Part 37 (1/2)

”Oh, K.”

”O. K. Jepson.”

”Excuse me, it isn't O. K. You did not understand me. I said 'Oh.'”

”O. Jepson.”

”No; rub out the O and let the K stand.”

The clerk looked annoyed. ”Will you please give me your initials again?”

”I said K.”

”I beg your pardon, you said O. K. Perhaps you had better write it yourself.”

”I said 'Oh'--”

”Just now you said K.”

”Allow me to finish what I started to say. I said 'Oh,' because I did not understand what you were asking me. I did not mean that it was my initial. My name is Kirby Jepson.”

”Oh!”

”No, not O., but K.,” said the man. ”Give me the pencil, and I'll write it down for you myself. There, I guess it's O. K. now.”

The furnis.h.i.+ng of the new house had gone on vociferously. All the family told stories of the beautiful and rare articles picked up at auctions, usually at such bargains as only amateurs in such matters are able to find. There was naturally much curiosity to see how the house looked. The first visitor who had the opportunity to inspect it was eagerly questioned by her friends.

”I can't describe it myself,” she explained. ”All I can say is that auctions speak louder than words.”

When Frank R. Stockton started out with his Rudder Grange experiences he undertook to keep chickens. One old motherly Plymouth Rock brought out a brood late in the fall, and Stockton named each of the chicks after some literary friend, among the rest Mary Mapes Dodge. Mrs.

Dodge was visiting the farm some time later, and, happening to think of her namesake, she said: ”By the way, Frank, how does little Mary Mapes Dodge get along?” ”The funny thing about little Mary Mapes Dodge,” said he, ”is, she turns out to be Thomas Bailey Aldrich.”

A short time ago a lady with an only child (aged seven) was entertaining the bishop of the diocese to afternoon tea. The small girl was allowed to come to tea, but her mother had instilled into her mind the necessity of speaking reverently to the bishop. Tea came and with it the pangs of hunger, but at the same time her mother's warning, ”speak reverently,” was always before her. After sitting for about ten minutes gazing at the good things and repeating over and over again, ”speak reverently,” she exclaimed, ”For G.o.d's sake pa.s.s me the bread and b.u.t.ter.”

Hiram Hardscrabble and his load of hay, two horses, and a perfectly good wagon were pitched so high and so far by a reckless railroad train that when they came down they weren't--any of 'em--good for much. The local Congressman took the case, and after some months advised Hiram to accept the railroad company's offer of lifelong employment at $15 a week. Hiram accepted. They put him out as a flagman on a crossing near his native village.

Ca.s.sidy, the section boss, stopped his handcar before the flag-shanty, and after a searching look at Hiram advised as follows:

”So you're the new flagman, are ye? And ye've niver railroaded before.

No harm. We'll make a man iv ye. See, now, there's yer red flag and yer green flag and yer white flag, and yer thrain schedule within on the wall. All ye have to do is dhrop the gates befoor the thrains do come, so that they'll have a clear thrack. D'ye mind, now?

”But there's wan thing above all others--th' Impire Shtate Express!