abandoning the scheme. The people of this town never did +appreciate public spirit or generosity, did they?" + +"Never." + +"I'm very sorry you spoke to Mrs. Borrow about helping their church. Do +you think she remembers it?" + +"She met me to-day and said they were expecting something handsome." + +Mr. Grimes laughed bitterly. + +"That's always the way with those people. They are the worst beggars! +When a lot of folks get together and start a church it is almost +indecent for them to come running around to ask other folks to support +it. I have half a notion not to give them a cent." + +"Not even for Mr. Borrow's salary?" + +"Certainly not! Half the clergymen in the United States get less than a +thousand dollars a year; why can't he do as the rest do? Am I to be +called upon to support a lot of poor preachers? A good deal of nerve is +required, I think, to ask such a thing of me." + +Two weeks afterward Mr. Grimes and his wife sat together again on the +porch in the cool of the evening. + +"Now," said Grimes, "let us together go over these charities we were +talking about and be done with them. Let us start with the tough fact +staring us in the face that, with only one million dollars at four per +cent. and all our new and necessary expenses, we shall have to look +sharp or I'll be borrowing money to live on in less than eight months." + +"Well," said Mrs. Grimes, "what shall we cut out? Would you give up the +Baptist organ that we used to talk about?" + +"Mary Jane, it is really surprising how you let such things as that stay +in your mind. I considered that organ scheme abandoned long ago." + +"Is it worth while, do you think, to do anything with the Methodist +Church mortgage?" + +"How much is it?" + +"Three thousand dollars, I think." + +"Yes, three thousand from forty thousand leaves us only thirty-seven +thousand. Then, if we do it for the Methodists we shall have to do it +for the Lutherans and the Presbyterians and swarms of churches all +around the country. We can't make flesh of one and fowl of another. It +will be safer to treat them all alike; and more just, too. I think we +ought to try to be just with them, don't you, Mary Jane?" + +"And Mr. Borrow's salary?" + +"Ha! Yes! That is a thousand dollars, isn't it? It does seem but a +trifle. But they have no children and they have themselves completely +adjusted to it. And suppose we should raise it one year and die next +year? He would feel worse than if he just went along in the old way. +When a man is fully adjusted to a thing it is the part of prudence, it +seems to me, just to let him alone." + +"I wish we could--" + +"Oh, well, if you want to; but I propose that we don't make them the +offer until next year or the year after. We shall have our matters +arranged better by that time." + +"And now about Isaac Wickersham?" + +"Have you seen him lately?" + +"Two or three days ago." + +"Did he seem discontented or unhappy?" + +"No." + +"You promised to help him?" + +"What I said was, 'We are going to do something for you, Isaac'" + +"Something! That commits us to nothing in particular. Was it your idea, +Mary Jane, to make him an allowance?" + +"Yes." + +"There you cut into our insufficient income again. I don't see how we +can afford it with all these expenses heaping up on us; really I don't." + +"But we must give him something; I promised it." + +George thought a moment and then said: + +"This is the end of September and I sha'nt want this straw hat that I +have been wearing all summer. Suppose you give him that. A good straw +hat is 'something.'" + +"You remember Mrs. Clausen, George?" + +"Have we got to load up with her, too?" + +"Let me explain. You recall that I told her I would try to make her +comfortable, and when I found that our circumstances were going to be +really straitened, I sent her my red flannel petticoat with my love, for +I know she can be comfortable in that." + +"Of course she can." + +"So this afternoon when I came up from the city she got out of the +train with me and I felt so half-ashamed of the gift that I pretended +not to see her and hurried out to the carriage and drove quickly up the +hill. She is afraid of horses, anyhow." + +"Always was," said George. + +"But, George, I don't feel quite right about it yet; the gift of a +petticoat is rather stingy, isn't it?" + +"No, I don't think so." + +"And, George, to be perfectly honest with ourselves now, don't you think +we are a little bit meaner than we were, say, last June?" + +George cleared his throat and hesitated, and then he said: + +"I admit nothing, excepting that the only people who are fit to have +money are the people who know how to take care of it." + + + + +OUR POLITE PARENTS + +BY CAROLYN WELLS + + +SEDATE MAMMA + + When guests were present, dear little Mabel + Climbed right up on the dinner-table + And naughtily stood upon her head! + "I wouldn't do that, dear," Mamma said. + + + MERRY MOSES + + Merry, funny little Moses + Burnt off both his brothers' noses; + And it made them look so queer + Mamma said, "Why, Moses, dear!" + + + JOHNNY'S FUN + + Johnny climbed up on the bed, + And hammered nails in Mamma's head. + Though the child was much elated, + Mamma felt quite irritated. + + A MERRY GAME + + Betty and Belinda Ames + Had the pleasantest of games; + 'Twas to hide from one another + Marmaduke, their baby brother. + + Once Belinda, little love, + Hid the baby in the stove; + Such a joke! for little Bet + Hasn't found the baby yet. + + + TOM AND GRANDPA + + From his toes up to his shins + Tom stuck Grandpa full of pins; + Although Tom the fun enjoyed, + Grandpapa was quite annoyed. + + + BABY'S LOOKS + + Bobby with the nursery shears + Cut off both the baby's ears; + At the baby, so unsightly, + Mamma raised her eyebrows slightly. + + + JEANETTE'S PRANKS + + One night, Jeanette, a roguish little lass, + Sneaked in the guest room and turned on the gas; + When morning dawned the guest was dead in bed, + But "Children will be children," Mamma said. + + + + +A BALLADE OF PING-PONG + +BY ALDEN CHARLES NOBLE + + + She wears a rosebud in her hair + To mock me as it tosses free; + Were I more wise and she less fair + I fear that I should never be + A victim to such witchery; + For at her wiles and lovely arts + I'm fain to laugh with her, while she + Plays ping-pong with my heart of hearts. + + The play's the thing; I wonder where, + What courtier with what courtesy + First played it, with what lady fair, + To music of what minstrelsy? + I wonder did he seem to see + Such eyes wherein a sunbeam starts, + And did he love (as I) while she + Played ping-pong with his heart of hearts? + + For battledore they called it, there + In courts of gilded chivalry; + No gallant ever lived to dare + To doubt its airy potency; + But now, that all the pageantry + Of those dead emperors departs, + I dream that she in memory + Plays ping-pong with my heart of hearts. + + +L'ENVOI + + Ah, maiden, I must sail a sea + Whereof there are no maps or charts; + Wilt thou sail too, and there with me + Play ping-pong with my heart of hearts? + + + + +BUDGE AND TODDIE + +BY JOHN HABBERTON + + +My Sunday dinner was unexceptional in point of quantity and quality, and +a bottle of my brother-in-law's claret proved to be most excellent; yet +a certain uneasiness of mind prevented my enjoying the meal as +thoroughly as under other circumstances I might have done. My uneasiness +came of a mingled sense of responsibility and ignorance. I felt that it +was the proper thing for me to see that my nephews spent the day with +some sense of the requirements and duties of the Sabbath; but how I was +to bring it about, I hardly knew. The boys were too small to have +Bible-lessons administered to them, and they were too lively to be kept +quiet by any ordinary means. After a great deal of thought, I determined +to consult the children themselves, and try to learn what their parents' +custom had been. + +"Budge," said I, "what do you do Sundays when your papa and mama are +home? What do they read to you,--what do they talk about?" + +"Oh, they swing us--lots!" said Budge, with brightening eyes. + +"An' zey takes us to get jacks," observed Toddie. + +"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Budge; "jacks-in-the-pulpit--don't you know?" + +"Hum--ye--es; I do remember some such thing in my youthful days. They +grow where there's plenty of mud, don't they?" + +"Yes, an' there's a brook there, an' ferns, an' birch-bark, an' if you +don't look out you'll tumble into the brook when you go to get birch." + +"An' we goes to Hawksnest Rock," piped Toddie, "an' papa carries us up +on his back when we gets tired." + +"An' he makes us whistles," said Budge. + +"Budge," said I, rather hastily, "enough. In the language of the poet + + "'These earthly pleasures I resign,' + +and I'm rather astonished that your papa hasn't taught you to do +likewise. Don't he ever read to you?" + +"Oh, yes," cried Budge, clapping his hands, as a happy thought struck +him. "He gets down the Bible--the great _big_ Bible, you know--an' we +all lay on the floor, an' he reads us stories out of it. There's David, +an' Noah, an' when Christ was a little boy, an' Joseph, an' +turnbackPharo'sarmyhallelujah--" + +"And what?" + +"TurnbackPharo'sarmyhallelujah," repeated Budge. "Don't you know how +Moses held out his cane over the Red Sea, an' the water went way up one +side, an' way up the other side, and all the Isrulites went across? It's +just the same thing as _drown_oldPharo'sarmyhallelujah--don't you +know?" + +"Budge," said I, "I suspect you of having heard the Jubilee Singers." + +"Oh, and papa and mama sings us all those Jubilee songs--there's 'Swing +Low,' an' 'Roll Jordan,' an' 'Steal Away,' an' 'My Way's Cloudy,' an' +'Get on Board, Childuns,' an' lots. An' you can sing us every one of +'em." + +"An' papa takes us in the woods, an' makesh us canes," said Toddie. + +"Yes," said Budge, "and where there's new houses buildin', he takes us +up ladders." + +"Has he any way of putting an extension on the afternoon?" I asked. + +"I don't know what that is," said Budge, "but he puts an India-rubber +blanket on the grass, and then we all lie down an' make b'lieve we're +soldiers asleep. Only sometimes when we wake up papa stays asleep, an' +mama won't let us wake him. I don't think that's a very nice play." + +"Well, I think Bible stories are nicer than anything else, don't you?" + +Budge seemed somewhat in doubt. "I think swingin' is nicer," said +he--"oh, no;--let's get some jacks--_I'll_ tell you what!--make us +whistles, an' we can blow on 'em while we're goin' to get the jacks. +Toddie, dear, wouldn't _you_ like jacks and whistles?" + +"Yesh--an' swingin'--an' birch--an' wantsh to go to Hawksnesh Rock," +answered Toddie. + +"Let's have Bible stories first," said I. "The Lord mightn't like it if +you didn't learn anything good to-day." + +"Well," said Budge, with the regulation religious-matter-of-duty face, +"let's. I guess I like 'bout Joseph best." + +"Tell us 'bout Bliaff," suggested Toddie. + +"Oh, no, Tod," remonstrated Budge; "Joseph's coat was just as bloody as +Goliath's head was." Then Budge turned to me and explained that "all Tod +likes Goliath for is 'cause when his head was cut off it was all +bloody." And then Toddie--the airy sprite whom his mother described as +being irresistibly drawn to whatever was beautiful--Toddie glared upon +me as a butcher's apprentice might stare at a doomed lamb, and +remarked: + +"Bliaff's head was all bluggy, an' David's sword was all bluggy--bluggy +as everyfing." + +I hastily breathed a small prayer, opened the Bible, turned to the story +of Joseph, and audibly condensed it as I read: + +"Joseph was a good little boy whose papa loved him very dearly. But his +brothers didn't like him. And they sold him, to go to Egypt. And he was +very smart, and told the people what their dreams meant, and he got to +be a great man. And his brothers went to Egypt to buy corn, and Joseph +sold them some, and then he let them know who he was. And he sent them +home to bring their papa to Egypt, and then they all lived there +together." + +"That's ain't it," remarked Toddie, with the air of a man who felt +himself to be unjustly treated. "Is it, Budge?" + +"Oh, no," said Budge, "you didn't read it good a bit; _I'll_ tell you +how it is. Once there was a little boy named Joseph, an' he had eleven +budders--they was _awful_ eleven budders. An' his papa gave him a new +coat, an' his budders hadn't nothin' but their old jackets to wear. An' +one day he was carryin' 'em their dinner, an' they put him in a deep, +dark hole, but they didn't put his nice new coat in--they killed a kid, +an' dipped the coat--just think of doin' that to a nice new coat--they +dipped it in the kid's blood, an' made it all bloody." + +"All bluggy," echoed Toddy, with ferocious emphasis. Budge continued: + +"But there were some Ishmalites comin' along that way, and the awful +eleven budders took him out of the deep, dark hole, an' sold him to the +Ishmalites, and they sold him away down in Egypt. An' his poor old papa +cried, an' cried, 'cause he thought a big lion ate Joseph up; but he +wasn't ate up a bit; but there wasn't no post-office nor choo-choos,[1] +nor stages in Egypt, an' there wasn't any telegraphs, so Joseph couldn't +let his papa know where he was; an' he got so smart an' so good that the +king of Egypt let him sell all the corn an' take care of the money; an' +one day some men came to buy some corn, an' Joseph looked at 'em an' +there they was his own budders! An' he scared 'em like everything; _I'd_ +have _slapped_ 'em all if _I'd_ been Joseph, but he just scared 'em, an' +then he let 'em know who he was, an' he kissed 'em an' he didn't whip +'em, or make 'em go without their breakfast, or stand in a corner, nor +none of them things; an' then he sent 'em back for their papa, an' when +he saw his papa comin', he ran like everything, and gave him a great big +hug and a kiss. Joseph was too big to ask his papa if he'd brought him +any candy, but he was awful glad to see him. An' the king gave Joseph's +papa a nice farm, an' they all had real good times after that." + +"And they dipped the coat in the blood, an' made it all bluggy," +reiterated Toddie. + +"Uncle Harry," said Budge, "what do you think _my_ papa would do if he +thought I was all ate up by a lion? I guess he'd cry _awful_, don't you? +Now tell us another story--oh, _I'll_ tell you--read us 'bout--" + +"'Bout Bliaff," interrupted Toddie. + +"_You_ tell _me_ about him, Toddie," said I. + +"Why," said Toddie, "Bliaff was a brate bid man, an' Dave was brate +little man, an' Bliaff said, 'Come over here'n an' I'll eat you up,' an' +Dave said, '_I_ ain't fyaid of you.' So Dave put five little stones in a +sling an' asked de Lord to help him, an' let ze sling go bang into +bequeen Bliaff's eyes an' knocked him down dead, an' Dave took Bliaff's +sword an' sworded Bliaff's head off, an' made it all bluggy, an' Bliaff +runned away." This short narration was accompanied by more spirited and +unexpected gestures than Mr. Gough ever puts into a long lecture. + +"I don't like 'bout Goliath at all," remarked Budge. "_I'd_ like to hear +'bout Ferus." + +"Who?" + +"Ferus; don't you know?" + +"Never heard of him, Budge." + +"Why--y--y--!" exclaimed Budge; "didn't you have no papa when you was a +little boy?" + +"Yes, but he never told me about any one named Ferus; there's no such +person named in Anthon's Classical Dictionary, either. What sort of a +man was he?" + +"Why, once there was a man, an' his name was Ferus--_Of_ferus, an' he +went about fightin' for kings, but when any king got afraid of anybody, +he wouldn't fight for him no more. An' one day he couldn't find no kings +that wasn't afraid of nobody. An' the people told him the Lord was the +biggest king in the world, an' he wasn't afraid of nobody or nothing. +An' he asked 'em where he could find the Lord, an' they said he was way +up in heaven so nobody couldn't see him but the angels, but he liked +folks to _work_ for him instead of fight. So Ferus wanted to know what +kind of work he could do, an' the people said there was a river not far +off, where there wasn't no ferry-boats, cos the water run so fast, an' +they guessed if he'd carry folks across, the Lord would like it. So +Ferus went there, an' he cut him a good, strong cane, an' whenever +anybody wanted to go across the river he'd carry 'em on his back. + +"One night he was sittin' in his little house by the fire, an' smokin' +his pipe an' readin' the paper, an' 'twas rainin' an' blowin' an' +hailin' an' stormin', an' he was so glad there wasn't anybody wantin' to +go 'cross the river, when he heard somebody call one 'Ferus!' An' he +looked out the window, but he couldn't see nobody, so he sat down again. +Then somebody called 'Ferus!' again, and he opened the door again, an' +there was a little bit of a boy, 'bout as big as Toddie. An' Ferus said, +'Hello, young fellow, does your mother know you're out?' An' the little +boy said, 'I want to go 'cross the river.'--'Well,' says Ferus, 'you're +a mighty little fellow to be travelin' alone, but hop up.' So the little +boy jumped up on Ferus's back, and Ferus walked into the water. Oh, +my--_wasn't_ it cold? An' every step he took that little boy got +heavier, so Ferus nearly tumbled down an' they liked to both got +drownded. An' when they got across the river Ferus said, 'Well, you +_are_ the heaviest small fry I ever carried,' and he turned around to +look at him, an' 'twasn't no little boy at all--'twas a big man--'twas +Christ. An' Christ said, 'Ferus, I heard you was tryin' to work for me, +so I thought I'd come down an' see you, an' not let you know who I was. +An' now you shall have a new name; you shall be called _Christ_offerus, +cos that means Christ-carrier.' An' everybody called him Christofferus +after that, an' when he died they called him _Saint_ Christopher, cos +Saint is what they called good people when they're dead." + +Budge himself had the face of a rapt saint as he told this story, but my +contemplation of his countenance was suddenly arrested by Toddie, who, +disapproving of the unexciting nature of his brother's recital, had +strayed into the garden, investigated a hornet's nest, been stung, and +set up a piercing shriek. He ran in to me, and as I hastily picked him +up, he sobbed: + +"Want to be wocked.