Tim Casey, a juror, rose suddenly from his seat and hastened to the door of the courtroom. He was prevented, however, from leaving the room, and was sternly questioned by the judge.

"Yes, your honor, I'll explain meself," said the juror. "When Mr. Finn finished his talking me mind was clear all through, but whin Mr. Evans begins his talkin' I becomes all confused an' says I to myself, Taith, I'd better lave at once, an' shtay away until he is done,' because, your honor, to tell the truth, I didn't like the way the argument was going."


Great Tools To Earn Hot Cash

A sturdy Scot, 6 feet 5 inches in height, is a gamekeeper near
Strafford. One hot day last summer he was accompanying a bumptious
sportsman, of very small stature, when he was greatly troubled by gnats.
The other said to him:

"My good man, why is it that the gnats do not trouble me?"

"I daresay," replied the gamekeeper, with a comprehensive glance at the
other's small proportions, "it will be because they havna' seen ye yet!"

Two young Irishmen in a Canadian regiment were going into the trenches
for the first time, and their captain promised them five shillings each
for every German they killed.

Pat lay down to rest, while Mick performed the duty of watching. Pat
had not lain long when he was awakened by Mick shouting:

"They're comin'! They're comin'!"

"Who's comin'?" shouts Pat.

"The Germans," replies Mick.

"How many are there?"

"About fifty thousand."

"Begorra," shouts Pat, jumping up and grabbing his rifle, "our fortune's
made!"

Mr. Budger and his wife were continually at variance regarding their individual capabilities of making and keeping a good fire. He contended that she did not know how to make a fire, nor how to keep one after it was made. She, on the other hand, maintained that he never meddled with the fire that he didn't put it out--in short, that he was a perfect fire damper; and, as he was always anxious to stir up things in the varous fireplaces, she made a practice of hiding the poker just before it was time for him to come into the house. One night there was an alarm of fire in the village and Budger flew for his hat and coat.

"Where are you going, my dear?" asked his wife.

"Why, there's a fire, and I'm going to help put it out."

"Well, my love," responded Mrs. Budger, "I think the best thing you can do is to take the poker along with you."


Great Tools To Earn Hot Cash

There is a story of Bransby Williams, famous impersonator of Dickens's characters, which will come home to many of us in these days of food shortage.

He had a hard time before he "arrived," and hunger was a familiar companion. One night he had to play in a sketch in which he was supposed to consume a steak pudding.

"Imagine my surprise," he says, "when a real, good, smoking hot steak and kidney pudding arrived on the scene. 'My eye!' I exclaimed to myself. I had to cut it and serve it, and in the ordinary course of events we should have got through this stage meal in about five or six minutes.

"But not to-night! I made up my mind that that pudding should not be wasted, but eaten, and I commenced in earnest. I made the best meal I had had for days, and improvised conversation till it was all polished off!"


Great Tools To Earn Hot Cash

Soldiers have to do their own mending when it is done at all, and it appears--although few persons would have guessed it--that the thoughtful War Office supplies them with outfits for that purpose. Otherwise, this joke would be impossible.

Everything was ready for kit inspection; the recruits stood lined up ready for the officer, and the officer had his bad temper all complete. He marched up and down the line, grimly eyeing each man's bundle of needles and soft soap, and then he singled out Private MacTootle as the man who was to receive his attentions.

"Toothbrush?" he roared.

"Yes, sir."

"Razor?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hold-all?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hm! You're all right, apparently," growled the officer. Then he barked:

"Housewife?"

"Oh, very well, thank you," said the recruit amiably. "How's yours?"


Great Tools To Earn Hot Cash

The fine art of concealment is thus formulated by Carolyn Wells, writing
in _Life_:

Once upon a time there lived an elderly millionaire who had four
nephews. Desiring to make one of these his heir, he tested their
cleverness.

He gave to each a one-hundred-dollar bill, with the request that they
hide the bills for a year in the city of New York.

Any of them who should succeed in finding the hidden bill at the end of
the year should share in the inheritance.

The year being over, the four nephews brought their reports.

The first, deeply chagrined, told how he had put his bill in the
strongest and surest safety deposit vaults, but, alas, clever thieves
had broken in and stolen it.

The second had put his bill in charge of a tried and true friend. But
the friend had proved untrustworthy and had spent the money.

The third had hidden his bill in a crevice in the floor of his room, but
a mouse had nibbled it to bits to build her nest.

The fourth nephew calmly produced his hundred-dollar bill, as crisp and
fresh as when it had been given him.

"And where did you hide it?" asked his uncle.

"Too easy! I stuck it in a hotel Bible."

Burton Holmes, the lecturer, had an interesting experience while in
London. He told some Washington friends a day or two ago that when he
visited the theatre where he was to deliver his travelogue he decided
that the entrance to the theatre was rather dingy and that there should
be more display of his attraction.

Accordingly, he suggested to the manager of the house that the front be
brightened up at night by electrical signs, one row of lights spelling
his name "Burton" and another row of lights spelling the name "Holmes."

The manager told him it was too much of an innovation for him to
authorize and referred him to the owner of the theatre. Mr. Holmes
traveled several hours into the country to consult with the owner, who
referred him to his agent in the city. The agent in turn sent Mr. Holmes
to the janitor of the theatre.

