Part 51 (1/2)
When asked by the Senator whom he was looking for he replied.
”A little boy who gave his order.”
The Senator replied: ”I am that boy.”
Jack's mother had been walking up and down the piazza with him repeating Mother Goose. She began the ”Solomon Grundy” one, going through it rapidly without taking breath, ending laughingly:
”Worse on Friday, Died on Sat.u.r.day, Buried on Sunday, And that was the end Of Solomon Grundy.”
Jack took his thumb out of his mouth, looked reprovingly at his mother and said:
”Don't laugh, mama: that's _awful_.”
”I'm a terror, I be,” announced the new arrival in Frozen Dog to one of the men behind the bar.
”Be ye?”
”Take three men to handle me, once I get started,” he went on.
”Oh, well,” he remarked, as he arose painfully and dusted off his clothes, ”of course, if ye're short-handed, I suppose two kin do it on a pinch.”
David B. Hill, former Governor of and Senator from New York, has a secluded hatter somewhere in the State who makes his high hats after elaborate plans drawn by Mr. Hill many years ago, and not changed since.
One night Governor Odell, of New York, was giving a reception in Albany, and President Roosevelt, then elected Vice-President, met Mr.
Hill on the steps of the New York Executive mansion.
Roosevelt wore a black rough-rider hat and Hill had one of his peculiar sky-pieces.
”Senator,” said Roosevelt, ”you should wear a hat like this one that I have on. They are much easier on the head, preserve the hair and are altogether better than silk ones.”
Mr. Hill looked at the coming Vice-President. ”My dear sir,” he said, ”I haven't worn a hat like that since I went out of the show business.”
A negress was brought before a magistrate charged with cruelly treating her child. Evidence was clear that she had severely beaten the youngster, who was in court to exhibit his marks and bruises.
Before imposing sentence the magistrate asked the woman if she had anything to say. ”Kin Ah ask yo' honah a question?” His honor nodded.
”Well, yo' honah, I'd like to ask yo' whether yo' was ever the father of a puffectly wuthless culled chile?”
A member of an eminent St. Louis law firm went to Chicago to consult a client. When he arrived he found that he had unaccountably forgotten the client's name. He telegraphed his partner, ”What is our client's name?” The answer read, ”Brown, Walter E. Yours is Allen, William B.”
A traveling man stopped at an Indiana hotel. The proprietor told him he had not a room in the house. The man said he must have a room.