[2] Want 'Toddie one boy day.'" + +I rocked him violently, and petted him tenderly, but again he sobbed: + +"Want 'Toddie one boy day.'" + +"What _does_ the child mean?" I exclaimed. + +"He wants you to sing to him about 'Charley boy one day,'" said Budge. +"He always wants mama to sing that when he's hurt, an' then he stops +crying." + +"I don't know it," said I. "Won't 'Roll, Jordan,' do, Toddie?" + +"_I'll_ tell you how it goes," said Budge, and forthwith the youth sang +the following song, a line at a time, I following him in words and air: + + "Where is my little bastik[3] gone?" + Said Charley boy one day; + "I guess some little boy or girl + Has taken it away. + + "An' kittie, too--where _ish_ she gone? + Oh, dear, what I shall do? + I wish I could my bastik find, + An' little kittie, too. + + "I'll go to mamma's room an' look; + Perhaps she may be there; + For kittie likes to take a nap + In mamma's easy chair. + + "O mamma, mamma, come an' look? + See what a little heap! + Here's kittie in the bastik here, + All cuddled down to sleep." + +Where the applicability of this poem to my nephew's peculiar trouble +appeared, I could not see, but as I finished it, his sobs gave place to +a sigh of relief. + +"Toddie," said I, "do you love your Uncle Harry?" + +"Esh, I _do_ love you." + +"Then tell me how that ridiculous song comforts you?" + +"Makes me feel good, an' all nicey," replied Toddie. + +"Wouldn't you feel just as good if I sang, 'Plunged in a gulf of dark +despair?'" + +"No, don't like dokdishpairs; if a dokdishpair done anyfing to me, I'd +knock it right down dead." + +With this extremely lucid remark, our conversation on this particular +subject ended; but I wondered, during a few uneasy moments, whether the +temporary mental aberration which had once afflicted Helen's grandfather +and mine was not reappearing in this, his youngest descendant. My +wondering was cut short by Budge, who remarked, in a confident tone: + +"Now, Uncle Harry, we'll have the whistles, I guess." + +I acted upon the suggestion, and led the way to the woods. I had not had +occasion to seek a hickory sapling before for years; not since the war, +in fact, when I learned how hot a fire small hickory sticks would make. +I had not sought wood for whistles since--gracious, nearly a quarter of +a century ago! The dissimilar associations called up by these +recollections threatened to put me in a frame of mind which might have +resulted in a bad poem, had not my nephews kept up a lively succession +of questions such as no one but children can ask. The whistles +completed, I was marched, with music, to the place where the "Jacks" +grew. It was just such a place as boys instinctively delight in--low, +damp, and boggy, with a brook hiding treacherously away under +overhanging ferns and grasses. The children knew by sight the plant +which bore the "Jacks," and every discovery was announced by a piercing +shriek of delight. At first I looked hurriedly toward the brook as each +yell clove the air; but, as I became accustomed to it, my attention was +diverted by some exquisite ferns. Suddenly, however, a succession of +shrieks announced that something was wrong, and across a large fern I +saw a small face in a great deal of agony. Budge was hurrying to the +relief of his brother, and was soon as deeply imbedded as Toddie was in +the rich black mud, at the bottom of the brook. I dashed to the rescue, +stood astride the brook, and offered a hand to each boy, when a +treacherous tuft of grass gave way, and, with a glorious splash, I went +in myself. This accident turned Toddie's sorrow to laughter, but I can't +say I made light of my misfortune on that account. To fall into _clean_ +water is not pleasant, even when one is trout-fishing; but to be clad in +white pants, and suddenly drop nearly knee-deep in the lap of mother +Earth is quite a different thing. I hastily picked up the children, and +threw them upon the bank, and then wrathfully strode out myself, and +tried to shake myself as I have seen a Newfoundland dog do. The shake +was not a success--it caused my trouser-leg to flap dismally about my +ankles, and sent the streams of loathsome ooze trickling down into my +shoes. My hat, of drab felt, had fallen off by the brookside, and been +plentifully spattered as I got out. I looked at my youngest nephew with +speechless indignation. + +"Uncle Harry," said Budge, "'twas real good of the Lord to let you be +with us, else Toddie might have been drownded." + +"Yes," said I, "and I shouldn't have much--" + +"Ocken Hawwy," cried Toddie, running impetuously toward me, pulling me +down, and patting my cheek with his muddy black hand, "I _loves_ you for +takin' me out de water." + +"I accept your apology," said I, "but let's hurry home." There was but +one residence to pass, and that, thank fortune, was so densely screened +by shrubbery that the inmates could not see the road. To be sure, we +were on a favorite driving road, but we could reach home in five +minutes, and we might dodge into the woods if we heard a carriage +coming. Ha! There came a carriage already, and we--was there ever a +sorrier-looking group? There were ladies in the carriage, too--could it +be--of course it was--did the evil spirit, which guided those children +always, send an attendant for Miss Mayton before he began operations? +There she was, anyway--cool, neat, dainty, trying to look collected, but +severely flushed by the attempt. It was of no use to drop my eyes, for +she had already recognized me; so I turned to her a face which I think +must have been just the one--unless more defiant--that I carried into +two or three cavalry charges. + +"You seem to have been having a real good time together," said she, with +a conventional smile, as the carriage passed. "Remember, you're all +going to call on me to-morrow afternoon." + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Railway cars. + +[2] Rocked. + +[3] Basket. + + + + +A REFLECTIVE RETROSPECT + +BY JOHN G. SAXE + + + 'Tis twenty years, and something more, + Since, all athirst for useful knowledge, + I took some draughts of classic lore, + Drawn very mild, at ----rd College; + Yet I remember all that one + Could wish to hold in recollection; + The boys, the joys, the noise, the fun; + But not a single Conic Section. + + I recollect those harsh affairs, + The morning bells that gave us panics; + I recollect the formal prayers, + That seemed like lessons in Mechanics; + I recollect the drowsy way + In which the students listened to them, + As clearly, in my wig, to-day, + As when, a boy, I slumbered through them. + + I recollect the tutors all + As freshly now, if I may say so, + As any chapter I recall + In Homer or Ovidius Naso. + I recollect, extremely well, + "Old Hugh," the mildest of fanatics; + I well remember Matthew Bell, + But very faintly, Mathematics. + + I recollect the prizes paid + For lessons fathomed to the bottom; + (Alas that pencil-marks should fade!) + I recollect the chaps who got 'em,-- + The light equestrians who soared + O'er every passage reckoned stony; + And took the chalks,--but never scored + A single honor to the pony! + + Ah me! what changes Time has wrought, + And how predictions have miscarried! + A few have reached the goal they sought, + And some are dead, and some are married! + And some in city journals war; + And some as politicians bicker; + And some are pleading at the bar-- + For jury-verdicts, or for liquor! + + And some on Trade and Commerce wait; + And some in schools with dunces battle; + And some the Gospel propagate; + And some the choicest breeds of cattle; + And some are living at their ease; + And some were wrecked in "the revulsion;" + Some served the State for handsome fees, + And one, I hear, upon compulsion! + + LAMONT, who, in his college days, + Thought e'en a cross a moral scandal, + Has left his Puritanic ways, + And worships now with bell and candle; + And MANN, who mourned the negro's fate, + And held the slave as most unlucky, + Now holds him, at the market rate, + On a plantation in Kentucky! + + TOM KNOX--who swore in such a tone + It fairly might be doubted whether + It really was himself alone, + Or _Knox_ and Erebus together-- + Has grown a very altered man, + And, changing oaths for mild entreaty, + Now recommends the Christian plan + To savages in Otaheite! + + Alas for young ambition's vow! + How envious Fate may overthrow it!-- + Poor HARVEY is in Congress now, + Who struggled long to be a poet; + SMITH carves (quite well) memorial stones, + Who tried in vain to make the law go; + HALL deals in hides; and "PIOUS JONES" + Is dealing faro in Chicago! + + And, sadder still, the brilliant HAYS, + Once honest, manly, and ambitious, + Has taken latterly to ways + Extremely profligate and vicious; + By slow degrees--I can't tell how-- + He's reached at last the very groundsel, + And in New York he figures now, + A member of the Common Council! + + + + +"HULLO!" + +BY SAM WALTER FOSS + + + W'en you see a man in woe, + Walk right up and say "hullo!" + Say "hullo," an' "how d'ye do!" + "How's the world a usin' you?" + Slap the fellow on his back, + Bring your han' down with a whack; + Waltz right up, an' don't go slow, + Grin an' shake an' say "hullo!" + + Is he clothed in rags? O sho! + Walk right up an' say "hullo!" + Rags is but a cotton roll + Jest for wrappin' up a soul; + An' a soul is worth a true + Hale an' hearty "how d'ye do!" + Don't wait for the crowd to go, + Walk right up an' say "hullo!" + + W'en big vessels meet, they say, + They saloot an' sail away. + Jest the same are you an' me, + Lonesome ships upon a sea; + Each one sailing his own jog + For a port beyond the fog. + Let your speakin' trumpet blow, + Lift your horn an' cry "hullo!" + + Say "hullo," an' "how d'ye do!" + Other folks are good as you. + W'en you leave your house of clay, + Wanderin' in the Far-Away, + W'en you travel through the strange + Country t'other side the range, + Then the souls you've cheered will know + Who you be, an' say "hullo!" + + + + +THE WARRIOR + + +BY EUGENE FIELD + + + Under the window is a man, + Playing an organ all the day, + Grinding as only a cripple can, + In a moody, vague, uncertain way. + + His coat is blue and upon his face + Is a look of highborn, restless pride, + There is somewhat about him of martial grace + And an empty sleeve hangs at his side. + + "Tell me, warrior bold and true, + In what carnage, night or day, + Came the merciless shot to you, + Bearing your good, right arm away?" + + Fire dies out in the patriot's eye, + Changed my warrior's tone and mien, + Choked by emotion he makes reply, + "Kansas--harvest--threshing machine!" + + + + +THE TALE OF THE TANGLED TELEGRAM + +BY WILBUR D. NESBIT + + +James Trottingham Minton had a cousin who lived in St. Louis. "Cousin +Mary," Lucy Putnam discovered by a process of elimination, was the one +topic on which the reticent Mr. Minton could become talkative. Mary was +his ideal, almost. Let a girl broach the weather, he grew halt of +speech; should she bring up literature, his replies were almost inane; +let her seek to show that she kept abreast of the times, and talk of +politics--then Jimmy seemed to harbor a great fear in his own soul. But +give him the chance to make a few remarks about his cousin Mary and he +approached eloquence. For this reason Lucy Putnam was wise enough to ask +him something about Mary every so often. + +Now, the question arises: Why should Lucy Putnam, or any other girl, +take any interest in a man who was so thoroughly bashful that his +trembling efforts to converse made the light quivering aspen look like a +ten-ton obelisk for calmness? The reason was, and is, that woman has the +same eye for babies and men. The more helpless these objects, the more +interested are the women. The man who makes the highest appeal to a +woman is he whose tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth and who does +not know what to do with his hands in her presence. She must be a +princess, he a slave. Each knows this premise is unsupported by facts, +yet it is a joyous fiction while it lasts. James Trottingham Minton was +not a whit bashful when with men. No. He called on Mr. Putnam at his +office, and with the calmness of an agent collecting rent, asked him for +the hand of his daughter. + +"Why, Jimmy," Mr. Putnam said good-naturedly, "of course I haven't any +objections to make. Seems to me that's a matter to be settled between +you and Lucy." + +Jimmy smiled confidentially. + +"I suppose you're right, Mr. Putnam. But, you see, I've never had the +nerve to say anything about it to her." + +"Tut, tut. Nothing to be scared of. Nothing at all. What's the matter +with you, young man? In my day, if a fellow wanted to marry a girl he +wouldn't go and tell her father. He'd marry her first and then ask the +old man where they should live." + +Mr. Putnam chuckled heavily. Mr. Putnam was possessed of a striking fund +of reminiscences of how young men used to do. + +"Of course, Mr. Putnam," Jimmy said. "But the girls nowadays are +different, and a fel--" + +"Not a bit of it. No, sir. Women haven't changed since Eve's time. You +mustn't get woman mixed up with dry goods stores, Jimmy. Don't you know +there's lots of fellows nowadays that fall in love with the fall styles? +Ha, ha!" + +It was not all clear to Minton, but he laughed dutifully. His was a +diplomatic errand, and the half of diplomacy is making the victim think +you are in agreement with him. + +"Yes, sir," Putnam chuckled on, "I'll bet that silk and ruffles and pink +shades over the lamp have caused more proposals than all the dimples and +bright eyes in the world. Eh, Jimmy? But you haven't proposed yet?" + +"I did. You gave your consent." + +"But you're not going to marry me. You want Lucy. You'll have to speak +to her about it." + +"Now look, Mr. Putnam, I can come to you and ask you for her, and it's +the same thing." + +"Not by a hundred miles, my boy. If I told Lucy you had said that, she +wouldn't be at home next time you called. The trouble with you is that +you don't understand women. You've got to talk direct to them." + +Jimmy looked hopelessly out of the window. + +"No; what you say to me and what I say to you hasn't any more to do with +you and Lucy than if you were selling me a bill of goods. I like you, +Jimmy, and I've watched your career so far with interest, and I look for +great things from you in the future, and that's why I say to you to go +ahead and get Lucy, and good luck to you both." + +Mr. Putnam took up some papers from his desk and pretended to be +studying them, but from the tail of his eye he gathered the gloom that +was settling over Jimmy's face. The elder man enjoyed the situation. + +"Well, Mr. Putnam," Jimmy asked, "why can't you just tell Lucy for me +that I have asked you, and that you say it's all right? Then when I go +to see her next time, it'll all be arranged and understood." + +"Le' me see. Didn't I read a poem or something at school about some one +who hadn't sand enough to propose to a girl and who got another man to +ask her? But it wasn't her own father. Why, Jimmy, if you haven't +courage enough to propose to a girl, what do you suppose will be your +finish if she marries you? A married man has to have spunk." + +"I've got the spunk all right, but you understand how I feel." + +"Sure! Let me give you some advice. When you propose to a girl, you +don't have to come right out and ask her to marry you." + +Jimmy caught at the straw. + +"You don't?" he asked. + +"Certainly not. There's half a dozen ways of letting her know that you +want her. Usually--always, I may say--she knows it anyway, and unless +she wants you she'll not let you tell her so. But if I wanted a short, +sharp 'No' from a girl, I'd get her father to ask her to marry me." + +"Then you mean that I've got to ask her myself?" + +"To be sure." + +"I can't do it, Mr. Putnam; I can't." + +"Write it." + +"Why, I'd feel as if the postman and everybody else knew it." + +"Telephone." + +"Worse yet." + +"Jim Minton, I'm disgusted with you. I thought you were a young man with +some enterprise, but if you lose your courage over such an every-day +affair as proposing to a girl--" + +"But men don't propose every day." + +"Somebody is proposing to somebody every day. It goes on all the time. +No, sir; I wash my hands of it. I'll not withdraw my consent, and you +have my moral support and encouragement, but getting married is the same +as getting into trouble--you have to handle your own case." + +"But, Mr. Putnam--" + +"You'll only go over the same ground again. Good morning. I don't want +to hear any more of this until it is settled one way or the other. I'll +not help and I'll not hinder. It--It's up to you." + +With this colloquial farewell Mr. Putnam waved his hand and turned to +his papers. Jimmy accumulated his hat and stick, and left, barren of +hope. + +That night he took Lucy to see "Romeo and Juliet." The confidence and +enthusiasm of _Romeo_ merely threw him into a deeper despair of his own +ability as a suitor, and made him even more taciturn and stumbling of +speech than ever. His silence grew heavier and heavier, until at last +Lucy threw out her never-failing life-line. She asked him about his +cousin Mary. + +"By the way," he said, brightening up, "Cousin Mary is going through +here one day next week." + +"Is she? How I should like to know her. If she is anything like you she +must be very agreeable." + +"She isn't like me, but she is agreeable. Won't you let me try to bring +you two together--at lunch down-town, or something like that?" + +"It would be fine." + +"I'll do it. I'll arrange it just as soon as I see her." + +Then silence, pall-like, fell again upon them. Jimmy thought of _Romeo_, +and Lucy thought of--_Romeo_, let us say. When a young man and a young +woman, who are the least bit inclined one to another, witness +Shakespeare's great educative effort, the young woman can not help +imagining herself leaning over the balcony watching the attempts of the +young man to clamber up the rope ladder. + +After he had gone that night, Lucy sat down for a soul communion with +herself. Pity the woman who does not have soul communions. She who can +sit side by side with herself and make herself believe that she is +perfectly right and proper in thinking and believing as she does, is +happy. The first question Lucy Putnam put to her subliminal self was: +"Do I love Jimmy?" Subliminal self, true to sex, equivocated. It said: +"I am not sure." Whereupon Lucy asked: "Why do I love him?" Then ensued +the debate. Subliminal self said it was because he was a clean, +good-hearted, manly fellow. Lucy responded that he was too bashful. "He +is handsome," retorted subliminal self. "But there are times when he +grows so abashed that he is awkward." Subliminal self said he would +outgrow that. "But there are other men who are just as nice, just as +handsome, and