"I talked with the janitor and explained my plan to him for about an
hour," Mr. Holmes said. "Finally, after we had gone into every detail of
the cost and everything else, the janitor told me that the theatre was a
very exclusive and high-class theatre, and that he would not put up the
sign. I asked him why?"

"Because it would attract too much attention to the theatre," the
janitor replied.

Much sobered by the importance of the news he had to communicate,
youthful Thomas strode into the house and said breathlessly:

"Mother, they have a new baby next door, and the lady over there is
awful sick. Mother, you ought to go right in and see her."

"Yes, dear," said his mother. "I will go over in a day or two just as
soon as she gets better."

"But, mother," persisted Thomas. "I think you ought to go in right away;
she is real sick, and maybe you can do something to help."

"Yes, dear," said the mother patiently, "but wait a day or so until she
is just a little better."

Thomas seemed much dissatisfied at his mother's apparent lack of
neighborly interest, and then something seemed to dawn upon him, for he
blurted out:

"Mother, you needn't be afraid--it ain't catching."

When James B. Reynolds was Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, Senator
Root sent for Mr. Reynolds one day to discuss with him some matters
concerning a trade conference in Paris which Mr. Reynolds had been
selected to attend.

"I suppose," said Mr. Root, "you speak French?"

"Well, yes," responded Mr. Reynolds. "I know a little French. I have no
trouble to make the waiters and the cab drivers understand me."

"I see," said Mr. Root. "But, Mr. Reynolds, suppose there should be no
waiters and cab drivers at the conference?"

No man is ever willing to admit that he has any prejudices. But
sometimes the facts confront him sternly, as in the case of the two
gentlemen in the following dialogue:

BRIGGS: I wonder why it is that when men like Bryan and Billy Sunday
accept good money we have a tendency secretly to despise them.

GRIGGS: Well, I presume because they are posing to be disinterested.
When they take away such big returns we set them down as hypocrites.

BRIGGS: But they have a right to make a living.

GRIGGS: You might say that of any one else--any get-rich-quick chap,
for example, provided he can get away with it.

BRIGGS: But the get-rich-quick man is cheating his customers.

GRIGGS: Well, a good many people feel that both Bryan and Sunday are
cheating their customers. I don't say they are, mind you. I am only
giving that side of the argument, and, according to it, they are
deluding their customers with false hopes. Bryan says that a combination
of free silver, grape juice, and peace will cure all ills, and he gets
five hundred dollars a lecture for saying it. Billy Sunday gets
thousands of dollars for dragging hell out into the limelight. They are
both popular forms of amusement. They divert the mind. Why shouldn't
they be paid? There are far worse moving-picture shows than Bryan or
Sunday.

BRIGGS: You believe that, now, don't you? Be honest and say it's your
genuine opinion, and not put it off on someone else.

GRIGGS _(Lowering his voice_): Well, I'll tell you, old chap. I believe
it about Bryan, but not about Sunday. Sunday's all right. He hates
money! How do you feel about it?

BRIGGS: You're wrong. I believe it about Sunday, but not about Bryan.
Bill Bryan is all right. He's a patriot. I wouldn't trust Sunday, but
W.J. Bryan's whole thought is for others. (_Looking at his watch_.)
Heavens! I didn't realize it was so late. I must rush off.

GRIGGS: Is it that late? I must hurry away also. Where are you going?

BRIGGS: I'm going to hear Sunday. Where are you going?

GRIGGS: I'm going to hear Bryan.

William Williams hated nicknames. He used to say that most fine given
names were ruined by abbreviations, which was a sin and a shame. "I
myself," he said, "am one of six brothers. We were all given good,
old-fashioned Christian names, but all those names were shortened into
meaningless or feeble monosyllables by our friends. I shall name my
children so that it will be impracticable to curtail their names."

The Williams family, in the course of time, was blessed with five
children, all boys. The eldest was named after the father--William. Of
course, that would be shortened to "Will" or enfeebled to "Willie"--but
wait! A second son came and was christened Willard. "Aha!" chuckled Mr.
Williams, "Now everybody will have to speak the full names of each of
these boys in order to distinguish them."

In pursuance of this scheme the next three sons were named Wilbert,
Wilfred, and Wilmont.

They are all big boys now. And they are respectively known to their
intimates as Bill, Skinny, Butch, Chuck, and Kid.

A couple of Philadelphia youths, who had not met in a long while, met
and fell to discussing their affairs in general.

"I understand," said one, "that you broke your engagement with Clarice
Collines."

"No, I didn't break it."

"Oh, she broke it?"

"No, she didn't break it."

"But it is broken?"

"Yes. She told me what her raiment cost, and I told her what my income
was. Then our engagement sagged in the middle and gently dissolved."

Miss Amy Lowell, sister of President Lowell of Harvard, is not only a
distinguished poetess, being by many considered the head of the Vers
Libre school in this country, but she is also the guardian of a most
handsome and stately presence.

Oliver Herford, himself a poet and wit, doubtless inspired by envy,
recently remarked of her that

"One half of Amy Lowell doesn't know how the other half lives."

