Part 34 (2/2)

”Ya-as,” replied Silas, still buried in his paper.

”_I_ am Mr. Hanningford Wattster van Derventer, of New York,” the visitor repeated. ”My friend, Mr. Vandergilt, told me you would take excellent care of me here.”

”Ya-a-as,” said Silas, still chewing and reading his paper.

”_I_ am Mr. Hanningford Wattster van Derventer, of New York,” the young man reiterated with the air of one who tells great news, also with rising indignation. ”My friend, Mr. _Vandergilt_, told me you would take excellent care of me--show me every attention.”

”Wa-al,” exclaimed Silas P. Meacham, throwing down the paper and revealing his few yellow teeth in a mocking grin--”wa-al, what d'ye want me t' do--kiss ye?”

Court--(to prosecutor)--”Then you recognize this handkerchief as the one which was stolen?”

Prosecutor--”Yes, your honor.”

Court--”And yet it isn't the only handkerchief of the sort in the world. See, this one I have in my pocket is exactly like it.”

Prosecutor--”Very likely, your honor; there were two stolen.”

The company of soldiers had been receiving a lesson in minor tactics, and among other subjects was the method of patrols in getting information. The book said that information could be obtained from ”mayors, postmasters, livery-stable keepers, doctors, peasants, etc.”

The lieutenant turned to Finnegan and said: ”Do you know what a peasant is, Finnegan?”

He answered promptly, ”Yes, sor.”

”Well, what is it?”

”It's a bird, sor,” said Finnegan with evident pride.

Senator Pettus, of Alabama, was writing with a noisy, spluttering pen.

Laying it down, he smiled and said: ”Once I was spending the evening with a friend of mine in Selma. We sat in the dining-room and from the kitchen came a dreadful scratching sound. 'Martha,' said my friend to the maid, 'what is that scratching? it must be the dog trying to get in.' 'Huh!' said Martha, 'Dat ain' no dog, dat's cook writin' a love-letter to heh honeysuckle.'”

”No smoking in this coach, sir,” said the conductor of a pa.s.senger train. ”I'm not smokin',” answered the pa.s.senger with an injured air from the depths of his seat.

”You've got your pipe in your mouth,” declared the conductor with emphasis, sharply confident. ”I hov,” retorted the Hibernian, ”and I hov me fut in me shoe, too, but I'm not walkin'.”

Little Alice is old for her years. One evening after she had gone to bed she heard mama and papa laughing in much enjoyment over a game of flinch; she longed to get up and join them, but knew she must not. The next morning at breakfast she was very quiet. Presently she drew a deep sigh, and said, ”What a good time you and papa had last night.

Oh, I feel the need of a husband, mama, I _do_ feel it!”

A teacher in one of the primary schools of New York recently read to her pupils ”The Old Oaken Bucket.”

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