just as clever, who are not so overwhelmingly shy," argued +Lucy. Whereat subliminal self drew itself up proudly and demanded: "Name +one!" And Lucy was like the person who can remember faces, but has no +memory at all for names. + + +II + +Cousin Mary came to town as she had promised, and she made Cousin Jimmy +drop his work and follow her through the shops half the morning. Cousin +Mary was all that Cousin Jimmy had ever said of her. She was pretty and +she was genial. When these attributes are combined in a cousin they +invite confidences. + +The two were standing on a corner, waiting for a swirl of foot +passengers, carriages and street-cars, to be untangled, when Mary heard +Jimmy making some remark about "Miss Putnam." + +"So, she's the one, is she, Jimmy?" + +"Well--er--I--I don't know. You see--" + +"Certainly I see. Who wouldn't? Is she pretty, Jimmy?" + +Jimmy saw a pathway through the crowd and led his cousin to the farther +curb before answering: + +"Yes, she is very pretty." + +"Tell me all about her. How long have you known her? How did you meet +her? Is she tall or short? Is she dark or fair? Is she musical? Oh, I am +just dying to know all about her!" + +All the way down State Street Jimmy talked. All the way down State +Street he was urged on and aided and abetted by the questions and +comments of Cousin Mary, and when they had buffeted their way over +Jackson to Michigan Avenue and found breathing room, she turned to him +and asked pointedly: + +"When is it to be?" + +"When is what to be?" + +"The wedding." + +"Whose wedding?" Jimmy's tone was utterly innocent. + +"Whose? Yours and Lucy's, to be sure." + +"Mine and Lucy's? Why? Mary, I've never asked her yet." + +"You've never asked her! Do you mean to tell me that when you can talk +about her for seven or eight blocks, as you have, you have not even +asked her to marry you? Why, James Trottingham Minton, you ought to be +ashamed of yourself! Where does this paragon of women live? Take me to +see her. I want to apologize for you." + +"Won't it be better to get her to come in and lunch with us? She lives +so far out you'd miss your train east this afternoon." + +"The very thing. Would she come?" + +"Why, yes. I asked her the other night and she said she would." + +"Then, why have you waited so long to tell me. Where are we to meet +her?" + +"Well, I didn't know for sure what day you would be here, so I didn't +make any definite arrangement. I'm to let her know." + +"Oh, Jimmy! Jimmy! You need a guardian, and not a guardian angel, +either. You need the other sort. You deserve hours of punishment for +your thoughtlessness. Now go right away and send her word that I am here +and dying to meet her." + +"All right. We'll have lunch here at the Annex. You'll excuse me just a +moment, and I'll send her a telegram and ask her to come in." + +"Yes, but hurry. You should have told her yesterday. When will you ever +learn how to be nice to a girl?" + +Jimmy, feeling somehow that he had been guilty of a breach of courtesy +that should fill him with remorse, hastened to the telegraph desk and +scribbled a message to Lucy. It read: + +"Please meet me and Mary at Annex at 2 o'clock." + +"Rush that," he said to the operator. + +The operator glanced over the message and grinned. + +"Certainly, sir," he said. "This sort of a message always goes rush. +Wish you luck, sir." + +The operator has not yet completely gathered the reason for the +reproving stare Jimmy gave him. In part it has been explained to him. +But, as Jimmy has said since, the man deserved censure for drawing an +erroneous conclusion from another's mistake. + +It was then noon, so Jimmy and Mary, at Mary's suggestion, got an +appetite by making another tour of the shops. In the meantime a +snail-paced messenger boy was climbing the Putnam steps with the +telegram in his hand. + + +III + +Lucy took the telegram from the boy and told him to wait until she saw +if there should be an answer. She tore off the envelope, unfolded the +yellow slip of paper, read the message, gasped, blushed and turned and +left the patient boy on the steps. + +Into the house she rushed, calling to her mother. She thrust the +telegram into her hands, exclaiming: + +"Read that! Isn't it what we might have expected?" + +"Mercy! What is it? Who's dead?" + +"Nobody! It's better than that," was Lucy's astonishing reply. + +Mrs. Putnam read the telegram, and then beamingly drew her daughter to +her and kissed her. The two then wrote a message, after much counting of +words, to be sent to Jimmy. It read: + +"Of course. Mama will come with me. Telephone to papa." + +When this reached Jimmy he was nonplused. He rubbed his forehead, +studied the message, reread it, and then handed it to Mary with the +suggestion: + +"Maybe you can make it out. I can't." + +Mary knitted her brows and studied the message in turn. At length she +handed it back. + +"It is simple," she decided. "She is a nice, sweet girl, and she wants +me to meet her mama and papa. Or maybe she wants us to be chaperoned." + +So Jimmy and Mary waited in the hotel parlor until Lucy should arrive. +Reminded by Mary, Jimmy went to the 'phone and told Mr. Putnam that Lucy +was coming to lunch with him. + +"Well, that's all right, isn't it, Jimmy?" Mr. Putnam asked. + +"Yes. But she told me to telephone you." + +"Why?" + +"I don't know. But won't you join us?" + +"Is that other matter arranged, Jimmy?" + +"N-no. Not yet." + +"I told you I didn't want to see you until it was. As soon as you wake +up, let me know. Good-by." + +Jimmy, red, returned to the parlor, and there was confronted by a vision +of white, with shining eyes and pink cheeks, who rushed up to him and +kissed him and called him a dear old thing and said he was the +cleverest, most unconventional man that ever was. + +Limp, astounded, but delighted, James Trottingham Minton drew back a +pace from Lucy Putnam, who, in her dainty white dress and her white hat +and filmy white veil, was a delectable sight. + +"I want you to meet Cousin Mary," he said. + +"Is she to attend?" + +"Of course," he answered. + +They walked toward the end of the long parlor where Mary was sitting, +but half way down the room they were stopped by Mrs. Putnam. She put +both hands on Jimmy's shoulders, gave him a motherly kiss on one cheek, +and sighed: + +"Jimmy, you will be kind to my little girl?" + +Jimmy looked from mother to daughter in dumb bewilderment. Certainly +this was the most remarkable conduct he ever had dreamed of. Yet, Mrs. +Putnam's smile was so affectionate and kind, her eyes met his with such +a tender look that he intuitively felt that all was right as right +should be. And yet--why should they act as they did? + +Into the midst of his reflections burst Lucy's chum, Alice Jordan. + +"I've a notion to kiss him, too!" she cried. + +Jimmy stonily held himself in readiness to be kissed. If kissing went by +favor he was pre-eminently a favored one. But Lucy clutched his arm with +a pretty air of ownership and forbade Alice. + +"Indeed, you will not. It wouldn't be good form now. After--afterward, +you may. Just once. Isn't that right, Jimmy?" + +"Perfectly," he replied, his mind still whirling in an effort to adjust +actualities to his conception of what realities should be. + +The four had formed a little group to themselves in the center of the +parlor, Lucy clinging to Jimmy's arm, Mrs. Putnam eying them both with a +happy expression, and Alice fluttering from one to the other, assuring +them that they were the handsomest couple she ever had seen, that they +ought to be proud of each other, and that Mrs. Putnam ought to be proud +of them, and that she was sure nobody in all the world ever, ever could +be as sublimely, beatifically happy as they would be, and that they must +be sure to let her come to visit them. + +"And," she cried, admiringly, stopping to pat Jimmy on his unclutched +arm, "I just think your idea of proposing by telegraph was the brightest +thing I ever heard of!" + +It is to be written to the everlasting credit of James Trottingham +Minton that he restrained himself from uttering the obvious remark on +hearing this. Two words from him would have wrecked the house of cards. +Instead, he blushed and smiled modestly. Slowly it was filtering into +his brain that by some unusual, unexpected, unprecedented freak of +fortune his difficulties had been overcome; that some way or other he +had proposed and had been accepted. + +"I shall always cherish that telegram," Lucy declared, leaning more +affectionately toward Jimmy. "If that grimy-faced messenger boy had not +gone away so quickly with my answer I should have kissed him!" + +"I've got the telegram here, dear," said Mrs. Putnam. + +"Oh, let's see it again," Alice begged. "I always wanted to hear a +proposal, but it is some satisfaction to see one." + +Mrs. Putnam opened her hand satchel, took out the telegram, unfolded it +slowly, and they all looked at it, Jimmy gulping down a great choke of +joy as he read: + +"Please meet me and marry at Annex at two o'clock." + +His bashfulness fell from him as a garment. He took the message, saying +he would keep it, so that it might not be lost. Then he piloted the two +girls and Mrs. Putnam to the spot where Mary had been waiting patiently +and wonderingly. + +"Mary," he said boldly, without a tremor in his voice, "I want you to +meet the future Mrs. Minton, and my future mother-in-law, Mrs. Putnam, +and my future--what are you to me, anyhow, Alice?" + +"I'm a combination flower girl, maid of honor and sixteen bridesmaids +chanting the wedding march," she laughed. + +"And when," Mary gasped, "when is this to be?" + +"At two o'clock," Lucy answered. + +"Oh, Jimmy! You wretch! You never told me a word about it. But never +mind. I bought the very thing for a wedding gift this morning." + +Jimmy tore himself away from the excited laughter and chatter, ran to +the telephone and got Mr. Putnam on the wire. + +"This is Minton," he said. + +"Who? Oh! Jimmy? Well?" + +"Well, I've fixed that up." + +"Good. And when is it to be?" + +"Right away. Here at the Annex. I want you to go and get the license for +me on your way over." + +"Come, come, Jimmy. Don't be in such precipitate haste." + +"You told me that was the only way to arrange these matters." + +"Humph! Did I? Well, I'll get the license for you--" + +"Good-by, then. I've got to telephone for a minister." + +The minister was impressed at once with the value of haste in coming, +and on his way back to the wedding party Jimmy stopped long enough to +hand a five-dollar bill to the telegraph operator. + +"Thank you, sir," said the astonished man. "I have been worrying for +fear I had made a mistake about your message." + +"You did. You made the greatest mistake of your life. Thank you!" + + + + +NATURAL PHILOSOPHY + +BY WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND + + + Very offen I be t'inkin' of de queer folks goin' roun', + And way dey kip a-talkin' of de hard tam get along-- + May have plaintee money, too, an' de healt' be good an' soun'-- + But you'll fin' dere's alway somet'ing goin' wrong-- + 'Course dere may be many reason w'y some feller ought to fret-- + But me, I'm alway singin' de only song I know-- + 'Tisn't long enough for music, an' so short you can't forget, + But it drive away de lonesome, an' dis is how she go, + "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck." + + Funny feller's w'at dey call me--"so diff'ren' from de res'," + But ev'rybody got hees fault, as far as I can see-- + An' all de t'ing I'm doin', I do it for de bes', + Dough w'en I'm bettin' on a race, dat's offen loss for me-- + "Oho!" I say, "Alphonse, ma frien', to-day is not your day, + For more you got your money up, de less your trotter go-- + But never min' an' don't lie down," dat's w'at I alway say, + An' sing de sam' ole song some more, mebbe a leetle slow-- + "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck." + + S'pose ma uncle die an' lef me honder dollar, mebbe two-- + An' I don't tak' hees advice--me--for put heem on de bank-- + 'Stead o' dat, some lot'rie ticket, to see w'at I can do, + An' purty soon I'm findin' put dey're w'at you call de blank-- + Wall! de bank she might bus' up dere--somet'ing might go wrong-- + Dem feller, w'en dey get it, mebbe skip before de night-- + Can't tell--den w'ere's your money? So I sing ma leetle song + An' don't boder wit' de w'isky, an' again I feel all right. + "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck." + + If you're goin' to mak' de marry, kip a look out on de eye, + But no matter how you're careful, it was risky anyhow-- + An' if you're too unlucky, jus' remember how you try + For gettin' dat poor woman, dough she may have got you now-- + All de sam', it sometam happen dat your wife will pass away-- + No use cryin', you can't help it--dere's your duty to you'se'f-- + You don't need to ax de neighbor, dey will tell you ev'ry day + Start again lak hones' feller, for dere's plaintee woman lef'-- + "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck." + + Poor man lak me, I'm not'ing: only w'en election's dere, + An' ev'rybody's waitin' to ketch you by de t'roat-- + De money I be makin' den, wall! dot was mon affaire-- + An' affer all w'at diff'rence how de poor man mak' de vote? + So I do ma very bes'--me--wit' de wife an' familee-- + On de church door Sunday morning, you can see us all parade-- + Len' a frien' a half a dollar, an' never go on spree-- + So w'en I'm comin' die--me--no use to be afraid-- + "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck." + + + + +HOW I SPOKE THE WORD + +FRANK L. STANTON + + + The snow come down in sheets of white + An' made the pine trees shiver; + 'Peared like the world had said good night + An' crawled beneath the kiver. + + The river's shiny trail wuz gone-- + The winds sung out a warnin'; + The mountains put their nightcaps on + An' said: "Good-by till mornin'!" + + 'Twuz jest the night in fiel' an' wood + When cabin homes look cozy, + An' fine oak fires feel mighty good, + An' women's cheeks look rosy. + + An' that remin's me. We wuz four, + A-settin' by the fire; + But still it 'peared ten mile or more + Betwixt me an' Maria! + + "No, sir!" (I caught that eye of his, + An' then I fit and floundered!) + "The thing I want to tell you is--" + Says he: "The old mare's _foundered_?" + + "No, sir! it ain't about no hoss!" + (My throat begin to rattle!) + "I see," he said, "another loss + In them fine Jersey cattle!" + + An' then I lost my patience! Then + I hollered high and higher + (You could 'a' heard me down the glen): + "_No, sir! I want Maria!_" + + "An' now," says I, "the shaft'll strike: + He'll let _that_ statement stay so!" + He looked at me astonished-like, + Then yelled: "_Why didn't you say so?_" + + + + +THE UNIVERSITY INTELLIGENCE OFFICE + +BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS + + +"Mr. Brief," said the Idiot the other morning as the family of Mrs. +Smithers-Pedagog gathered at the breakfast table, "don't you want to be +let in on the ground floor of a sure thing?" + +"I do if there's no cellar under it to fall into when the bottom drops +out," smiled Mr. Brief. "What's up? You going into partnership with Mr. +Rockefeller?" + +"No," said the Idiot. "There isn't any money in that." + +"What?" cried the Bibliomaniac. "No money in a partnership with +Rockefeller?" + +"Not a cent," said the Idiot. "After paying Mr. Rockefeller his dividend +of 105 per cent. of the gross receipts and deducting expenses from +what's left, you'd find you owed him money. My scheme is to start an +entirely new business--one that's never been thought of before +apparently--incorporate it at $100,000, of which I am to receive $51,000 +in stock for the idea, $24,000 worth of shares to go to Mr. Brief for +legal services and the balance to be put on the market at 45." + +"That sounds rich," said Mr. Brief. "I might devote an hour of my time +to your scheme some rainy Sunday afternoon when there is nothing else to +do, for that amount of stock, provided, of course, your scheme has no +State's Prison string tied to it." + +"There isn't even a county jail at the end of it," observed the Idiot. +"It's clean, clear and straight. It will fill a long felt want, and, as +I see it, ought to pay fifty percent dividends the first year. They say +figures don't lie, and I am in possession of some that tell me I've got +a bonanza in my University Intelligence Office Company." + +"The title sounds respectable," said Mr. Whitechoker. "What is it, Mr. +Idiot--a sort of University Settlement Scheme?" + +"Well--yes," said the Idiot. "It is designed to get University graduates +settled, if you can call that a University Settlement Scheme. To put it +briefly, it's an Intelligence Office for College graduates where they +may go for the purpose of getting a job, just as our cooks, and butlers +and valets and the rest do. If there's money in securing a place at good +wages for the ladies who burn our steaks and promote indigestion for us, +and for the gentlemen who keep our trousers pressed and wear out our +linen, I don't see why there wouldn't be money in an institution which +did the same thing for the struggling young bachelor of arts who is +thrown out of the arms of Alma Mater on to the hands of a cold and +unappreciative world." + +"At last!" cried the Doctor. "At last I find sanity in one of your +suggestions. That idea of yours, Mr. Idiot, is worthy of a genius. I +have a nephew just out of college and what on earth to do with him +nobody in the family can imagine. He doesn't seem to be good for +anything except sitting around and letting his hair grow long." + +"That isn't much of a profession, is it," said the Idiot. "What does he +want to do?" + +"That's the irritating part of it," observed the Doctor. "When I asked +him the other night what he intended to do for a living he said he +hadn't made up his mind yet between becoming a motor-man or the Editor +of the South American Review. That's a satisfactory kind of an answer, +eh? Especially when the family income is hardly big enough to keep the +modern youth in neckties." + +"I don't believe any Intelligence Office in creation could do anything +for a man like that," sneered the Bibliomaniac. "What that young man +needs is a good sound spanking, and I'd like to give it to him." + +"All right," said the Doctor with a laugh. "I'll see that you have the +chance. If you'll go out to my sister's with me some time next week I'll +introduce you to Bill and you can begin." + +"Why don't you do it yourself, Doctor?" asked the Idiot, noting the +twinkle in the Doctor's eye. + +"I'm too busy," laughed