The sniper is ever prevalent on the western front. A certain Colonel,
who was by the way quite unpopular with his regiment, was one afternoon
sitting in a shack, when a report was heard and a bullet whizzed over
his head.

Calling a private, he said testily:

"Go out and get that sniper."

The man was gone for some time, but he eventually returned with Fritz.
He had not got him in, however, before he began to belabor him fiercely.

"What are you beating up that Hun for?" asked a comrade.

"He missed the Colonel," whispered the other.

The average foreigner can rarely comprehend the geographical area of the
United States, as was quite fully illustrated by the Englishman and his
valet who had been traveling due west from Boston for five days. At the
end of the fifth day master and servant were seated in the smoking-car,
and it was observed that the man was gazing steadily and thoughtfully
out of the window. Finally his companion became curious. "William," said
he, "of what are you thinking?"

"I was just thinking, sir, about the discovery of Hamerica," replied the
valet. "Columbus didn't do such a wonderful thing, after all, when he
found this country, did he, now, sir? Hafter hall's said an' done, 'ow
could 'e 'elp it?"

A Scottish doctor who was attending a laird had instructed the butler of
the house in the art of taking and recording his master's temperature
with a thermometer. On paying his usual morning call he was met by the
butler, to whom he said: "Well, John, I hope the laird's temperature is
not any higher to-day?"

The man looked puzzled for a minute, and then replied: "Weel, I was just
wonderin' that mysel'. Ye see, he deed at twal' o'clock."

The Englishman's undying love for certain civilized things is thus
portrayed by R. Richard Schayer in _Life_.

In a gorse bush a hundred yards beyond his trench lay Lieutenant
Fitzhugh Throckmorton of the King's Own Rifles, asleep at his post. For
hours he had lain there, searching the position of the enemy through his
binoculars. Overcome by fatigue, he had nodded, drowsed, and finally
slumbered.

The sun hung low in the western mists when Throckmorton awoke. He
glanced at his wristwatch and sprang to his feet with an oath.
Regardless of peril, he turned and sprinted toward his trench. His was
not a nature to count the risk when duty, however delayed, called. Every
German sniper within range sent shot upon shot after the flying figure.
The enemy's trenches took up the hunt and fairly blazed with rifle and
machine gun fire. The bullets hummed in Throckmorton's ears like a swarm
of savage hornets. They snarled and bit at the turf about his feet like
a pack of wolves.

With a last desperate burst of speed, his clothing tattered with bullet
holes, the Lieutenant gained his trench and leaped down to its cover.
His face, wearing an expression of mingled hope and despair, he rushed
to the bomb-proof dug-out where sat his Colonel and brother officers.
They looked up at him with cold eyes. One glance and Throckmorton's
heart failed him. He was too late.

They had finished tea.

William M. Chase used to tell this story:

"I was standing on a railway platform in Japan, waiting for a train, and
whiling away my time by watching a particularly beautiful sunset.

"Suddenly a freight train pulled in and, stopping in front of me, cut
off my view. Being a good American, and trained in a very proper respect
for 'business,' I merely turned philosophically away and proceeded to
look at something else. In a moment, however, the station master
appeared at my side and inquired with the politest of bows if I had
been enjoying the sunset.

"I admitted that I had, and smilingly accepted his apology for the
intrusion of the train. 'Of course I recognized that trains were the
first consideration in stations,' I said.

"Imagine my surprise, then, when the little Japanese shook his head
firmly. 'But no,' he said, bowing even more deeply than before, 'the
train must not be allowed to obstruct the honorable artistic traveler's
honorable æsthetic enjoyment'--or words to that effect. 'I will cause it
to withdraw,'

"And he actually did precisely that!"

When Julia Ward Howe died, memorial services in her honor were held at
San Francisco, and the local literary colony attended practically en
masse to pay by their presence a tribute to the writer.

A municipal officer was asked to preside. Dressed in his long frock coat
and his broad white tie, he advanced to the edge of the platform to
launch the exercises and introduce the principal eulogist. He bowed low
and spoke as follows:

"Your attendance here, ladies and gents, in such great numbers shows San
Francisco's appreciation of good literature. This meeting is a great
testimonial to the immortal author of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'--the late
Julia Ward Howard!"

What may be the Kaiser's ultimate fate is thus amusingly told by _Life_
of the scene in Hell on a certain day:

"What's all the racket about?" said Satan, stepping out of the Brimstone
Bath, where he was giving two or three U-boat commanders an extra
flaying.

"Poor old Hohenzollern has got it in the neck at last," said
Machiavelli, who was hosing off the premises with vitriol in
preparation for a new squad of shirtwaist-factory owners.

Satan listened attentively. Indeed, it was true. The Hohenzollerns had
been booted off the throne of Germany.

"Well, that's tough," said Satan. "I never could see why they chivied
those poor Hohenzollerns so. They were perfect devils. I have often said
so. Poor old Bill! Why, he was one of the best pupils I ever had. I
heard someone say that he had made Belgium a hell upon earth. Wasn't
that a compliment?"

"Not only that," said Machiavelli; "he had the novel idea of making the
sea a hell, too. He and Tirpitz did magnificent work. Not even a party
of schoolgirls could go on the water without getting torpedoed. They
drowned I don't know how many innocent women and children in a manner
worthy of the highest education."

