Part 34 (1/2)

”Oh, yes, ma!” answered Bobby. ”And it was simply splendid! I rode on the box beside the driver!”

A Bishop of the Episcopal Church lived all his life unwed. A friend mentioned that one of the States was imposing a tax on bachelors, to be increased a certain percentage every ten years of bachelorhood, and added: ”Why, Bishop, at your age you would have to pay a hundred dollars a year.”

”Well,” said the Bishop quietly, ”it's worth it.”

Two old women, on their way home from church, in a country district of Scotland, were speaking of Napoleon's overthrow, by the allied troops at Waterloo. The minister had been pointing a moral by aid of the Corsican hero's defeat.

”Hoo is it,” said one, in her narrow way, ”the Scotch aye win their battles?”

”Weel, ye ken, it's because they aye pray afore they go in the fecht,”

replied the other.

”Ay! But mercy, wuman, canna the French pray, as weel?”

”Nae doobt, they dae; but wha could understan' they jabberin' bodies?”

snapped the interrogated one, in peremptory answer.

Curiously worded advertis.e.m.e.nts that are funny without intent are common in the London papers. Here are a few examples:

”A boy wanted who can open oysters with references.”

”Bulldog for sale; will eat anything, very fond of children.”

”Wanted an organist and a boy to blow the same.”

”Wanted, a boy to be partly outside and partly inside the counter.”

”Lost, near Highgate Archway, an umbrella belonging to a gentleman with a bent rib and a bone handle.”

”To be disposed of, a mail phaeton, the property of a gentleman with a movable headpiece as good as new.”

A tall young man stalked with stately stride into the office of a small hotel in a remote part of the White Mountains. Behind him came a severe valet carrying bags and a gun-case, and on a wagon at the door were two prosperous trunks. In an armchair behind the hotel counter sat a spare old man placidly chewing tobacco and reading the ”Weekly Recorder.”

”Ah-h-h! Hm!” the tall young man began. ”Is this Mr. Silas P. Meacham, proprietor of this hotel?”

”Yaas,” replied the old one, glancing up over his paper.

”I am Mr. Hanningford Wattster van Derventer, of the Metropolis Club, of New York,” said the visitor, impressively. ”My friend, Mr.

Vandergilt, told me you would take excellent care of me here.”