the Doctor. "Besides I only weigh one hundred +and twenty pounds and Bill is six feet two inches high and weighs two +hundred and ten pounds stripped. I think if I were armed with a +telegraph pole and Bill with only a tooth-pick as a weapon of defense he +could thrash me with ease. However, if Mr. Bib wants to try it--" + +"Send Bill to us, Doctor," said the Idiot. "I sort of like Bill and I'll +bet the University Intelligence Office will get him a job in forty-eight +hours. A man who is willing to mote or Edit has an adaptability that +ought to locate him permanently somewhere." + +"I don't quite see," said Mr. Brief, "just how you are going to work +your scheme, Mr. Idiot. I must confess I should regard Bill as a pretty +tough proposition." + +"Not at all," said the Idiot. "The only trouble with Bill is that he +hasn't found himself yet. He's probably one of those easy-going, popular +youngsters who've devoted their college days to growing. Just at present +he's got more vitality than brains. I imagine from his answer to the +Doctor that he is a good-natured hulks who could get anything he wanted +in college except a scholarship. I haven't any doubt that he was beloved +of all his classmates and was known to his fellows as Old Hoss, or +Beefy Bill or Blue-eyed Billie and could play any game from Muggins to +Pit like a hero of a Bret Harte romance." + +"You've sized Bill up all right," said the Doctor. "He is just that, but +he has brains. The only trouble is he's been saving them up for a rainy +day and now when the showers are beginning he doesn't know how to use +'em. How would you go about getting him a job, Mr. Idiot?" + +"Bill ought to go into the publishing business," said the Idiot. "He was +cut out for a book-agent. He has a physique which, to begin with, would +command respectful attention for anything he might have to say +concerning the wares he had to sell. He seems to have, from your brief +description of him, that suavity of manner which would surely secure his +admittance into the houses of the _elite_, and his sense of humor I +judge to be sufficiently highly developed to enable him to make a sale +wherever he felt there was the remotest chance. Is he handsome?" + +"I am told he looks like me," said the Doctor, pleasantly. + +"Oh, well," rejoined the Idiot, "good looks aren't essential after all. +It would be better though if he were a man of fine presence. If he's big +and genial, as you suggest, he can carry off his deficiencies in +personal pulchritude." + +The Doctor flushed a trifle. "Oh, Bill isn't so plain," he observed +airily. "There's none of your sissy beauty about Bill, I grant you, +but--oh, well"--here the Doctor twirled his mustache complacently. + +"I should think the place for Bill would be on the trolley," sneered the +Bibliomaniac. + +"No, sir," returned the Idiot. "Never. Geniality never goes on the +trolley. In the first place it isn't appreciated by the Management and +in the second place it is a dangerous gift for a motor-man. I had a +friend once--a college graduate of very much Bill's kind--who went on +the trolley as a Conductor at seven dollars a week and, by Jingo, would +you believe it, all his friends waited for his car and of course he +never asked any of 'em for their fare. Gentlemen, he used to say, +welcome to my car. This is on me." + +"Swindled the Company by letting his friends ride free, eh?" said the +Bibliomaniac. + +"Never," said the Idiot. "Pete was honest and he rung 'em up same as +anybody and of course had to settle with the Treasurer at the end of the +trip. On his first month he was nine dollars out. Then he couldn't bring +himself to ask a lady for money, and if a passenger looked like a sport +Pete would offer to match him for his fare--double or quits. Consequence +was he lost money steadily. All the hard luck people used to ride with +him, too, and one night--it was a bitter night in December and everybody +in the car was pretty near frozen--Pete stopped his car in front of the +Fifth Avenue Hotel and invited everybody on board to come in and have a +wee nippy. All except two old ladies and a Chinaman accepted and of +course the reporters got hold of it, told the story in the papers and +Pete was bounced. I don't think the average college graduate is quite +suited by temperament for the trolley service." + +"All of which is intensely interesting," observed the Bibliomaniac, "but +I don't see how it helps to make your University Intelligence Office +Company convincing." + +"It helps in this way," explained the Idiot. "We shall have a Board of +Inspectors made up of men with some knowledge of human nature who will +put these thousands of young graduates through a cross-examination to +find out just what they can do. Few of 'em have the slightest idea of +that and they'll gladly pay for the assistance we propose to give them +when they have discovered that they have taken the first real step +toward securing a useful and profitable occupation. If a Valedictorian +comes into the University Intelligence Office and applies for a job +we'll put him through a third degree examination and if we discover in +him those restful qualities which go to the making of a good plumber, +we'll set about finding him a job in a plumbing establishment. If a +Greek Salutatorian in search of a position has the sweep of arm and +general uplift of manner that indicates a useful career as a +window-washer, we will put him in communication with those who need just +such a person." + +"How about the coldly supercilious young man who knows it all and wishes +to lead a life of elegant leisure, yet must have wages?" asked the +Bibliomaniac. "Our Colleges are turning out many such." + +"He's the easiest proposition in the bunch," replied the Idiot. "If they +were all like that our fortunes would be established in a week." + +"In what way?" persisted the Bibliomaniac. + +"In two ways," replied the Idiot. "Such persons are constantly in demand +as Janitors of cheap apartment houses which are going up with marvelous +rapidity on all sides of us, and as Editors of ten-cent magazines, of +which on the average there are, I believe, five new ones started every +day of the year, including Saturdays, Sundays and legal holidays." + +"I say, Mr. Idiot," said the Doctor later. "That was a bully idea of +yours about the University Intelligence Office. It would be a lot of +help to the thousands of youngsters who are graduated every year--but I +don't think it's practicable just yet. What I wanted to ask you is if +you could help me with Bill?" + +"Certainly I can," said the Idiot. + +"Really?" cried the Doctor. + +"Yes, indeed," said the Idiot. "I can help you a lot." + +"How? What shall I do?" asked the Doctor. + +"Take my advice," whispered the Idiot. "Let Bill alone. He'll find +himself. You can tell that by his answer." + +"Oh!" said the Doctor, lapsing into solemnity. "I thought you could give +me a material suggestion as to what to do with the boy." + +"Ah! You want something specific, eh?" said the Idiot. + +"Yes," said the Doctor. + +"Well--get him a job as a Campaign Speaker. This is a great year for the +stump," said the Idiot. + +"That isn't bad," said the Doctor. "Which side?" + +"Either," said the Idiot. "Or both. Bill has adaptability and, between +you and me, from what I hear on the street _both_ sides are going to win +this year. If they do, Bill's fortune is made." + + + + +THE COUNTRY SCHOOL + +ANONYMOUS + + + Put to the door--the school's begun-- + Stand in your places every one,-- + Attend,---- + + * * * * * + + Read in the Bible,--tell the place,-- + _Job twentieth and the seventeenth varse_-- + Caleb, begin. _And--he--shall--suck_-- + _Sir,--Moses got a pin and stuck_-- + Silence,--stop Caleb--Moses! here! + What's this complaint? _I didn't, Sir_,-- + Hold up your hand,--What, is't a pin? + _O dear, I won't do so again._ + Read on. _The increase of his h-h-horse_-- + Hold: H,O,U,S,E, spells house. + _Sir, what's this word? for I can't tell it._ + Can't you indeed! Why, spell it. _Spell it._ + Begin yourself, I say. _Who, I?_ + Yes, try. Sure you can spell it. _Try._ + Go, take your seats and primers, go, + You sha'n't abuse the Bible so. + + _Will pray Sir Master mend my pen?_ + Say, Master, that's enough.--Here Ben, + Is this your copy? Can't you tell? + Set all your letters parallel. + _I've done my sum--'tis just a groat_-- + Let's see it.--_Master, m' I g' out?_ + Yes, bring some wood in--What's that noise? + _It isn't I, Sir, it's them boys._-- + + Come, Billy, read--What's that? _That's A_-- + _Sir, Jim has snatch'd my rule away_-- + Return it, James.--Here rule with this-- + Billy, read on,--_That's crooked S._ + Read in the spelling-book--Begin-- + _The boys are out_--Then call them in-- + _My nose bleeds, mayn't I get some ice,_ + _And hold it in my breeches?_--Yes. + John, keep your seat. _My sum is more_-- + Then do't again--Divide by four, + By twelve, and twenty--Mind the rule. + Now speak, Manasseh, and spell tool. + _I can't--Well try--T,W,L._ + Not wash'd your hands yet, booby, ha? + You had your orders yesterday. + Give me the ferule, hold your hand. + _Oh! Oh!_ There,--mind my next command. + + The grammar read. Tell where the place is. + _C sounds like K in cat and cases._ + _My book is torn._ The next--_Here not_-- + E final makes it long--say note. + What are the stops and marks, Susannah? + _Small points, Sir._--And how many, Hannah? + _Four, Sir._ How many, George? _You look:_ + _Here's more than fifty in my book._ + How's this? Just come, Sam? _Why, I've been_-- + Who knocks? _I don't know, Sir._ Come in. + "Your most obedient, Sir?" and yours. + Sit down, Sir. Sam, put to the doors. + + What do you bring to tell that's new! + "Nothing that's either strange or true. + What a prodigious school! I'm sure + You've got a hundred here, or more. + A word, Sir, if you please." I will-- + You girls, till I come in be still. + + "Come, we can dance to-night--so you + Dismiss your brain-distracting crew, + And come--for all the girls are there, + We'll have a fiddle and a player." + Well, mind and have the sleigh-bells sent, + I'll soon dismiss my regiment. + + Silence! The second class must read. + As quick as possible--proceed. + Not found your book yet? Stand--be fix'd-- + The next read, stop--the next--the next. + You need not read again, 'tis well. + Come, Tom and Dick, choose sides to spell. + _Will this word do?_ Yes, Tom spell dunce. + Sit still there all you little ones. + _I've got a word_,--Well, name it. _Gizzard._ + You spell it, Sampson--_G_,_I_,_Z_. + Spell conscience, Jack. _K_,_O_,_N_, + _S_,_H_,_U_,_N_,_T_,_S_.--Well done! + Put out the next--_Mine is folks._ + Tim, spell it--_P_,_H_,_O_,_U_,_X_. + O shocking. Have you all tried? _No._ + Say Master, but no matter, go-- + Lay by your books--and you, Josiah, + Help Jed to make the morning fire. + + + + +EVAN ANDERSON'S POKER PARTY + +BY BENJAMIN STEVENSON + + +"Evan Anderson called you up this afternoon," said Mrs. Tom Porter, +laying down the evening paper. "Is his wife still away?" + +"Yes, I think she is. What did he want?" + +"He did not say, but he said for you to call him as soon as you came +home. I forgot to tell you." Mrs. Porter paused and fingered her paper +with embarrassment. "Tom," she began again, "if it is another of those +men parties he has been having since his wife has been away, I wish you +wouldn't go." + +"Why not, dear?" + +"I don't think they are very nice. Don't they drink a good deal?" + +"Some men will drink a good deal any way--any time, but those that don't +want to do not." + +"Tom, do they"--Mrs. Porter's eyes were on the paper in her lap--"do +they play--play poker?" + +"Why what made you ask me that question?" Tom answered with some +embarrassment. + +"Mrs. Bob Miller said her husband told her they did." + +"Nobody but Mrs. Miller would believe all that Bob says." + +"But you know it is wicked to gamble?" + +"Of course it is, to gamble for any amount, but just a little game for +amusement, that's not bad." + +"How much does any one win or lose?" + +"Oh, just a few dollars." + +"That would buy a dinner for several poor families that need it; but the +worst of it is the principle; it is gambling, no matter how little is +lost or won." + +"But, dear, you brought home a ten-dollar plate from a card party the +other afternoon." + +"That is different. One is euchre, the other is poker." + +"I see there is a difference; but wouldn't the plate have bought a few +dinners?" + +"Yes, but if I had not won it some one else would. And it was too late +to spend it for charity. I don't believe it cost ten dollars anyway." + +"You said then it would." + +"But I have looked it over since and do not believe it is genuine. I +should think any one would be _ashamed_ to give an imitation," she added +with something like a flash in her blue eyes. + +"It was a shame," Tom admitted, "a ten-dollar strain for a two-dollar +plate." + +But Mrs. Porter merely raised her eyebrows at this rather mean remark. + +"The Tad-Wallington dance is to-night, isn't it? Do you want to go to +that?" Tom asked. + +"No, I'm not going." + +"If you do," Tom went on, "I will take you and cut out whatever Evan +wants." + +"No, I don't care to," she repeated. "You can go to the other if you +want to. I am not going to say any more on the subject. I do not ask you +to humor my little whims, but I wanted to say what I did before you +telephoned." + +Mrs. Porter looked at her husband with such a wistful, pathetic little +smile that Tom came over and kissed her on the cheek. + +"I'll not _go_," he exclaimed, "if that _is_ what he wants. I'll stay at +home with you." + +"You are too good, Tom. I suspect I am silly, but it seems so wicked. +Now you had better call him up." + +When Tom got upstairs, he placed the receiver to his ear. + +Telephone: ("Number?") + +Tom: "Give me seven-eleven, please." + +("Seven-double-one?") + +"Yes, please." Tom whistled while he waited. + +Telephone: ("Hello.") + +"Is that you, Evan?" + +("Yes. Hello, Tom. Say, Tom, I am going to have a little bunch around +here after a bit to see if we can't make our books balance, and I want +you to come. And say, bring around that forty-five you took away with +you last time. We want it. We are after you. We are going to strip you. +Perhaps you had better bring an extra suit in a case.") + +"I am sorry, old man, but I can't come." + +("Can't what?") + +"Can't come." + +("'Y, you tight wad. You'd better come.") + +"Can't do it, Andy. I'm sorry." + +("Are you going to the Tad-Wallington dance?") + +"No, not that. Mis'es doesn't want to go, but I simply can't come." + +Sarcastically. ("I guess the Mis'es shut down on this, too.") + +"No, I'm tired." + +("Well, maybe we're not tired--of you taking money away from us. And now +when we've all got a hunch that you are going to lose you get cold +feet.") + +"No, I'd like to, but I _just can't_." + +("Well, admit, like a man, it's the Mis'es said no and I'll let you +off.") + +"Are you a mind-reader?" + +("No, but I'm married.") + +"You win." + +("Well, I'm sorry you can't be with us. Christmas will be coming along +bye and bye, and you will need the money.") + +"I expect." + +("Mis'es will want a present, and she ought to let you get a little more +ahead.") + +"That's true." + +("Well, so long. Toast your feet before you go to bed. And you'd better +put a cloth around your neck.") + +"Here, don't rub it in. It hurts me worse than you." + +("All right. I know you are as sorry as we are. I know how it is. My +Mis'es will be at home next week and this will be the last one, so I +wanted you to come. Good-by.") + +"Good-by. Oh, say! Wait a minute. I've got an idea." + +("Good; use it.") + +"Wait now. Wait now, I am thinking." Tom was trying to recall if he had +closed the parlor door when he came upstairs. "Yes, I think I did." + +("Think you did what?") + +"Nothing. I wasn't talking to you. I was thinking. Say, put your ear +close to the telephone. I've got to talk low." + +("Why, I have got the thing right against my ear anyway. What are you +talking about?") + +"Listen. This is the scheme. I'll come if I can," he whispered into the +receiver. "I don't think the Mis'es wants to go to the Tad-Wallington +dance, and I'll work it so that I shall go alone. If I succeed I'll be +with you." + +("What? What's that?") + +"I say," he repeated more distinctly, "if Mrs. P. doesn't want to go to +the dance I'll try to go by myself and shall be with you." + +("You say that you and Mrs. P. are going to the dance.") + +"Oh, you deaf fool! No! I say that if she _doesn't_ go to the dance +maybe I shall--_be_--_with_--_you_." + +("Oh, I understand you. Good. If you are as clever as you are at getting +every one in against a pat full-house you will succeed. Come early. Luck +to you. Good-by.") + +If Tom were right in thinking he had closed the parlor door he was +considerably surprised and flustered to find it ajar when he came down +stairs. But Mrs. Porter was still reading the evening paper and did not +look as if she had been disturbed by the telephoning. There was a slight +flush on her cheeks, however, that he had not noticed before, but that +may have been caused by the noble sacrifice of his own wishes for hers. + +"I am glad, Tom, you told him you could not come," Mrs. Porter said, +looking at him affectionately. "It is so good of you to give up to my +little whims." + +Tom said mentally: "I guess she did not hear it all, at least." + +"I know," she went on, "that I was brought up on a narrow plane, and any +sort of gambling seems wicked." + +"But at first you would not play cards at all, and then you learned +euchre. All games of cards look alike to me." + +"I suppose they do, but euchre is a simple, interesting pastime; whist +is a scientific--a--a--mental--exercise, developing the mind, and so +forth, while poker cheats people out of their money,--at least, they +lose money they ought to use other ways,--or else they win some and then +have ill-gotten gains, which is worse." + +"But poker is a great nerve developer," Tom protested feebly. + +"But it's gambling." + +"Well, how about playing euchre for a prize?" + +"Oh we settled that a while ago," Mrs. Porter exclaimed. "I showed you +the difference between the two, didn't I?" + +"I believe you did. But don't you want to go to the Tad-Wallington +dance?" + +"No." Mrs. Porter said shortly. + +"Did you send cards?" + +"No." + +"You should have done so, shouldn't you?" + +"I suppose so, but I don't care." + +"Why don't you want to go?" + +"I don't like Mrs. Tad-Wallington. She wears her dresses too low." + +"Maybe she does, but I think we should