"That deportation of non-combatants from Lille was excellent, too,"
mused Satan.

"Don't forget the shooting of Miss Cavell," said Machiavelli. "And there
was the bombing of unfortified towns, and the poison gas. Why, in my
palmiest days I never thought of anything so choice as that poison gas.
I told Borgia about it, and she went green with envy."

"You're right, Mac," said Satan, treading in his excitement on a
captain of Uhlans who was hanging out to cool; "that Kaiser is a regular
prince of darkness. When he gets down here (and I guess he will pretty
soon) we'll omit the setting-up exercises and put him right into
advanced tactics. Come to think of it, there were those prison camps,
too, where he allowed captured soldiers to rot with filth and disease
without any physicians. Excellent!"

"There's only one drawback," said Machiavelli regretfully. "The man has
raised so much hell on earth that I doubt if there's much we can teach
him down here. Really, he's not an amateur at all, but a professional. I
don't know whether it wouldn't be more punishment to send him to heaven
instead. As a matter of fact, down here he'll feel perfectly at home."

"I guess we can still think up one or two little novelties for him,"
said Satan, as he opened a trap-door and let a dozen of Billy Sunday's
converts drop into the blazing sulphur.

Every seat was occupied, when a group of women got in. The conductor
noticed a man who he thought was asleep.

"Wake up!" shouted the conductor.

"I wasn't asleep," said the passenger.

"Not asleep! Then what did you have your eyes closed for?"

"It was because of the crowded condition of the car," explained the
passenger. "I hate to see the women standing."

How modern are the old fellows. Here is a story related by Cicero in one
of his letters which will recall the embarrassments we have ourselves
felt in the presence of the unexpected.

Cicero gives an account to his friend of a visit he had just received
from the Emperor Julius Cæsar. He had invited Julius to pass a few days
with him, but he came quite unexpectedly with a thousand men! Cicero,
seeing them from afar, debated with another friend what he should do
with them but at length managed to encamp them. To feed them was a less
easy matter. The emperor took everything quite easily, however, and was
very pleasant, "but," adds Cicero, "he is not the man to whom I should
say a second time, 'if you are passing this way, give me a call.'"

A British soldier was walking down the Strand one day. He had one leg
off and an arm off and both ears missing and his head was covered with
bandages, and he was making his way on low gear as best he could, when
he was accosted by an intensely sympathetic lady who said:

"Oh, dear, dear! I cannot tell you how sorry I am for you. This is
really terrible. Can't I do something? Do tell me, did you receive all
these wounds in real action?"

A weary expression came over that part of the soldier's face that was
visible as he replied:

"No, madam; I was cleaning out the canary bird cage, and the d----d bird
bit me!"

He was a mine-sweeper, and, home on leave, was feeling a bit groggy. He
called to see a doctor, who examined him thoroughly.

"You're troubled with your throat, you say?" said the doctor.

"Aye, aye, sir," said the sailor.

"Have you ever tried gargling it with salt and water?" asked the doctor.

The mine-sweeper groaned.
"I should say so!" he said. "I've been torpedoed seven times!"

An old South Carolina darky was sent to the hospital of St. Xavier in Charleston. One of the gentle, black-robed sisters put a thermometer in his mouth to take his temperature. Presently, when the doctor made his rounds, he said:

"Well, Nathan, how do you feel?"

"I feel right tol'ble, boss."

"Have you had any nourishment?"

"Yassir."

"What did you have?"

"A lady done gimme a piece of glass ter suck, boss."

Two brothers were being entertained by a rich friend. As ill luck would
have it, the talk drifted away from ordinary topics.

"Do you like Omar Khayyam?" thoughtlessly asked the host, trying to make
conversation. The elder brother plunged heroically into the breach.

"Pretty well," he said, "but I prefer Chianti."

Nothing more was said on this subject until the brothers were on their
way home.

"Bill," said the younger brother, breaking a painful silence, "why can't
you leave things that you don't understand to me? Omar Khayyam ain't a
wine, you chump; it's a cheese."

On the evening before a solar eclipse the colonel of a German regiment
of infantry sent for all the sergeants and said to them:

"There will be an eclipse of the sun to-morrow. The regiment will meet
on the parade ground in undress. I will come and explain the eclipse
before drill. If the sky is cloudy the men will meet in the drill shed,
as usual."

Whereupon the ranking sergeant drew up the following order of the day:

"To-morrow morning, by order of the colonel, there will be an eclipse
of the sun. The regiment will assemble on the parade ground, where the
colonel will come and superintend the eclipse in person. If the sky is
cloudy the eclipse will take place in the drill shed."

A full-blown second lieutenant was endeavoring to display his great
knowledge of musketry. Sauntering up to the latest recruit, he said:

"See here, my man, this thing is a rifle, this is the barrel, this is
the butt, and this is where you put the cartridge in."

The recruit seemed to be taking it all in, so the officer, continuing,
said:

"You put the weapon to your shoulder; these little things on the barrel
are called sights; then to fire you pull this little thing, which is
called the trigger. Now, smarten yourself up, and remember what I have
told you; and, by the way, what trade did you follow before you
enlisted? A collier, I suppose!"

