Among the Humorists and After Dinner Speakers Part 33

They recognized each other, and shook hands.

"How do you do, Mr. Attemborough," said the journalist. "We have met often before, but I think this is the first time I have ever seen your legs."

A clergyman in the West Country had two curates, one a comparatively old man, the other very young. With the former he had not been able to work agreeably; and on being invited to another living, he accepted it, and took the young curate with him. Naturally, there was a farewell sermon; and we can imagine the feelings of the curate who was to be left behind when he heard the text given out, "Abide ye here with the a.s.s, and I and the lad will go yonder and wors.h.i.+p."

A bishop was staying with a friend in a country house. On Sunday morning as he pa.s.sed through the library he found a small boy curled up in a big chair, deeply interested in a book.

"Are you going to church, Tom?" he asked.

"No, sir," he replied.

"Why, I am," said the Bishop.

"Huh," said the boy, "you've got to go. It's your job."

A celebrated continental specialist to whom time was literally money and who was possessed of a fiery temper made it a rule that all patients should undress before entering his consulting room so as not to waste any of his valuable time. One day a meek-looking little man entered with all his clothes on. "What do you mean by coming in like that?" said the doctor in a rage. "Go and strip at once!" "But I--"

faltered the man. "I tell you I've no time to waste," yelled the doctor, and the poor man left the room in haste. When his turn came he reentered the room. "Now then," said the doctor, "that's better. What can I do for you?" "I called to collect your subscription for the benevolent society."

A tall man, impatiently pacing the platform of a wayside station, accosted a red-haired boy of about twelve.

"S-s-say," he said, "d-d-do y-you know ha-ha-how late this train is?"

The boy grinned but made no reply. The man stuttered out something about red-headed kids in general and pa.s.sed into the station.

A stranger, overhearing the one-sided conversation, asked the boy why he hadn't answered the big man.

"D-d-d'ye wanter see me g-g-get me fa-fa-face punched?" stammered the boy. "D-d-dat big g-g-guy'd tink I was mo-mo-mocking him."

"Mother," said a college student who had brought his chum home for the holidays, "permit me to present my friend, Mr. Specknoodle."

His mother, who was a little hard of hearing, placed her hand to her ear.

"I'm sorry, George, but I didn't quite catch your friend's name.

You'll have to speak a little louder, I'm afraid."

"I say, mother," shouted George, "I want to present my friend Mr.

_Specknoodle_."

"I'm sorry, George, but Mr. ---- What was the name again?"

"MR. SPECKNOODLE!" George fairly yelled.

The old lady shook her head sadly.

"I'm sorry, George, but I'm afraid it's no use. It sounds just like Specknoodle to me."

A young American lady on a visit to London was being shown some of the sights by a boastful Englishman. "This is a cannon captured at Bunker Hill," said the Englishman. "How interesting," exclaimed the lady. "I must explain," said the gentleman tauntingly, "that this cannon was captured from the Americans by the English." The lady quietly retorted, "Well, you have the cannon; we have the hill."

Former Congressman Fred Landis of Indiana has made a reputation for himself as an orator. A year or so ago Landis, speaking at the unveiling of a monument to President Lincoln, uttered the phrase, "Abraham Lincoln--that mystic mingling of star and clod." This was loudly applauded. After the speech a friend of Landis approached him, and, repeating the phrase, said: "Fred, what in the name of heaven does that mean?" Putting his arm around his friend's shoulder, Landis replied: "I don't know, really, but it gets 'em every time."

Captain Foretopp tells a story of a certain noted divine who was on his steamer when a great gale overtook them off the Oregon coast. "It looks pretty bad," said the Bishop to the Captain. "Couldn't be much worse, Bishop," replied Foretopp.

Half an hour later the steamer was diving under the waves as if she were a submarine and leaking like an old door. "Looks worse, I think, Captain," said the Bishop. "We must trust in Providence now, Bishop,"

answered Foretopp.

"Oh, I hope it has not come to that," gasped the Bishop.

A couple of New Yorkers were playing golf on a New Jersey course on Election Day when they saw a fine-appearing old gentleman looking at them wistfully. They asked him to join the game, which he did with alacrity. He was mild in speech and manner and played well. But once when he had made a foozle he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed vehemently the word: "Croton!"

A few minutes later when he made another bad play, he repeated: "Croton!" The third time he said it, one of his new-made friends said: "I don't want to be inquisitive, but will you tell me why you say 'Croton' so often?" "Well," said the old gentleman, "isn't that the biggest dam near New York?" He was a Presbyterian clergyman from Brooklyn.

Willie, aged five, was taken by his father to his first football game.

The feature that caught his chief approval, however, did not become evident until he said his prayers that night. To the horror of his parents Willie prayed with true football snap:

"G.o.d bless papa, G.o.d bless mama, G.o.d bless Willie; Rah! Rah! Rah!"

A suburban minister during his discourse one Sabbath morning said: "In each blade of gra.s.s there is a sermon." The following day one of his flock discovered the good man pus.h.i.+ng a lawn mower about his garden and paused to say: "Well, parson, I'm glad to see you engaged in cutting your sermons short."

"Now, Bobby," instructed the Fond Maternal Parent of the prodigy in velveteens, bound for a children's party, "the weather looks rather threatening. Here is half a dollar for you, and if it rains come back by cab."

Two hours later it came down cats and dogs, and F. M. P. (Fond Maternal Parent) returned devout thanks for her forethought.

But when little Bobby Velveteens returned he was wet to the skin.

"Why, Bobby," cried the F. M. P., "didn't you come back by cab, as I told you?"