be polite to her." + +"I don't care very much whether we are or not." + +"_I_ think we ought to go. Or else," he added in an afterthought with +the expression of a martyr, "or else _I_ ought to go and take your +regrets." + +"Well, why don't you do that?" Mrs. Porter exclaimed brightly. + +"All right, I will!" he almost shouted. "I'll _do_ it. I think it's the +decent thing to do. I'll get ready right away." + +"Right now? Why, it's entirely too early. It's only half-past seven. You +can stay here until ten, then go for a few minutes and be back by +eleven." + +"No, no, that would not be nice. That's not the way to treat people who +have gone to the expense of giving a dance. Everybody should go early +and stay late." + +"Oh, absurd." + +"No, it's decent. I think I had better go early anyway, and then I can +get back earlier. I don't want to stay up too late." + +"Well, if you insist, go on." + +Tom went upstairs and began dressing hurriedly. He knew he would not +feel safe until he was a square away from the house. If this was to be +the last of these bully, bachelor, poker parties he did not want to miss +it. His wife was the sweetest little woman on earth, and he delighted in +being with her, and humoring her, but then a woman's view of life and +things is often so different that there is a joyous relaxation in a man +party. If he could dress and get away before his wife changed her mind +all would be well. He put his clothes on feverishly, but before he had +half finished he heard her running up the stairs, and his heart sank. +She came with the step that indicated something important on her mind. +He knew as well how she looked as if he could see her coming. She was +humped over slightly, her head was down, both hands grasping her skirts +in front, and her feet fairly glimmering at the speed she was coming. + +She burst into the room. "Tom, I think I will go with you. It is mean of +me to make you go alone." + +"You think what? You can't, it's a men's party. Oh, you--'Y, no, it's +not mean. I don't mind it a bit. I like to go alone--that is, I don't +mind it, and I won't hear to your putting yourself out on my account. +And then you know, Mrs. Tad-Wallington wears her dresses so disgustingly +low." + +"That's it, Tom. That's why I think I ought to go." + +"Oh, pshaw. You know I despise her. I never dance with her. No, I can't +think of letting you go on my account. And I don't want my wife even to +be seen at the party of a woman who wears such dresses as she does. No! +positively, I can't permit it." + +"Well, it's as bad for you to go." + +"But one of us has to go to be decent. It would be rude not to, and we +can not afford to be rude even to the commonest people." + +"I don't want you to go unless I go with you," she said pettishly. + +"But I never dance with her." + +"It is not that so much. I do not want us to recognize her at all." + +"I am not going to even _speak_ to her. I will snub her. I will walk by +her and not see her. I will let her know that my little wife doesn't +belong to her class. I'll show her." + +"But, Tom, wouldn't that be ruder than not going at all?" + +"Oh, no. I don't think so. By going and snubbing her, it shows that you +are conforming to all the _laws_ of politeness without conceding +anything to wanton impropriety. Don't you see?" + +"Hardly." + +"Well, it does. And I have to go for business reasons. I have her +husband's law business, and can't afford to lose it by not going." + +"Wouldn't it make her husband angry for you to snub her?" + +"Oh, no, it would rather please him. He is inclined to be jealous, and +likes the men better who don't have anything to do with her. It would +strengthen our business relations immensely." + +"Maybe you are right," she added with resignation. "You lawyers have +such peculiar arguments that I can't understand them." + +"Yes, I know. Law is the science of reasoning--of getting at the fine, +subtile points which other people can not see." + +"Well, go, if you really think it's best," she said at last. + +Tom tied a black bow around his collar and put on his tuxedo. + +"Oh, Tom, what do you mean? You surely do not intend to wear your tuxedo +and a black tie. I heard you say it was the worst of form at anything +but a men's party." + +"Oh, ah, did I? Well, maybe I did. I had forgotten. I became a little +confused by our long argument. I am always confused after an argument. +Would you believe it, the other day after an argument in court I put on +the judge's overcoat when I came away and did not notice it until I got +to the office? You think I had better wear a long coat and white tie?" + +"Of course. I want you to be the best-dressed man there. I don't want +you to look as if you were at a smoker." + +Tom wheeled toward his wife, but she was digging in a drawer for his +white tie and may not have meant anything. + +"Now don't tell me you have none. Here is one fresh and crisp. You would +not disgrace us by going to a dance dressed that way?" she pleaded. + +"I will do whatever you say, dear," Tom answered, with a trace of +suspicion still in his eye. + +He put on his long coat and the tie, and when he kissed his wife adieu +she patted him affectionately on the cheek. + +"It is good of you to go to this old dance and let me stay at home," she +said, smiling sweetly at him. "Have as good a time as you can and be +sure to see what Mrs. Harris wears." + +When Tom got into the street he drew a long breath of fresh air, and +then lighted a cigarette to quiet his nerves. + +"I've got to go to that party for a few minutes," he said to himself, +"or I may get caught when I come to take my examination to-morrow +morning. I can't possibly make up a whole lot about dresses. And then +some woman may tell Ruth that I was not there. Let's see," he looked at +his watch, "it's nearly nine. Some people will be there. I can look them +over and then take a few notes about the dressing-room as I come away." + +Tom paused but a moment in the dressing-room, where a few oldish men +waited for their fat, rejuvenated wives, and some young stags smoked +cigarettes until the buds could get up to the hall. + +The young Mrs. Tad-Wallington received him with a gracious smile and +inquired for Mrs. Porter. + +"A blinding headache," said Tom. "She was determined to come until the +last minute, but then had to give it up." + +The old Mr. Tad-Wallington took one hand from behind his back to give it +to Tom, and for a moment almost lost that tired, married-to-a-young-woman +look. + +"How a' you, Tom?" he said. "Did you find out anything about that +Barnesville business? Can you levy on Harmon's property?" + +"I haven't looked any further, but I still think you can." + +"Call me up as soon as you find out." + +Tom was pushed away by a large wife with a little husband whom the +hostess was presenting to Mr. Tad-Wallington, and this couple was +followed by an extremely tall man who had apparently become +stoop-shouldered talking to his very small wife. Tom sidled around where +he could see the people as they came, and began making mental notes. + +"Mrs. Tad-Wallington, dressed in a kind of silverish flowered--brocaded, +I guess--stuff, with a bunch of white carnations--no, little roses. +Blond hair done up with a kind of a roach that lops over at one side of +her forehead." "There are our namesakes, the John Porters. Mrs. John has +a banana colored dress with a sort of mosquito netting all over it. +She's got one red rose pinned on in front." "There are the three Long +sisters, one pink, one white, and one blue. Pink and white are fluffy +goods. But Ruth'll not care how girls are dressed. It's the women." +"Here's a queen in black. Who is it? Oh, Lord! I am sorry I saw her +face. It's Mrs. May ----, the Irish washerwoman, as Ruth calls her. And +who's the Cleopatra with the silver snake around her arm, and the silver +do-funnies around her waist? Oh, Bess Smith! I am getting so many +details I'll have 'em all mixed up the first thing I know. Let me see, +who had on the red dress? Ding, I've forgotten. I'd better write them +down." + +He got a card from his pocket and began writing abbreviated descriptions +on it. "Mrs. R. strp. slk." "Mrs. J. J. white; h. of a long train." "Sm. +Small brt. Mrs. Jones, wid." He filled up two cards and then slipped to +the dressing-room and away. + +"Solomon could not beat that trick. I can tell Sweetheart more than she +could have found out herself if she had come. Now for something that's a +little more fun." He chuckled at his cleverness as he stepped on a car +to go the faster to his more fascinating party. + +And he chuckled the following morning as he dressed. + +"They were going to strip me, were they," he said to himself, as he +pulled a small roll of bills from the vest pocket of his dress suit. +"Well, not quite. Let me see. I had nineteen dollars with me. Now I have +five, ten, and ten are twenty, and five are twenty-five, twenty-six, +twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and two are thirty, thirty-one. And some +change. That's not stripping, anyway." + +He laughed again as he pulled two cards from his pocket and saw his +memoranda of dresses. + +"Good thought. I'd better read them over, for the morning paper may +contain some description, and I'd like to make good. 'Mrs. Paton, wht. +slk.' white silk. 'Mrs. Mull, d. t.' d. t.? What does d. t. stand for? +d. t.? I can't think of anything but delirium tremens, but that's not +it. D. t. Dark--dark what? Dark trous--No. Dark tresses? Not that, +either. Dark--trousseau? Hardly that. She's just married, but she didn't +have her whole trousseau on. Dark--? Search me, I don't know. 'Mrs. B.' +Mrs. Brown, 'l. d.' Long dress? Lawn dress? No, lavender dress, I +remember. This cipher is worse than the one in the 'Gold Bug.' I wish I +had written it out." + +Some of the things he could interpret and some he could not, but he +could remember none when he took his eyes away from the card. + +He found his wife waiting for him in the breakfast room, dressed in a +blue tea-gown, and she looked so charming that he could not refrain from +taking two kisses from her red lips. She put her arms around his neck +and took one of them back again. + +"How are you this morning? Did you have a good time at the dance?" + +"Oh, so-so," Tom answered. "I've had better." + +"Breakfast is ready. Now tell me all about it while we eat." + +"Well, it was just like all others. Same people there, dressed about the +same. I was in hopes you would read about it in the morning paper and +let me off. That would give you a better account of it than I can." + +"But I want to hear about it from your point of view. Did anything of +any special importance happen? Whom did you dance with?" + +There was a sharp questioning look in Mrs. Porter's eyes, that Tom, if +he noticed it at all, took in a masculine way to indicate a touch of +jealousy. + +"No, nothing of any note. I danced with about the same people I do +usually. Mrs. DeBruler, I think." + +"You think? That's complimentary to her. How was she dressed?" + +"Oh, ah; (mentally) 'bl. slk.' Blue silk or black silk, which was it? +(Aloud) Blue silk, I think." + +"Blue silk! My, she oughtn't to wear blue. What's that card you have in +your hand, your program?" + +"Yes, I wanted to see whom else I danced with." + +"Oh, let me see," Mrs. Porter exclaimed. + +"Well, it is--that is, I was just looking for my program. I can't find +it. I must have lost it." + +"Oh, that is too bad. I wanted to see it. Did you dance many dances?" + +"No, not many. Just a few people we are under obligations to." + +"How late did you stay?" Mrs. Porter asked, as she passed him his second +cup of coffee. + +"About midnight, I think." + +"Oh, where were you after that? You didn't get home until after one." + +"M'm, my, this coffee's hot! One? Did you say one? The clock must have +been striking half-past eleven." + +"No, I am sure it was after one, because I laid awake for a while and +heard it strike two." + +"May be you are right. I did not look. But lots of people were still +there when I left. Do you like the two-step better than the waltz?" + +"Yes, I do. But that was on Sunday--after twelve o'clock. Weren't you +ashamed to dance on Sunday?" + +"I think I like the waltz better. The waltz is to the two-step what the +minuet is to the jig. Don't you think so now? Young Mrs. Black is a +splendid waltzer. Next to you, she is about the best." + +"Well, I do not care to be compared with her. And I hope you didn't +dance with her. She, divorced and married again, and not twenty-four +yet!" + +"I don't see as much harm in a young woman being divorced as an old +one." + +"I do. They ought to live together long enough to know if their troubles +are real." + +"Hers were." + +"I always thought Mr. Hughes was real nice. Did you find your program?" + +"No, I must have lost it." + +They rose from the breakfast table and went, arm in arm, to the +sitting-room. They divided the morning paper and sat in silence for a +while. Tom went over the first page, read the prospects for war between +Russia and Japan, then the European despatches, and then came to the +page with the city news. He glanced carelessly over it, seeing little to +attract him. By and by his eyes returned to a column that he had passed +because calamities did not interest him, something about an explosion. +When he came to it the second time his eyes fell on one of the +subheadings and it made him catch his breath. He read the headlines from +the top. + +"Great Heavens!" he said to himself, and shot a glance at his wife from +the corners of his eyes. "Lord, I am in for it." + +The heading that he saw was: + + _Terrific Explosion at a Ball._ + _Panic Barely Averted._ + _Mrs. Tad-Wallington's Dance Interrupted._ + _Fire Ensued, but no Great Damage Done._ + _Many of the Women Fainted._ + +He then read the article through to see if there was any loop-hole, but +found that the explosion had occurred, perhaps, before he was five +squares away--about a quarter of ten, in fact. And he had admitted to +his wife that he had stayed there until late at night! + +"She mustn't see this page," he said to himself. "I must get it out of +here and burn it." + +He glanced at his wife again. She was reading her sheet interestedly. He +separated the part that contained the city news and was preparing to +smuggle it from the room under his coat. + +"Here is the account of the dance," she exclaimed, looking up, "and you +need not tell me any more--" + +"The what!" + +"The dance, and I can read all--" + +"Did we get two papers this morning?" Tom stammered, feeling cold about +the heart. + +"No, I have the society sheet, and it tells what everybody wore--Why, +what is the matter with you, Tom? You look sick. You are not sick, are +you, Tom?" she asked, rising and coming over to him. + +"No, no, I am not sick. I am all right. Go on and read the description +of the dresses; that will relieve me more than anything else. I'll not +have to think it all up." + +"Oh, but you look sick." + +"I am not; I am--I never was so well. See how strong I am. I can crush +that piece of paper up into a very small ball with my bare hands. I am +awfully strong." + +"Oh, don't do that. There may be something in it that I want to read." + +"No, there isn't. There's nothing in it. I read it through. I have an +idea. I'll tell you what let's do. Let's burn the paper and I'll tell +you what the women wore. These society notes are written beforehand and +are not authentic. The only way is to have it from an eye-witness. +Let's do it, will you?" + +"No, I would rather read it. Aren't you sick, Tom? What makes your brow +so damp?" + +"It's so hot, it's infernally hot in here." + +"I thought it was rather cold. I saw you shiver a moment ago. Tom, you +_are_ sick. You must have eaten too much salad last night. You know you +can't eat salad." + +"I didn't touch any salad. I only ate a frankfurter and drank a +high-ball--" + +"A frankfurter and a high-ball! Why, what sort of refreshments did they +have?" + +"I didn't mean that. I meant a canary-bird sandwich and a glass of +water." + +"I know what it is then, Tom. You inhaled a lot of the smoke." + +Tom took a long hard look at his wife. "What!" he almost screamed at +last. + +"I say you have inhaled too much smoke. You have been smoking too much." + +"Oh, that. Yes, I expect I have." + +She looked at him with a twinkle in her eye as she sat on the arm of his +chair, holding to the back with her hands. + +"Tom, I'll bet you are a great hero." + +"I'll bet I'm not." + +"I'll bet you are, and are too modest to admit it." + +"Too modest to admit what?" + +"Too modest to admit the heroic things you have done." + +"I never did any." + +"Yes, you did. I know you saved two or three people's lives at the risk +of your own." + +"I haven't any medals." + +"But you must have done something brave, and that's why you didn't tell +me about the explosion." + +Tom did not answer. The machinery of his voice would not turn. The power +ran through his throat like cogwheels out of gear. + +"My dear, sweet, brave, modest husband." + +"I--I'm not all of that." + +"Yes you are. You were the bravest man there. How many fainting women +did you rescue?" + +"Oh, not many. I think only five or six." + +"Did you inhale much of the flame and smoke?" + +"Yes, I think I must have inhaled some, but I did not notice it until +now." + +"Was the smoke very thick?" + +"Awfully thick in places." + +"And you walked right into it?" + +"I had to. There wasn't any way to ride." + +"Ride?" + +"I mean I walked into the smoke. I don't know what I am saying. You must +be right. I am sick." + +"How brave my husband is. How proud I am of him. And not only brave but +skilful. How did you manage to go through the smoke and flame and get no +odor of smoke on your clothes, nor smut the front of your shirt?" + +"I don't know, dear. I did not have time to notice. I was too busy." + +"Ah, my hero! I am proud of you. Did you win or lose?" + +"Did I what?" + +"Did you win or lose?" + +Tom took another look into her innocent blue eyes. + +"Which?" she repeated. + +"Ruth, what have you been doing to me?" + +"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" + +"Don't I look it?" + + + + +A THRENODY + +BY GEORGE THOMAS LANIGAN + + + What, what, what, + What's the news from Swat? + Sad news, + Bad news, + Comes by the cable led + Through the Indian Ocean's bed, + Through the Persian Gulf, the Red + Sea and the Med- + Iterranean--he's dead; + The Ahkoond is dead! + + For the Ahkoond I mourn, + Who wouldn't? + He strove to disregard the message stern, + But he Ahkoodn't. + Dead, dead, dead; + (Sorrow Swats!) + Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, + Swats whom he hath often led + Onward to a gory bed, + Or to victory, + As the case might be, + Sorrow Swats! + Tears shed, + Shed tears like water, + Your great Ahkoond is dead! + That Swats the matter! + Mourn, city of Swat! + Your great Ahkoond is not, + But lain 'mid worms to rot. + His mortal part alone, his soul was caught + (Because he was a good Ahkoond) + Up to the bosom of Mahound. + Though earthy walls his frame surround + (Forever hallowed be the ground!) + And skeptics mock the lowly mound + And say, "He's now of no Ahkoond!" + His soul is in the skies,-- + The azure skies that bend above his loved + Metropolis of Swat. + He sees with larger, other eyes, + Athwart all earthly mysteries-- + He knows what's Swat. + + Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond + With a noise of mourning and of lamentation! + Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond + With the noise of the mourning of the + Swattish nation! + + Fallen is at length + Its tower of strength, + Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned; + Dead lies the great Ahkoond, + The great Ahkoond of Swat + Is not! + + + + +THE CONSCIENTIOUS CURATE AND THE BEAUTEOUS BALLET GIRL + +BY WILLIAM RUSSELL ROSE + + + Young William was a curate good, + Who to himself did say: + "I cawn't denounce the stage as vile + Until I've seen a play." + + He was so con-sci-en-ti-ous + That, when the play he sought, + To grasp its entire wickedness + A front row seat he bought. + +_'Twas in the burlesque, you know, the burlesque of "Prince Prettypate, +or the Fairy Muffin Ring," and when the ballet came on, that good young +curate met his fate. She, too, was in the front row, and--_ + + She danced like this, she danced like that, + Her feet seemed everywhere; + They scarcely touched the floor at all + But twinkled in the air. + + She _entrechat_, her fairy _pas_ + Filled William with delight; + She whirled around, his heart did bound-- + 'Twas true love at first sight. + + He sought her out and married her; + Of course, she left the stage, + And in his daily parish work + With William did engage. + + She helped him in his parish school, + Where ragged urchins go, + And all the places on the map + She'd point out with her toe. + +_And when William gently remonstrated with her, she only said: "William, +when I married you I gave you my hand--my feet are still my own."