"No, sir," came the reply; "I only worked as a gunsmith for the
Government Small Arms Factory."

Pat O'Flaherty, very palpably not a prohibitionist, was arrested in
Arizona recently, charged with selling liquor in violation of the
Prohibition law. But Pat had an impregnable defense. His counsel, in
addressing the jury, said:

"Your Honor, gentlemen of the jury, look at the defendant."

A dramatic pause, then:

"Now, gentlemen of the jury, do you honestly think that if the defendant
had a quart of whiskey he would sell it?"

The verdict, reached in one minute, was "Not guilty."

An alien, wishing to be naturalized, applied to the clerk of the office, who requested him to fill out a blank, which he handed him. The first three lines of the blank ran as follows:

Name?

Born?

Business?

The answers follow:

Name, Jacob Levinsky.

Born, Yes.

Business, Rotten.

Sandy Macpherson came home after many years and met his old sweetheart.
Honey-laden memories thrilled through the twilight and flushed their
glowing cheeks.

"Ah, Mary," exclaimed Sandy, "ye're just as beautiful as ye ever were,
and I ha'e never forgotten ye, my bonnie lass."

"And ye, Sandy," she cried, while her blue eyes moistened, "are just as
big a leear as ever, an' I believe ye jist the same."

"Now, my dear girl," said Bluebeard, "remember you can go anywhere in
the house but the pantry. That is locked up, and the key will be placed
under the mat. Remove it at your peril."

Consumed with curiosity, Mrs. Bluebeard could scarcely wait until her
husband had cranked his machine before she was trying the key. It fitted
perfectly. She turned it, and entered. Within was the finest collection
of provisions that she had ever seen: at least a hundred dozen eggs
preserved in water, sacks of potatoes, barrels of wheat--in fact, a
complete commissary department.

And then, as she looked out of the window, she gave a faint scream. Her
husband was returning. He had a puncture. She retained her presence of
mind, however, long enough to step to the telephone. Just as she had
finished delivering the message Bluebeard entered.

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "So you have forced the pantry. I see flour on your
lips. Prepare to die."

Mrs. Bluebeard only smiled.

"Not so fast," she muttered. At this moment Herbert Hoover entered the
house.

"So you are the wretch who has been storing up private food supplies,
contrary to my orders!" he exclaimed. "Ninety days in jail!"

Whereupon Mrs. Bluebeard, waving her late lord and master farewell,
prepared to beat up a luscious eggnog.

A keen-eyed mountaineer led his overgrown son into a country
schoolhouse.

"This here boy's arter larnin'," he announced. "What's yer bill o'
fare?"

"Our curriculum, sir," corrected the school-master, "embraces geography, arithmetic, trigonometry--"

"That'll do," interrupted the father. "That'll do. Load him up well with triggernometry. He's the only poor shot in the family."

Levi Cohen was looking very dejected. That morning he left the house
with five pounds in his pocket to try his luck at the races, but, alas!
he had returned at nightfall footsore and weary, and nothing in his
possession but a bad half-penny.

No wonder his better half was in a bad temper. "How is it," she snapped,
"that you're so unlucky at the races, and yet you always win at cards?"

"Well, my dear," responded Levi, meekly, "you see, it's this way: I
don't shuffle the horses."

The sergeant-major had the reputation of never being at a loss for an
answer. A young officer made a bet with a brother officer that he would
in less than twenty-four hours ask the sergeant-major a question that
would baffle him.

The sergeant-major accompanied the young officer on his rounds, in the
course of which the cook-house was inspected. Pointing to a large copper
of water just commencing to boil, the officer said:

"Why does that water only boil round the edges of the copper and not in
the centre?"

"The water round the edge, sir," replied the veteran, "is for the men on
guard; they have their breakfast half an hour before the remainder of
the company."

"Johnny, it was very wrong for you and the boy next door to fight."

"We couldn't help it, father."

"Could you not have settled your differences by a peaceful discussion
of the matter, calling in the assistance of unprejudiced opinion, if
need be?"

"No, father. He was sure he could whip me and I was sure I could whip
him, and there was only one way to find out."

"I am taking some notes about civic pride," said the urbane stranger, as
he wandered into the up-to-date community. "I suppose you have such a
thing?"

"Well, I should say we had," said the corner real estate agent. "I am
loaded with it myself."

"Good!" replied the agent, taking out his memo-book. "I'll make a note
of it. This, you will understand, is a more or less scientific inquiry,
and I shall make my estimates as carefully as possible, with all due
regard to the human equation. Who, should you say, has the most civic
pride in town?"

"That is some problem," replied the agent, "but you might go across the
way to the Woman's Club. Out of courtesy to the ladies I am ready to
yield the palm."

"Yes," said the president of the Woman's Club when she had heard the
visitor's errand. "We have the most civic pride, of course. The Town
Council thinks it has, and the Board of Education thinks it has, but pay
no attention to them; we are on the job day and night; as a factory for
turning out civic pride, nobody in this vicinity can beat us. You want
to hear my lecture on the subject at the next meeting."