_ + + She'd point like this, she'd point like that, + The scholars she'd entrance-- + "This, children, is America; + And this, you see, is France. + + "A highland here, an island there, + 'Round which the waters roll; + And this is Pa-ta-go-ni-ah, + And this is the frozen Pole." + + Young William's bishop called one day, + But found the curate out, + And so he told the curate's wife + What he had come about + + "Your merit William oft to me + Most highly doth extol; + I trust, my dear, you always try + To elevate the soul." + +_Then William's wife made the bishop a neat little curtsey, and gently +said: "Oh, yes, your Grace, I always do--in my own peculiar way."_ + + She danced like this, she danced like that, + The bishop looked aghast; + He could not see her mazy skirts, + They switched around so fast. + + She tripped it here, she skipped it there, + The bishop's eyes did roll-- + "God bless me! 'tis a pleasant way + To elevate the sole!" + + + + +THE HOSS + +BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY + + + The hoss he is a splendud beast; + He is man's friend, as heaven desined, + And, search the world from west to east, + No honester you'll ever find! + + Some calls the hoss "a pore dumb brute," + And yit, like Him who died fer you, + I say, as I theyr charge refute, + "'Fergive; they know not what they do!'" + + No wiser animal makes tracks + Upon these earthly shores, and hence + Arose the axium, true as facts, + Extoled by all, as "Good hoss-sense!" + + The hoss is strong, and knows his stren'th,-- + You hitch him up a time er two + And lash him, and he'll go his len'th + And kick the dashboard out fer you! + + But, treat him allus good and kind, + And never strike him with a stick, + Ner aggervate him, and you'll find + He'll never do a hostile trick. + + A hoss whose master tends him right + And worters him with daily care, + Will do your biddin' with delight, + And act as docile as _you_ air. + + He'll paw and prance to hear your praise, + Because he's learn't to love you well; + And, though you can't tell what he says, + He'll nicker all he wants to tell. + + He knows you when you slam the gate + At early dawn, upon your way + Unto the barn, and snorts elate, + To git his corn, er oats, er hay. + + He knows you, as the orphant knows + The folks that loves her like theyr own, + And raises her and "finds" her clothes, + And "schools" her tel a womern-grown! + + I claim no hoss will harm a man, + Ner kick, ner run away, cavort, + Stump-suck, er balk, er "catamaran," + Ef you'll jest treat him as you ort. + + But when I see the beast abused, + And clubbed around as I've saw some, + I want to see his owner noosed, + And jest yanked up like Absolum! + + Of course they's differunce in stock,-- + A hoss that has a little yeer, + And slender build, and shaller hock, + Can beat his shadder, mighty near! + + Whilse one that's thick in neck and chist + And big in leg and full in flank, + That tries to race, I still insist + He'll have to take the second rank. + + And I have jest laid back and laughed, + And rolled and wallered in the grass + At fairs, to see some heavy-draft + Lead out at _first_, yit come in _last_! + + Each hoss has his appinted place,-- + The heavy hoss should plow the soil;-- + The blooded racer, he must race, + And win big wages fer his toil. + + I never bet--ner never wrought + Upon my feller-man to bet-- + And yit, at times, I've often thought + Of my convictions with regret. + + I bless the hoss from hoof to head-- + From head to hoof, and tale to mane!-- + I bless the hoss, as I have said, + From head to hoof, and back again! + + I love my God the first of all, + Then Him that perished on the cross, + And next, my wife,--and then I fall + Down on my knees and love the hoss. + + + + +WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE + +BY S. E. KISER + + + He looked at my tongue and he shook his head-- + This was Doctor Smart-- + He thumped on my chest, and then he said: + "Ah, there it is! Your heart! + You mustn't run--you mustn't hurry! + You mustn't work--you mustn't worry! + Just sit down and take it cool; + You may live for years, I can not say; + But, in the meantime, make it a rule + To take this medicine twice a day!" + + He looked at my tongue, and he shook his head-- + This was Doctor Wise-- + "Your liver's a total wreck," he said, + "You must take more exercise! + You mustn't eat sweets. + You mustn't eat meats, + You must walk and leap, you must also run; + You mustn't sit down in the dull old way; + Get out with the boys and have some fun-- + And take three doses of this a day!" + + He looked at my tongue, and he shook his head-- + This was Doctor Bright-- + "I'm afraid your lungs are gone," he said, + "And your kidney isn't right. + A change of scene is what you need, + Your case is desperate, indeed, + And bread is a thing you mustn't eat-- + Too much starch--but, by the way, + You must henceforth live on only meat-- + And take six doses of this a day!" + + Perhaps they were right, and perhaps they knew, + It isn't for me to say; + Mayhap I erred when I madly threw + Their bitter stuff away; + But I'm living yet and I'm on my feet, + And grass isn't all I dare to eat, + And I walk and I run and I worry, too, + But, to save my life, I can not see + What some of the able doctors would do + If there were no fools like you and me. + + + + +THE BOAT THAT AIN'T[4] + +BY WALLACE IRWIN + + + A stout, fat boat for gailin' + And a long, slim boat for squall; + But there isn't no fun in sailin' + When you haven't no boat at all. + + For what is the use o' calkin' + A tub with a mustard pot-- + And what is the use o' talkin' + Of a boat that you haven't got? + +FOOTNOTES: + +[4] From "Nautical Lays of a Landsman," by Wallace Irwin. Copyright, +1904, by Dodd, Mead & Co. + + + + +HOW JIMABOY FOUND HIMSELF + +BY FRANCIS LYNDE + + +When Jimaboy began to live by his wits--otherwise, when he set up author +and proposed to write for bread and meat--it was a time when the public +appetite demanded names and _naivete_. And since Jimaboy was fresh +enough to satisfy both of these requirements, the editors looked with +favor upon him, and his income, for a little while, exceeded the modest +figure of the railroad clerkship upon which he had ventured to ask +Isobel to marry him. + +But afterward there came a time of dearth; a period in which the new +name was no longer a thing to conjure with, and artlessness was a drug +on the market. Cleverness was the name of the new requirement, and +Jimaboy's gift was glaringly sentimental. When you open your magazine at +"The Contusions of Peggy, by James Augustus Jimaboy," you are justly +indignant when you find melodrama and predetermined pathos instead of +the clever clowneries which the sheer absurdity of the author's +signature predicts. + +"Item," said Jimaboy, jotting it down in his notebook while Isobel hung +over the back of his chair: "It's a perilous thing to make people cry +when they are out for amusement. Did the postman remember us this +morning?" + +Isobel nodded mournfully. + +"And the crop?" said Jimaboy. + +"Three manuscripts; two from New York and one from Boston." + + "'So flee the works of men + Back to the earth again,'" + +quoted the sentimentalist, smiling from the teeth outward. "Is that +all?" + +"All you would care about. There were some fussy old bills." + +"Whose, for instance?" + +"Oh, the grocer's and the coal man's and the butcher's and the water +company's, and some other little ones." + +"'Some other little ones'," mused Jimaboy. "There's pathos for you. If I +could ever get that into a story, with your intonation, it would be +cheap at fifteen cents the word. We're up against it, Bella, dear." + +"Well?" she said, with an arm around his neck. + +"It isn't well; it's confoundedly ill. It begins to look as if it were +'back to the farm' for us." + +She came around to sit on the arm of the chair. + +"To the railroad office? Never! Jimmy, love. You are too good for that." + +"Am I? That remains to be proved. And just at present the evidence is +accumulating by the ream on the other side--reams of rejected MS." + +"You haven't found yourself yet; that is all." + +He forced a smile. "Let's offer a reward. 'Lost: the key to James and +Isobel Jimaboy's success in life. Finder will be suitably recompensed on +returning same to 506 Hayward Avenue, Cleland, Ohio.'" + +She leaned over and planted a soft little kiss on the exact spot on his +forehead where it would do the most good. + +"I could take the city examination and teach, if you'd let me, Jimmy." + +He shook his head definitely. That was ground which had been gone over +before. + +"Teach little babies their a b c's? I'm afraid that isn't your +specialty, heart of mine. Now if you could teach other women the art of +making a man believe that he has cornered the entire visible supply of +ecstatic thrills in marrying the woman of his choice--by Jove, now! +there's an idea!" + +Now Jimaboy had no idea in particular; he never had an idea that he did +not immediately coin it into words and try to sell it. But Isobel's eyes +were suspiciously bright, and the situation had to be saved. + +"I was just thinking: the thing to do successfully is the--er--the thing +you do best, isn't it?" + +She laughed, in spite of the unpaid bills. + +"Why can't you put clever things like that into your stories, Jimmy, +dear?" + +"As if I didn't!" he retorted. "But don't step on my idea and squash it +while it's in the soft-shell-crab stage. As I said, I was thinking: +there is just one thing we can give the world odds on and beat it out of +sight. And that thing is our long suit--our specialty." + +"But you said you had an idea," said Isobel, whose private specialty was +singleness of purpose. + +"Oh--yes," said Jimaboy. Then he smote hard upon the anvil and forged +one on the spur of the moment. "Suppose we call it The Post-Graduate +School of W. B., Professor James Augustus Jimaboy, principal; Mrs. +Isobel Jimaboy, assistant principal. How would that sound?" + +"It would sound like the steam siren on the planing mill. But what is +the 'W. B.'?" + +"'Wedded Bliss,' of course. Here is the way it figures out. We've been +married three years, and--" + +"Three years, five months and fourteen days," she corrected. + +"Excellent! That accuracy of yours would be worth a fortune on the +faculty. But let me finish--during these three years, five months and +fourteen days we have fought, bled and died on the literary +battle-field; dined on bath-mitts and _cafe hydraulique_, walked past +the opera-house entrance when our favorite play was on, and all that. +But tell me, throb of my heart, have we ever gone shy on bliss?" + +She met him half-way. It was the spirit in which they had faced the bill +collector since the beginning of the period of leanness. + +"Never, Jimmy, dear; not even hardly ever." + +"There you are, then. Remains only for us to tell others how to do it; +to found the Post-Graduate School of W. B. It's the one thing needful in +a world of educational advantage; a world in which everything but the +gentle art of being happy, though married, is taught by the postman. We +have solved all the other problems, but there has been no renaissance in +the art of matrimony. Think of the ten thousand divorces granted in a +single state last year! My dear Isobel, we mustn't lose a day--an +hour--a minute!" + +She pretended to take him seriously. + +"I don't know why we shouldn't do it, I'm sure," she mused. "They teach +everything by mail nowadays. But who is going to die and leave us the +endowment to start with?" + +"That's the artistic beauty of the mail scheme," said Jimaboy, +enthusiastically. "It doesn't require capitalizing; no buildings, no +campus, no football team, no expensive university plant; nothing but an +inspiration, a serviceable typewriter, and a little old postman to blow +his whistle at the door." + +"And the specialty," added Isobel, "though some of them don't seem to +trouble themselves much about that. Oh, yes; and the advertising; that +is where the endowment comes in, isn't it?" + +But Jimaboy would not admit the obstacle. + +"That is one of the things that grow by what they are fed upon: your ad. +brings in the money, and then the money buys more ad. Now, there's +Blicker, of the _Woman's Uplift_; he still owes us for that last +story--we take it out in advertising space. Also Dormus, of the _Home +World_, and Amory, of the _Storylovers_--same boat--more advertising +space. Then the _Times_ hasn't paid for that string of space-fillers on +'The Lovers of All Nations.' The _Times_ has a job office, and we could +take that out in prospectuses and application blanks." + +By this time the situation was entirely saved and Isobel's eyes were +dancing. + +"Wouldn't it be glorious?" she murmured. "Think of the precious, +precious letters we'd get; real letters like some of those pretended +ones in Mr. Blicker's correspondence column. And we wouldn't tell them +what the 'W. B.' meant until after they'd finished the course, and then +we'd send them the degree of 'Master of Wedded Bliss,' and write it out +in the diploma." + +Jimaboy sat back in his chair and laughed uproariously. The most +confirmed sentimentalist may have a saving sense of humor. Indeed, it is +likely to go hard with him in the experimental years, if he has it not. + +"It's perfectly feasible--perfectly," he chuckled. "It would be merely +pounding sand into the traditional rat-hole with all the implements +furnished--teaching our specialty to a world yearning to know how. You +could get up the lectures and question schedules for the men, and I +could make some sort of a shift with the women." + +"Yes; but the text-books. Don't these 'Fit-yourself-at-Home' schools +have text-books?" + +"Um, y-yes; I suppose they do. That would be a little difficult for +us--just at the go-off. But we could get around that. For example, 'Dear +Mrs. Blank: Replying to your application for membership in the +Post-Graduate School of W. B., would say that your case is so +peculiar'--that would flatter her immensely--'your case is so peculiar +that the ordinary text-books cover it very inadequately. Therefore, with +your approval, and for a small additional tuition fee of $2 the term, we +shall place you in a special class to be instructed by electrographed +lectures dictated personally by the principal.'" + +Isobel clapped her hands. "Jimmy, love, you are simply great, when you +are not trying to be. And, after a while, we could print the lectures +and have our own text-books copyrighted. But don't you think we ought to +take in the young people, as well?