"Thanks," said the visitor, "but you will appreciate that in these
piping times of war, I am a busy man, and must hurry on. Has anybody
else any civic pride here that you could name?"

He was presented with a list and went about town getting them all down.
At the end of several days, all the organizations in town that dealt in
civic pride got together and arranged for a banquet for the
distinguished stranger. They were immensely proud that he had come among
them.

It was a great affair. The mayor, who was swelling with civic pride,
vied with the president of the Woman's Club. It was, indeed, a
neck-and-neck race between them as to who had the greater quantity of
civic pride.

At the end of the banquet, when they were all bidding the guest good-bye
with tears streaming down their faces, the only pessimist in town got up
and said:

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, for obtruding my repellent personality
on this joyful assemblage, but our dear guest will not, I am sure,
object to answering a simple question. I have no civic pride myself, but
do you mind, sir, telling me the object of your visit to this lovely
little burg?"

"Certainly not," said the guest, as he prepared to take a quick slant
through the door, "no objection at all. You see, my friends, civic pride
is the only thing that the government hasn't taxed. You'll get your
bills a little later, based on your own estimates. Much obliged for all
your first-hand information."

They were seated in a tramcar--the mother and her little boy.

The conductor eyed the little boy suspiciously. He had to keep a lookout
for people who pretended that their children were younger than they
really were, in order to obtain free rides for them.

"And how old is your little boy, madam, please?"

"Three and a half," said the mother truthfully.

"Right, ma'am," said the conductor, satisfied.

Little Willie pondered a minute. It seemed to him that fuller
information was required.

"And mother's thirty-one," he said politely.

Thus, seeking to be kind and fraternal, but at the same time perfectly
honest, if we make mistakes, we may still comfort ourselves with the
assurance which his Irish Catholic servant once expressed to the devout
and learned Bishop Whately.

"Do you really believe," he asked her, "that there is no salvation
outside of the Roman Catholic Church?"

"Shure, an' I do," she replied, "for that's what the praist ses."

"Well, then, what is going to become of me?"

"Oh, that's all right," she answered, with an Irish twinkle in her eyes.
"Yer riverence will be saved by yer ignorince."

The new change in social conditions to be brought about by the war is
illustrated in the following advertisements taken from _Life_:

SITUATIONS WANTED

HUSBAND AND WIFE would like position as gardener and cook, or will do
anything. 23 years in last place as czar and czarina. Salary not so
important as permanent place in quiet, peaceful atmosphere. Address
ROMANOFF, this paper.

EMPLOYERS, giving up royalty, would like to secure position for their
king. Steady, experienced, thoroughly broken to crown and sceptre.
Distance no objection. Will go anywhere. Small salary to start.
CONSTANTINE, 49 Greece, in rear. (Ring Sophy's bell.)

YOUNG MONARCH, 28 years old, 4 years as king in last place, would accept
like position in small, tranquil country, Latin preferred. No objection
to South America. Light, rangy and stylish, very fast, and thoroughly
broken to bombs and revolutions. MANUEL J. PORTUGAL, London.

KING AND QUEEN, Swedish, expecting to make change shortly, would like
position as gardener and coachman, cook and laundress. Good home more
important than salary. A1 references. Address GUS and VICKY, care this
paper.

EMPEROR, 29 years as Kaiser in present position, expecting to be at
liberty shortly, owing to change in employers' circumstances, would like
place as assassin, or pig-sticker in abattoir. No aversion to blood.
Cool, resourceful, determined. Address EFFICIENT, care this paper.

A young planter in Mississippi had an old servant called Uncle Mose, who had cared for him as a child and whose devotion had never waned. The young man became engaged to a girl of the neighborhood who had a reputation for unusual beauty and also for a very violent temper. Noticing that Uncle Mose never mentioned his approaching marriage, the planter said:

"Mose, you know I am going to marry Miss Currier?"

"Yassuh, I knows it."

"I haven't heard you say anything about it," persisted the planter.

"No, suh," said Mose. "Tain't fo' me to say nothin' 'bout it. I's got nothin' to say."

"But you must have some opinion about so important a step on my part."

"Well, suh," said the old negro with some hesitation, "yo' knows one thing--the most p'izonest snakes has got the most prettiest skins."


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Even certain professors, who are supposed to be immune from commercial inducements are sometimes financially overcautious. A party of tourists were watching Professor X as he exhumed the wrapt body of an ancient Egyptian.

"Judging from the utensils about him," remarked the professor, "this mummy must have been an Egyptian plumber."

"Wouldn't it be interesting," said a romantic young lady, "if we could bring him to life?"

"Interesting, but a bit risky," returned Professor X. "Somebody might have to pay him for his time."


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Did it ever occur to you that a man's life is full of cussedness? He comes into the world without his consent, and goes out against his will, and the trip between is exceedingly rocky.

When he is little, the big girls kiss him; when he is big, the little girls kiss him. If he is poor, he is a bad manager; if he is rich, he's a crook. If he is prosperous, everybody wants to do him a favor; if he needs credit, they hand him a lemon.

If he is in politics, it is for graft; if out of politics, he is no good to his country. If he doesn't give to charity, he's a tightwad; if he does, it's for show. If he is actively religious, he is a hypocrite; and if he takes no interest in religion, he is a heathen.