--have a--a collegiate department for +beginners?" + +"'Sh!" said Jimaboy, and he got up and closed the door with ostentatious +caution. "Suppose somebody--Lantermann, for instance--should hear you +say such things as that: 'take in the young people'! Shades of the +Rosicrucians! we wouldn't 'take in' anybody. The very life of these mail +things is the unshaken confidence of the people. But, as you suggest, we +really ought to include the frying size." + +It was delicious fooling, and Isobel found a sketch-block and dipped her +pen. + +"You do the letter-press for the 'collegiate' ad., and I'll make a +picture for it," she said. "Hurry, or I'll beat you." + +Jimaboy laughed and squared himself at the desk, and the race began. +Isobel had a small gift and a large ambition: the gift was a +cartoonist's facility in line drawing, and the ambition was to be able, +in the dim and distant future, to illustrate Jimaboy's stories. +Lantermann, the _Times_ artist, whose rooms were just across the hall, +had given her a few lessons in caricature and some little gruff, +Teutonic encouragement. + +"Time!" she called, tossing the sketch-block over to Jimaboy. It was a +happy thought. On a modern davenport sat two young people, far apart; +the youth twiddling his thumbs in an ecstasy of embarrassment; the +maiden making rabbit's ears with her handkerchief. Jimaboy's note of +appreciation was a guffaw. + +"I couldn't rise to the expression on those faces in a hundred years!" +he lamented. "Hear me creak:" + + DON'T MARRY + +until you have taken the Preparatory Course in the Post-Graduate School +of W. B. Home-Study in the Science of Successful Heart-Throbs. Why earn +only ten kisses a week when one hour a day will qualify you for the +highest positions? Our Collegiate Department confers degree of B. B.; +Post-Graduate Department that of M. W. B. Members of Faculty all +certificated Post-Graduates. + +A postal card brings Prospectus and application blank. + +Address: The Post-Graduate School of W. B., 506 Hayward Avenue, Cleland, +Ohio. + +Isobel applauded loyally. "Why, that doesn't creak a little bit! Try it +again; for the unhappy T. M.'s, this time. Ready? Play!" + +Her picture was done while Jimaboy was still nibbling his pen and +scowling over the scratch-pad. It was a drawing-room interior, with the +wife in tears and the husband struggling into his overcoat. To them, +running, an animated United States mail-bag, extending a huge envelope +marked: "From the Post-Graduate School of W. B." + +Jimaboy scratched out and rewrote, with the pen-drawing for an +inspiration: + + HEARTS DIVIDED + BECOME + HEARTS UNITED + +when you have taken a Correspondence Course in Wedded Bliss. A +Scholarship in the Post-Graduate School of W. B. is the most acceptable +wedding gift or Christmas present for your friends. Curriculum includes +Matrimony as a Fine Art, Post-Marriage Courtship, Elementary and +Advanced Studies in Conjugal Harmony, Easy Lessons in the Gentle Craft +of Eating Her Experimental Bread, Practical Analysis of the Club-Habit, +with special course for wives in the Abstract Science of Honeyfugling +Parsimonious Husbands. Diploma qualifies for highest positions. Our Gold +Medalists are never idle. + +The Post-Graduate School of W. B., 506 Hayward Avenue, Cleland, Ohio. + +N. B.--Graphophone, with Model Conversations for Married Lovers, +furnished free with lectures on Post-Marriage Courtship. + +They pinned the pictures each to its "copy" and had their laugh over the +conceit. + +"Blest if I don't believe we could actually fake the thing through if we +should try," said Jimaboy. "There are plenty of people in this world who +would take it seriously." + +"I don't doubt it," was Isobel's reply. "People are so ready to be +gold-bricked--especially by mail. But it's twelve o'clock! Shall I +light the stove for luncheon?--or can we stand Giuseppe's?" + +Jimaboy consulted the purse. + +"I guess we can afford stuffed macaroni, this one time more," he +rejoined. "Let's go now, while we can get one of the side tables and be +exclusive." + +They had barely turned the corner in the corridor when Lantermann's door +opened and the cartoonist sallied out, also luncheon-stirred. He was a +big German, with fierce military mustaches and a droop in his left eye +that had earned him the nickname of "Bismarck" on the _Times_ force. He +tapped at the Jimaboy door in passing, growling to himself in broken +English. + +"I like not dis light housegeeping for dese babies mit der wood. Dey +starf von day und eat nottings der next. I choost take dem oud once und +gif dem sauerkraut und wiener." + +When there was no answer to his rap he pushed the door open and entered, +being altogether on a brotherly footing with his fellow-lodgers. The +pen-drawings with their pendant squibs were lying on Jimaboy's desk; and +when Lantermann comprehended he sat down in Jimaboy's chair and dwelt +upon them. + +"_Himmel!_" he gurgled; "dot's some of de liddle voman's fooling. Goot, +_sehr_ goot! I mus' show dot to Hasbrouck." And when he went out, the +copy for the two advertisements was in his pocket. + +Jimaboy got a check from the _Storylovers_ that afternoon, and in the +hilarity consequent upon such sudden and unexpected prosperity the +Post-Graduate School of W. B. was forgotten. But not permanently. Late +in the evening, when Jimaboy was filing and scraping laboriously on +another story,--he always worked hardest on the heels of a +check,--Isobel thought of the pen-drawings and looked in vain for them. + +"What did you do with the W. B. jokes, Jimmy?" she asked. + +"I didn't do anything with them. Don't tell me they're lost!"--in mock +concern. + +"They seem to be; I can't find them anywhere." + +"Oh, they'll turn up again all right," said Jimaboy; and he went on with +his polishing. + +They did turn up, most surprisingly. Three days later, Isobel was +glancing through the thirty-odd pages of the swollen _Sunday Times_, and +she gave a little shriek. + +"Horrors!" she cried; "the _Times_ has printed those ridiculous jokes of +ours, _and run them as advertisements_!" + +"What!" shouted Jimaboy. + +"It's so; see here!" + +It was so, indeed. On the "Wit and Humor" page, which was half reading +matter and half advertising, the Post-Graduate School of W. B. figured +as large as life, with very fair reproductions of Isobel's drawings +heading the displays. + +"Heavens!" ejaculated Jimaboy; and then his first thought was the +jealous author's. "Isn't it the luckiest thing ever that the spirit +didn't move me to sign those things?" + +"You might as well have signed them," said Isobel. "You've given our +street and number." + +"My kingdom!" groaned Jimaboy. "Here--you lock the door behind me, while +I go hunt Hasbrouck. It's a duel with siege guns at ten paces, or a suit +for damages with him." + +He was back again in something under the hour, and his face was haggard. + +"We are lost!" he announced tragically. "There is nothing for it now but +to run." + +"How ever did it happen?" queried Isobel. + +"Oh, just as simply and easily as rolling off a log--as such things +always happen. Lantermann saw the things on the desk, and your sketches +caught him. He took 'em down to show to Hasbrouck, and Hasbrouck, +meaning to do us a good turn, marked the skits up for the 'Wit and +Humor' page. The intelligent make-up foreman did the rest: says of +course he took 'em for ads. and run 'em as ads." + +"But what does Mr. Hasbrouck say?" + +"He gave me the horse laugh; said he would see to it that the +advertising department didn't send me a bill. When I began to pull off +my coat he took it all back and said he was all kinds of sorry and would +have the mistake explained in to-morrow's paper. But you know how that +goes. Out of the hundred and fifty thousand people who will read those +miserable squibs to-day, not five thousand will see the explanation +to-morrow. Oh, we've got to run, I tell you; skip, fly, vanish into thin +air!" + +But sober second thought came after a while to relieve the panic +pressure. 506 Hayward Avenue was a small apartment-house, with a dozen +or more tenants, lodgers, or light housekeepers, like the Jimaboys. All +they would have to do would be to breathe softly and make no mention of +the Post-Graduate School of W. B. Then the other tenants would never +know, and the postman would never know. Of course, the non-delivery of +the mail might bring troublesome inquiry upon the _Times_ advertising +department, but, as Jimaboy remarked maliciously, that was none of their +funeral. + +Accordingly, they breathed softly for a continuous week, and carefully +avoided personal collisions with the postman. But temporary barricades +are poor defenses at the best. One day as they were stealthily scurrying +out to luncheon--they had acquired the stealthy habit to perfection by +this time--they ran plump into the laden mail carrier in the lower hall. + +"Hello!" said he; "you are just the people I've been looking for. I have +a lot of letters and postal cards for The Post-Graduate School of +something or other, 506 Hayward. Do you know anything about it?" + +They exchanged glances. Isobel's said, "Are you going to make _me_ tell +the fib?" and Jimaboy's said, "Help!" + +"I--er--I guess maybe they belong to us"--it was the man who weakened. +"At least, it was our advertisement that brought them. Much obliged, I'm +sure." And a breathless minute later they were back in their rooms with +the fateful and fearfully bulky packet on the desk between them and such +purely physical and routine things as luncheon quite forgotten. + +"James Augustus Jimaboy! What have you done?" demanded the accusing +angel. + +"Well, somebody had to say something, and you wouldn't say it," retorted +Jimaboy. + +"Jimmy, did you want me to lie?" + +"That's what you wanted me to do, wasn't it? But perhaps you think that +one lie, more or less, wouldn't cut any figure in my case." + +"Jimmy, dear, don't be horrid. You know perfectly well that your +curiosity to see what is in those letters was too much for you." + +Jimaboy walked to the window and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. +It was their first quarrel, and being unfamiliar with the weapons of +that warfare, he did not know which one to draw next. And the one he did +draw was a tin dagger, crumpling under the blow. + +"It has been my impression all along that curiosity was a feminine +weakness," he observed to the windowpanes. + +"James Jimaboy! You know better than that! You've Said a dozen times in +your stories that it was just the other way about--you know you have. +And, besides, I didn't let the cat out of the bag." + +Here was where Jimaboy's sense of humor came in. He turned on her +quickly. She was the picture of righteous indignation trembling to +tears. Whereupon he took her in his arms, laughing over her as she might +have wept over him. + +"Isn't this rich!" he gasped. "We--we built this thing on our specialty, +and here we are qualifying like cats and dogs for our great mission to a +quarrelsome world. Listen, Bella, dear, and I'll tell you why I +weakened. It wasn't curiosity, or just plain, every-day scare. There is +sure to be money in some of these letters, and it must be returned. +Also, the other people must be told that it was only a joke." + +"B-but we've broken our record and qu-quarreled!" she sobbed. + +"Never mind," he comforted; "maybe that was necessary, too. Now we can +add another course to the curriculum and call it the Exquisite Art of +Making Up. Let's get to work on these things and see what we are in +for." + +They settled down to it in grim determination, cutting out the down-town +luncheon and munching crackers and cheese while they opened and read and +wrote and returned money and explained and re-explained in deadly and +wearisome repetition. + +"My land!" said Jimaboy, stretching his arms over his head, when Isobel +got up to light the lamps, "isn't the credulity of the race a beautiful +thing to contemplate? Let's hope this furore will die down as suddenly +as it jumped up. If it doesn't, I'm going to make Hasbrouck furnish us a +stenographer and pay the postage." + +But it did not die down. For a solid fortnight they did little else than +write letters and postal cards to anxious applicants, and by the end of +the two weeks Jimaboy was starting up in his bed of nights to rave out +the threadbare formula of explanation: "Dear Madam: The ad. you saw in +the _Sunday Times_ was not an ad.; it was a joke. There is no +Post-Graduate School of W. B. in all the world. Please don't waste your +time and ours by writing any more letters." + +The first rift in the cloud was due to the good offices of Hasbrouck. He +saw matter of public interest in the swollen jest and threw the columns +of the _Sunday Times_ open to Jimaboy. Under the racking pressure, the +sentimentalist fired volley upon volley of scathing ridicule into the +massed ranks of anxious inquirers, and finally came to answering some of +the choicest of the letters in print. + +"Good!" said Hasbrouck, when the "Jimaboy Column" in the Sunday paper +began to be commented on and quoted; and he made Jimaboy an offer that +seemed like sudden affluence. + +But the crowning triumph came still later, in a letter from the editor +of one of the great magazines. Jimaboy got it at the _Times_ office, and +some premonition of its contents made him keep it until Isobel could +share it. + +"We have been watching your career with interest," wrote the great man, +"and we are now casting about for some one to take charge of a humorous +department to be called 'Bathos and Pathos,' which we shall, in the near +future, add to the magazine. May we see more of your work, as well as +some of Mrs. Jimaboy's sketches? + +"O Jimmy, dear, you found yourself at last!" + +But his smile was a grin. "No," said he; "we've just got our diplomas +from the Post-Graduate School of W. B.--that's all." + + + + +A RULE OF THREE + +BY WALLACE RICE + + + There is a rule to drink, I think, + A rule of three + That you'll agree + With me + Can not be beat + And tends our lives to sweeten: + _Drink ere you eat_, + _And while you eat_, + _And after you have eaten_! + + + + +HOW THE MONEY GOES + +BY JOHN G. SAXE + + + How goes the Money?--Well, + I'm sure it isn't hard to tell; + It goes for rent, and water-rates, + For bread and butter, coal and grates, + Hats, caps, and carpets, hoops and hose,-- + And that's the way the Money goes! + + How goes the Money?--Nay, + Don't everybody know the way? + It goes for bonnets, coats and capes, + Silks, satins, muslins, velvets, crapes, + Shawls, ribbons, furs, and furbelows,-- + And that's the way the Money goes! + + How goes the Money?--Sure, + I wish the ways were something fewer; + It goes for wages, taxes, debts; + It goes for presents, goes for bets, + For paint, _pommade_, and _eau de rose_,-- + And that's the way the Money goes! + + How goes the Money?--Now, + I've scarce begun to mention how; + It goes for laces, feathers, rings, + Toys, dolls--and other baby-things, + Whips, whistles, candies, bells and bows,-- + And that's the way the Money goes! + + How goes the Money?--Come, + I know it doesn't go for rum; + It goes for schools and sabbath chimes, + It goes for charity--sometimes; + For missions, and such things as those,-- + And that's the way the Money goes! + + How goes the Money?--There! + I'm out of patience, I declare; + It goes for plays, and diamond pins, + For public alms, and private sins, + For hollow shams, and silly shows,-- + And that's the way the Money goes! + + + + +A CAVALIER'S VALENTINE + +(1644) + +BY CLINTON SCOLLARD + + + The sky was like a mountain mere, + The lilac buds were brown, + What time a war-worn cavalier + Rode into Taunton-town. + He sighed and shook his head forlorn; + "A sorry lot is mine," + He said, "who have this merry morn + Pale Want for Valentine." + + His eyes, like heather-bells at dawn, + Were blue and brave and bold; + Against his cheeks, now wan and drawn, + His love-locks tossed their gold. + And as he rode, beyond a wall + With ivy overrun, + His glance upon a maid did fall, + A-sewing in the sun. + + As sweet was she as wilding thyme, + A boon, a bliss, a grace: + It made the heart blood beat in rhyme + To look upon her face. + He bowed him low in courtesy, + To her deep marvelling; + "Fair Mistress Puritan," said he, + "It is forward spring." + + As when the sea-shell flush of morn + Throws night in rose eclipse, + So sunshine smiles, that instant born, + Brought brightness to her lips; + Her voice was modest, yet, forsooth, + It had a roguish ring; + "_You_, sir, of all should know that truth-- + It _is_ a forward spring!" + + + + +A GREAT CELEBRATOR + +BY BILL NYE + + +Being at large in Virginia, along in the latter part of last season, I +visited Monticello, the former home of Thomas Jefferson, also his grave. +Monticello is about an hour's ride from Charlottesville, by diligence. +One rides over a road constructed of rip-raps and broken stone. It is +called a macadamized road, and twenty miles of it will make the pelvis +of a long-waisted man chafe against his ears. I have decided that the +site for my grave shall be at the end of a trunk line somewhere, and I +will endow a droska to carry passengers to and from said grave. + +Whatever my life may have been, and however short I may have fallen in +my great struggle for a generous recognition by the American people, I +propose to place my grave within reach of all. + +Monticello is reached by a circuitous route to the top of a beautiful +hill, on the crest of which rests the brick house where Mr. Jefferson +lived. You enter a lodge gate in charge of a venerable negro, to whom +you pay two bits apiece for admission. This sum goes toward repairing +the roads, according to the ticket which you get. It just goes toward +it, however; it don't quite get there, I judge, for the roads are still +appealing for aid. Perhaps the negro can tell how far it gets. Up +through a neglected thicket of Virginia shrubs and ill-kempt trees you +drive to the house. It is a house that would readily command $750, with +queer porches to it, and large, airy windows. The top of the whole hill +was graded level, or terraced, and an enormous quantity of work must +have been required to do it, but Jefferson did not care. He did not care +for fatigue. With two hundred slaves of his own, and a dowry of three +hundred more which was poured into his coffers by his marriage, Jeff did +not care how much toil it took to polish off the top of a bluff or how +much the sweat stood out on the brow of a hill. + +Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence. He sent it to one of +the magazines, but it was returned as not available, so he used it in +Congress and afterward got it printed in the _Record_. + +I saw the chair he wrote it in. It is a plain, old-fashioned wooden +chair, with a kind of bosom-board on the right arm, upon which Jefferson +used to rest his Declaration of Independence whenever he wanted to write +it. + +There is also an old gig stored in the house. In this gig Jefferson used +to ride from Monticello to Washington in a day. This is untrue, but it +goes with the place. It takes from 8:30 A. M. until noon to ride this +distance on a fast train, and in a much more direct line than the old +wagon road ran. + +Mr. Jefferson was the father of the University of Virginia, one of the +most historic piles I have ever clapped eyes on. It is now under the +management of a classical janitor, who has a tinge of negro blood in his +veins, mixed with the rich Castilian blood of somebody else. + +He has been at the head of the University of Virginia for over forty +years, bringing in the coals and exercising a general oversight over the +curriculum and other furniture. He is a modest man, with a tendency +toward the classical in his researches. He took us up on the roof, +showed us the outlying country, and jarred our ear-drums with the big +bell. Mr. Estes, who has general charge of Monticello--called +Montechello--said that Mr. Jefferson used to sit on his front porch +with a powerful glass, and watch the progress of the work on the +University, and if the workmen