If he is affectionate, he is a soft mark; if he cares for no one, he is cold-blooded. If he dies young, there was a great future for him; if he lives to an old age, he missed his calling.

If you don't fight, you're yellow; if you do, you're a brute.

If you save your money, you're a grouch; if you spend it, you're a loafer; if you get it, you're a grafter, and if you don't get it, you're a bum.

_So what's the use?_


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The hobo knocked at the back door and the lady of the house appeared.

"Lady," he said, "I was at the front--"

"You poor man!" she exclaimed. "One of war's victims. Wait till I get
you some food, and you shall tell me your story. You were in the
trenches, you say?"

"Not in the trenches. I was at the front--"

"Don't try to talk with your mouth full. Take your time. What deed of
heroism did you do at the front?"

"Why, I knocked, but I couldn't make nobody hear, so I came around to
the back."


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The historic colored preacher who held forth so strenuously after the Civil War has almost become obsolete, but in certain sections he still holds his own, as the following sermon, taken from _Life_, will show:

Brederen an' Sisterin: I done read de Bible from kiver to kiver, from lid to lid an' from end to end, an' nowhar do I find a mo' 'propriate tex' at dis time, when de whole worl' is scrimmigin' wid itse'f, dan de place whar Paul Pinted de Pistol at de Philippines an' said, "Dou art de man."

Kaiser Bill ob Germany is de man, an' Uncle Sam done got de pistol pinted his way, an' goin' to pull de trigger, lessen Bill gits off his perch, like dat woman Jezebel dat sassed Ahab from de roof top.

Ahab say to his soldiers, "Go up an' th'ow dat woman down," an' dey th'ew her down. Den he say, "Go up an' th'ow her down again," an' dey th'ew her down again; an' he say, "Take her back up an th'ow her down seben times," an' dey th'owed her down seben times, an' ast if dat ain't enough.

But Ahab done got his dander up, an' say, "No! Dat ain't enough. Th'ow her down sebenty times seben."

And afterwards dey done pick up twelve baskets ob de fragments dereob.

Dat's what gwine ter happen ter dat Bill Heah Him Hollerin.

De Good Book done fo'told dis here war, an' jist how it gwine ter end. Don't it say about de four beasts in de book of Relations, what spit fire an' brimstone, meanin' de Kaiser, de Turks, de Ostriches, and de Bullgeraniums, case two ob dem beasteses is birds, an' Ostriches an' Turkys is birds. De bigges' beast is de Kaiser, case he uses Germans to pizen his enemies. De newspapers say as how diseases is all caused by Germans gittin' in de food an' bein' breathed in de lungs, givin' folks hydrophobia an' lumbago an' consumption.

Dis brings us to de time when Abraham led de chillun ob Israel into Egypt, an' Moses led 'em out again case de folks ob Egypt so bad dey shoot craps all day, and eben make Faro de king. Dey take all de money 'way from de Jews an' raise de price ob cawn an' hay till de po' Jews can't live.

Rockefeller-Morgan Faro, de king, say dey can't go, but Moses done got de Lawd on his side, an' he crossed de Red Sea in submarines, so Faro got drowned wid all his host. De mummy ob dat same Faro is still alive in de big museums ob de world, but whar de host is no man can tell.

Dat de way de Wall Street gang dat been raisin' de price ob food gwine ter pass in dey checks--in de Red Sea ob blood ob dis war. Moses an' de Jews went trabelin' ober de desert till one day dey gits so hungry dey makes a fatted calf ob gold while Moses up on Mount Sinai gittin' de law laid down. Moses come er-cussin' back an' busted de Law ober Aaron's head, an' den dey killed de fatted calf an' put a ring on
his finger. For de prodigal done return, an' dey is mo' rejoicin' ober one sinner sabed dan ninety an' nine what doan know 'nuff to put deir money in de contribution box instead ob shootin' it 'way on craps.

Oh, I knows you backsliders, an' ef any ob you doan come across while Dekin Jones passes de box, I'se gwine ter preach nex' Sunday on what happened ter de money chasers in de temple.

We will now sing two verses ob "Th'ow Out de Lifeline, Anoder Ship Sinkin' To-day."


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An old colored man charged with stealing chickens was arraigned in court and was incriminating himself when the judge said:

"You ought to have a lawyer. Where's your lawyer?"

"Ah ain't got no lawyer, jedge," said the old man.

"Very well, then," said his honor, "I'll assign a lawyer to defend you."

"Oh, no, suh; no, suh! Please don't do dat!" the darky begged.

"Why not?" asked the judge. "It won't cost you anything. Why don't you want a lawyer?"

"Well, jedge, Ah'll tell you, suh," said the old man, waving his tattered old hat confidentially. "Hit's dis way. Ah wan' tah enjoy dem chickens mahse'f."


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A story about Lord Kitchener, who was often spoken of as "the most distinguished bachelor in the world," is being told. A young member of his staff when he was in India asked for a furlough in order to go home and be married. Kitchener listened to him patiently then he said:

"Kenilworth, you're not yet twenty-five. Wait a year. If then you still desire to do this thing you shall have leave."

The year passed. The officer once more proffered his request.