undertook to smuggle in a soft brick, Mr. +Jefferson, five or six miles away, detected it, and bounding lightly +into his saddle, he rode down there to Charlottesville, and clubbed the +bricklayers until they were glad to pull down the wall to that brick and +take it out again. + +This story is what made me speak of that section a few minutes ago as an +outlying country. + +The other day Charles L. Seigel told us the Confederate version of an +attack on Fort Moultrie during the early days of the war, which has +never been printed. Mr. Seigel was a German Confederate, and early in +the fight was quartered, in company with others, at the Moultrie House, +a seaside hotel, the guests having deserted the building. + +Although large soft beds with curled hair mattresses were in each room, +the department issued ticks or sacks to be filled with straw for the use +of the soldiers, so that they would not forget that war was a serious +matter. Nobody used them, but they were there all the same. + +Attached to the Moultrie House, and wandering about the back-yard, there +was a small orphan jackass, a sorrowful little light-blue mammal, with a +tinge of bitter melancholy in his voice. He used to dwell on the past a +good deal, and at night he would refer to it in tones that were choked +with emotion. + +The boys caught him one evening as the gloaming began to arrange itself, +and threw him down on the green grass. They next pulled a straw bed over +his head, and inserted him in it completely, cutting holes for his legs. +Then they tied a string of sleigh-bells to his tail, and hit him a +smart, stinging blow with a black snake. + +Probably that was what suggested to him the idea of strolling down the +beach, past the sentry, and on toward the fort. The darkness of the +night, the rattle of hoofs, the clash of the bells, the quick challenge +of the guard, the failure to give the countersign, the sharp volley of +the sentinels, and the wild cry, "to arms," followed in rapid +succession. The tocsin sounded, also the slogan. The culverin, ukase, +and door-tender were all fired. Huge beacons of fat pine were lighted +along the beach. The whole slumbering host sprang to arms, and the crack +of the musket was heard through the intense darkness. + +In the morning the enemy was found intrenched in a mud-hole, south of +the fort, with his clean new straw tick spattered with clay, and a +wildly disheveled tail. + +On board the Richmond train not long ago a man lost his hat as we pulled +out of Petersburg, and it fell by the side of the track. The train was +just moving slowly away from the station, so he had a chance to jump off +and run back after it. He got the hat, but not till we had placed seven +or eight miles between us and him. We could not help feeling sorry for +him, because very likely his hat had an embroidered hat band in it, +presented by one dearer to him than life itself, and so we worked up +quite a feeling for him, though of course he was very foolish to lose +his train just for a hat, even if it did have the needle-work of his +heart's idol in it. + +Later I was surprised to see the same man in Columbia, South Carolina, +and he then told me this sad story: + +"I started out a month ago to take a little trip of a few weeks, and the +first day was very, very happily spent in scrutinizing nature and +scanning the faces of those I saw. On the second day out, I ran across a +young man whom I had known slightly before, and who is engaged in the +business of being a companionable fellow and the life of the party. +That is about all the business he has. He knows a great many people, and +his circle of acquaintances is getting larger all the time. He is proud +of the enormous quantity of friendship he has acquired. He says he can't +get on a train or visit any town in the Union that he doesn't find a +friend. + +"He is full of stories and witticisms, and explains the plays to theater +parties. He has seen a great deal of life and is a keen critic. He would +have enjoyed criticizing the Apostle Paul and his elocutionary style if +he had been one of the Ephesians. He would have criticized Paul's +gestures, and said, 'Paul, I like your Epistles a heap better than I do +your appearance on the platform. You express yourself well enough with +your pen, but when you spoke for the Ephesian Y. M. C. A., we were +disappointed in you and we lost money on you.' + +"Well, he joined me, and finding out where I was going, he decided to go +also. He went along to explain things to me, and talk to me when I +wanted to sleep or read the newspaper. He introduced me to large numbers +of people whom I did not want to meet, took me to see things I didn't +want to see, read things to me that I didn't want to hear, and +introduced to me people who didn't want to meet me. He multiplied misery +by throwing uncongenial people together and then said: 'Wasn't it lucky +that I could go along with you and make it pleasant for you?' + +"Everywhere he met more new people with whom he had an acquaintance. He +shook hands with them, and called them by their first names, and felt in +their pockets for cigars. He was just bubbling over with mirth, and +laughed all the time, being so offensively joyous, in fact, that when he +went into a car, he attracted general attention, which suited him +first-rate. He regarded himself as a universal favorite and all-around +sunbeam. + +"When we got to Washington, he took me up to see the President. He knew +the President well--claimed to know lots of things about the President +that made him more or less feared by the administration. He was +acquainted with a thousand little vices of all our public men, which +virtually placed them in his power. He knew how the President conducted +himself at home, and was 'on to everything' in public life. + +"Well, he shook hands with the President, and introduced me. I could see +that the President was thinking about something else, though, and so I +came away without really feeling that I knew him very well. + +"Then we visited the departments, and I can see now that I hurt myself +by being towed around by this man. He was so free, and so joyous, and so +bubbling, that wherever we went I could hear the key grate in the lock +after we passed out of the door. + +"He started south with me. He was going to show me all the +battle-fields, and introduce me into society. I bought some strychnine +in Washington, and put it in his buckwheat cakes; but they got cold, and +he sent them back. I did not know what to do, and was almost wild, for I +was traveling entirely for pleasure, and not especially for his pleasure +either. + +"At Petersburg I was told that the train going the other way would meet +us. As we started out, I dropped my hat from the window while looking at +something. It was a desperate move, but I did it. Then I jumped off the +train, and went back after it. As soon as I got around the curve I ran +for Petersburg, where I took the other train. I presume you all felt +sorry for me, but if you'd seen me fold myself in a long, passionate +embrace after I had climbed on the other train, you would have changed +your minds." + +He then passed gently from my sight. + + + + +THE OLD-FASHIONED CHOIR + +BY BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR + + + I have fancied, sometimes, the Bethel-bent beam + That trembled to earth in the patriarch's dream, + Was a ladder of song in that wilderness rest, + From the pillow of stone to the blue of the Blest, + And the angels descended to dwell with us here, + "Old Hundred," and "Corinth," and "China," and "Mear." + All the hearts are not dead, not under the sod, + That those breaths can blow open to Heaven and God! + Ah! "Silver Street" leads by a bright, golden road-- + O! not to the hymns that in harmony flowed-- + But to those sweet human psalms in the old-fashioned choir, + To the girls that sang alto, the girls that sang air! + + "Let us sing to God's praise," the minister said, + All the psalm-books at once fluttered open at "York," + Sunned their long dotted wings in the words that he read, + While the leader leaped into the tune just ahead, + And politely picked out the key note with a fork, + And the vicious old viol went growling along + At the heels of the girls in the rear of the song. + + I need not a wing--bid no genii come, + With a wonderful web from Arabian loom, + To bear me again up the River of Time, + When the world was in rhythm, and life was its rhyme; + Where the streams of the year flowed so noiseless and narrow, + That across them there floated the song of a sparrow; + For a sprig of green caraway carries me there, + To the old village church and the old village choir, + When clear of the floor my feet slowly swung, + And timed the sweet praise of the songs as they sung, + Till the glory aslant of the afternoon sun + Seemed the rafters of gold in God's temple begun! + + You may smile at the nasals of old Deacon Brown, + Who followed by scent till he ran the tune down; + And the dear sister Green, with more goodness than grace, + Rose and fell on the tunes as she stood in her place, + And where "Coronation" exultingly flows, + Tried to reach the high notes on the tips of her toes! + To the land of the leal they went with their song, + Where the choir and the chorus together belong; + O, be lifted, ye gates! Let me hear them again-- + Blessed song, blessed Sabbath, forever, amen! + + + + +WHEN THE LITTLE BOY RAN AWAY + +BY FRANK L. STANTON + + + When the little boy ran away from home + The birds in the treetops knew, + And they all sang "Stay!" But he wandered away + Under the skies of blue. + And the Wind came whispering from the tree: + "Follow me--follow me!" + And it sang him a song that was soft and sweet, + And scattered the roses before his feet + That day--that day + When the little boy ran away. + + The Violets whispered: "Your eyes are blue + And lovely and bright to see; + And so are mine, and I'm kin to you, + So dwell in the light with me!" + But the little boy laughed, while the Wind in glee + Said: "Follow me--follow me!" + And the Wind called the clouds from their home in the skies + And said to the Violet: "Shut your eyes!" + That day--that day + When the little boy ran away. + + Then the Wind played leap-frog over the hills + And twisted each leaf and limb; + And all the rivers and all the rills + Were foaming mad with him! + And 'twas dark as the darkest night could be, + But still came the Wind's voice: "Follow me!" + And over the mountain, and up from the hollow + Came echoing voices, with: "Follow him--follow!" + That awful day + When the little boy ran away! + + Then the little boy cried: "Let me go--let me go!" + For a scared--scared boy was he! + But the Thunder growled from a black cloud: "No!" + And the Wind roared: "Follow me!" + And an old gray Owl from a treetop flew, + Saying: "Who are you-oo? Who are you-oo?" + And the little boy sobbed: "I'm lost away, + And I want to go home where my parents stay!" + Oh, the awful day + When the little boy ran away! + + Then the Moon looked out from a cloud and said: + "Are you sorry you ran away? + If I light you home to your trundle bed, + Will you stay, little boy, will you stay?" + And the little boy promised--and cried and cried-- + He would never leave his mother's side; + And the Moonlight led him over the plain + And his mother welcomed him home again. + But oh, what a day + When the little boy ran away! + + + + +HE WANTED TO KNOW + +BY SAM WALTER FOSS + + + He wanted to know how God made the worl' + Out er nothin' at all, + W'y it wasn't made square, like a block or a brick, + Stid er roun', like a ball, + How it managed to stay held up in the air, + An' w'y it don't fall; + All such kin' er things, above an' below, + He wanted to know. + + He wanted to know who Cain had for a wife, + An' if the two fit; + Who hit Billy Patterson over the head, + If he ever got hit; + An' where Moses wuz w'en the candle went out, + An' if others were lit; + If he couldn' fin' these out, w'y his cake wuz all dough, + An' he wanted to know. + + An' he wanted to know 'bout original sin; + An' about Adam's fall; + If the snake hopped aroun' on the end of his tail + Before doomed to crawl, + An' w'at would hev happened if Adam hedn' et + The ol' apple at all; + These ere kind er things seemed ter fill him 'ith woe, + An' he wanted to know. + + An' he wanted to know w'y some folks wuz good, + An' some folks wuz mean, + W'y some folks wuz middlin' an' some folks wuz fat, + An' some folks wuz lean, + An' some folks were very learned an' wise, + An' some folks dern green; + All these kin' er things they troubled him so + That he wanted to know. + + An' so' he fired conundrums aroun', + For he wanted to know; + An' his nice crop er taters 'ud rot in the groun', + An' his stuff wouldn't grow; + For it took so much time to ask questions like these, + He'd no time to hoe; + He wanted to know if these things were so, + Course he wanted know. + + An' his cattle they died, an' his horses grew sick, + 'Cause they didn't hev no hay; + An' his creditors pressed him to pay up his bills, + But he'd no time to pay, + For he had to go roun' askin' questions, you know, + By night an' by day; + He'd no time to work, for they troubled him so, + An' he wanted to know. + + An' now in the poorhouse he travels aroun' + In just the same way, + An' asks the same questions right over ag'in, + By night an' by day; + But he haint foun' no feller can answer 'em yit, + An' he's ol' an' he's gray, + But these same ol' conundrums they trouble him so, + That he still wants to know. + + + + +SOLDIER, REST! + +BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE + + + A Russian sailed over the blue Black Sea, + Just when the war was growing hot, + And he shouted, "I'm Tjalikavakeree- + Karindabrolikanavandorot- + Schipkadirova- + Ivandiszstova- + Sanilik- + Danilik- + Varagobhot!" + + A Turk was standing upon the shore + Right where the terrible Russian crossed; + And he cried, "Bismillah! I'm Abd el Kor- + Bazaroukilgonautoskobrosk- + Getzinpravadi- + Kilgekosladji- + Grivido- + Blivido- + Jenikodosk!" + + So they stood like brave men, long and well, + And they called each other their proper names, + Till the lock-jaw seized them, and where they fell + They buried them both by the Irdosholames- + Kalatalustchuk- + Mischaribustchup- + Bulgari- + Dulgari- + Sagharimainz. + + + + +THE EXPERIENCES OF GENTLE JANE + +BY CAROLYN WELLS + + +THE CARNIVOROUS BEAR + + Gentle Jane went walking, where + She espied a Grizzly Bear; + Flustered by the quadruped + Gentle Jane just lost her head. + +THE RUDE TRAIN + + Last week, Tuesday, gentle Jane + Met a passing railroad train; + "Ah, good afternoon," she said; + But the train just cut her dead. + +THE CARELESS NIECE + + Once her brother's child, for fun, + Pointed at her aunt a gun. + At this conduct of her niece's + Gentle Jane went all to pieces. + +THE NAUGHTY AUTOMOBILE + + Gentle Jane went for a ride, + But the automobile shied; + Threw the party all about-- + Somehow, Jane felt quite put out. + +THE COLD, HARD LAKE + + Gentle Jane went out to skate; + She fell through at half-past eight. + Then the lake, with icy glare, + Said, "Such girls I can not bear." + +THE CALM STEAM-ROLLER + + In the big steam-roller's path + Gentle Jane expressed her wrath. + It passed over. After that + Gentle Jane looked rather flat. + +A NEW EXPERIENCE + + Much surprised was gentle Jane + When a bullet pierced her brain; + "Such a thing as that," she said, + "Never came into my head!" + +THE BATTERING-RAM + + "Ah!" said gentle Jane, "I am + Proud to meet a battering-ram." + Then, with shyness overcome, + Gentle Jane was just struck dumb. + + + + +A FEW REFLECTIONS + +BY BILL ARP + + +I rekon I've lived as much as most foaks accordin' to age, and I ain't +tired of livin' yit. I like it. I've seen good times, and bad times, and +hard times, and times that tired men's soles, but I never seed a time +that I coulden't extrakt sum cumfort out of trubble. When I was a boy I +was a lively little devil, and lost my edycashun bekaus I couldn't see +enuf fun in the spellin' book to get thru it. I'm sorry for it now, for +a blind man can see what a fool I am. The last skhoolin' I got was the +day I run from John Norton, and there was so much fun in that my daddy +sed he rekoned I'd got larnin' enuf. I had a bile on my back as big as a +ginney egg, and it was mighty nigh ready to bust. We boys had got in a +way of ringin' the bell before old Norton got there, and he sed that the +first boy he kotched at it would ketch hail Kolumby. Shore enuf he +slipped upon us one mornin', and before I knowed it he had me by the +collar, and was layin' it on like killin' snakes. I hollered, "My bile, +my bile, don't hit me on my bile," and just then he popped a center +shot, and I jumped three feet in the atmosphere, and with a hoop and a +beller I took to my heels. I run and hollered like the devil was after +me, and shore enuf he was. His long legs gained on me at every jump, but +just as he was about to grab me I made a double on him, and got a fresh +start. I was aktiv as a cat, and so we had it over fences, thru the +woods, and round the meetin' house, and all the boys was standin' on +skool house hill a hollerin', "Go it, my Bill--go it, my Bill." As good +luck would have it there was a grape vine a swingin' away ahead of me, +and I ducked my head under it just as old Norton was about two jumps +behind. He hadn't seen it, and it took him about the middle and throwed +him the hardest summerset I ever seed a man git. He was tired, and I +knowd it, and I stopped about three rods off and laffd at him as loud as +I could ball. I forgot all about my bile. He never follered me another +step, for he was plum giv out, but he set there bareheaded and shook his +hickory at me, lookin' as mad and as miserable as possible. That lick on +my bile was about the keenest pain I ever felt in my life, and like to +have killed me. It busted as wide open as a soap trof, and let every +drop of the juice out, but I've had a power of fun thinkin' about it for +the last forty years. + +But I didn't start to tell you about that. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wit and Humor of America, Volume +IX (of X), by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WIT AND HUMOR *** + +***** This file should be named 24433.txt or 24433.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/4/3/24433/ + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Annie McGuire, Brian Janes +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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