"After thinking it over for twelve months," said Kitchener, "you still wish to marry?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, you shall have your furlough. And frankly, my boy, I scarcely thought there was so much constancy in the masculine world."

Kenilworth, the story concludes, marched to the door, but turned to say as he was leaving: "Thank you, sir. Only it's not the same woman."


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The following story is from the _Libre Belgique_, the anonymous periodical secretly published in Brussels, and which the utmost vigilance of the German authorities has been unable to suppress.

Once upon a time Doctor Bethman-Holweg went up to heaven. The pearly gates were shut, but he began to push his way through in the usual German fashion. St. Peter rushed out of his lodge, much annoyed at the commotion.

"Hi, there, who are you?" he demanded.

"I am Doctor Von Bethman-Holweg, the imperial chancellor," was the haughty reply.

"Well, you don't seem to be dead; what are you doing around here?"

"I want to see God."

"Sorry," replied St. Peter, "but I don't think you can see him to-day; in fact, he's not very well."

"Ah, I'm distressed to hear that," said the chancellor somewhat more politely. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"We don't quite know, but we are afraid it is a case of exaggerated ego," answered St. Peter. "He keeps walking up and down, occasionally striking his chest with his clenched fist, and muttering to himself: 'I am the kaiser! I am the kaiser!'"

"Dear me! that is really very sad," said the chancellor in a still kindlier tone. "Now I happen to be the bearer of a communication from my imperial master; perhaps it might cheer him up to hear it."

"What is it?"

"Why, the emperor has just issued a decree, providing that in future he shall have the use of the nobiliary particle; from henceforth he will have the right to call himself 'Von Gott'."

"Step right in, your excellency," interrupted St. Peter. "I am very sure the new Graf will be much gratified to learn of the honor done him. Third door to the right. Mind the step. Thank you."


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Before introducing Lieutenant de Tessan, aide to General Joffre, and Colonel Fabry, the "Blue Devil of France," Chairman Spencer, of the St. Louis entertainment committee, at the M.A.A. breakfast told this anecdote:

"In Washington Lieutenant de Tessan was approached by a pretty American girl, who said:

"'And did you kill a German soldier?'

"'Yes,' he replied.

"'With what hand did you do it?' she inquired.

"'With this right hand,' he said.

"And then the pretty American girl seized his right hand and kissed it. Colonel Fabry stood near by. He strolled over and said to Lieutenant de Tessan:

"'Heavens, man, why didn't you tell her that you bit him to death?'"


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Even married life does not affect some people unpleasantly, or take away the fine spirit of their charity.

A certain factory-owner tells of an old employee who came into the office and asked for a day off.

"I guess we can manage it, Pete," says the boss, "tho we are mighty short-handed these days. What do you want to get off for?"

"Ay vant to get married," blushed Pete, who is by way of being a Scandinavian.

"Married? Why, look here--it was only a couple of months ago that you wanted to get off because your wife was dead!"

"Yas, ay gess so."

"And you want to get married again, with your wife only two months dead?"

"Yas. Ay ain't ban hold no grudge long."

The wife of a successful young literary man had hired a buxom Dutch girl
to do the housework. Several weeks passed and from seeing her master
constantly about the house, the girl received an erroneous impression.

"Ogscuse me, Mrs. Blank," she said to her mistress one day, "but I like
to say somedings."

"Well, Rena?"

The girl blushed, fumbled with her apron, and then replied, "Vell, you
pay me four tollars a veek--'

"Yes, and I really can't pay you any more."

"It's not dot," responded the girl; "but I be villing to take tree
dollars till--till your husband gets vork."


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A certain Irishman was taken prisoner by the Huns. While he was standing alone, waiting to be assigned to his prison, or whatever fate awaited him, the Kaiser came up.

"Hello," said the Kaiser. "Who have we here?"

"I'm an Irishman, your honor."

Then he winked solemnly.

"Oi say," he continued. "We didn't do a thing to you Germans, did we? Eh, old chap?"

The Kaiser was horrified. Calling an orderly he said to him:

"Take this blasphemer away and put a German uniform on him, and then bring him back."

Shortly the Irishman was returned, in a full German uniform.

"Well," said the Kaiser, "maybe you feel better now. How is it?"

Pat grabbed him by the arm, and leaning over, whispered:

"Oi say, we gave them Irish Hell, didn't we?"


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It is never wise to jump to conclusions. Always wait until the evidence is all in.

A Jersey man of a benevolent turn of mind encountered a small boy in his neighborhood who gave evidence of having emerged but lately from a severe battle.

"I am sorry," said the man, "to see that you have a black eye, Sammy."

Whereupon Sammy retorted:

"You go home and be sorry for your own little boy--he's got two!"


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A young lieutenant was passed by a private, who failed to salute. The lieutenant called him back, and said sternly:

"You did not salute me. For this you will immediately salute two hundred times."

At this moment the General came up.

"What's all this?" he exclaimed, seeing the poor private about to begin.

The lieutenant explained.

"This ignoramus failed to salute me, and as a punishment, I am making him salute two hundred times."

"Quite right," replied the General, smiling. "But do not forget, sir, that upon each occasion you are to salute in return."


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