Best Short Stories Part 24

Along the Fox River, a few miles above Wedron, Ill., an old-timer named Andy Haskins has a shack, and he has made most of the record fish catches in that vicinity during forty years. He has a big record book containing dates and weights to impress visitors.

Last summer a young married couple from Chicago camped in a luxurious lodge three miles above old Haskins's place. A baby was born at the lodge, and the only scales the father could obtain on which to weigh the child was that with which Andy Haskins had weighed all the big fish he had caught in ten years.

The baby tipped the scales at thirty-five pounds!

EVIDENCE

Circ.u.mstantial evidence is not always conclusive. But certain kinds of it cannot be disputed. In the following colloquy the policeman appears to have the best of it.

"Not guilty, sir," replied the prisoner.

"Where did you find the prisoner?" asked the magistrate.

"In Trafalgar Square, sir," was the Bobby's reply.

"And what made you think he was intoxicated?"

"Well, sir, he was throwing his walking-stick into the basin of one of the fountains and trying to entice one of the stone lions to go and fetch it out again."

A FUTURE STATESMAN

All the talk of hyphenated citizens.h.i.+p has evidently had its effect upon a San Francisco youngster, American born, who recently rebelled fiercely when his Italian father whipped him for some misdemeanor.

"But, Tomaso," said one of the family, "your father has a right to whip you when you are bad."

Tomaso's eyes flashed. "I am a citizen of the United States," he declared. "Do you think that I am going to let any foreigner lick me?"

SMARTY!

William Dean Howells, at a dinner in Boston, said of modern American letters: "The average popular novel shows, on the novelist's part, an ignorance of his trade, which reminds me of a New England clerk. In a New England village I entered the main-street department store one afternoon and said to the clerk at the book counter: 'Let me have, please, the "Letters of Charles Lamb".' 'Post-office right across the street, Mr. Lamb,' said the clerk, with a polite, brisk smile"

HOW TO TELL A WELL-BRED DOG

If he defies all the laws of natural beauty and symmetry,

If he has a disease calling for specialists,

If he cannot eat anything but Russian caviar and broiled sweetbreads,

If he costs more than a six-cylinder roadster,

If he must be bathed in rose water and fed out of a cutgla.s.s bowl,

If he cannot be touched by the naked hand, or patted more than twice a day,

If he refuses to wear anything but imported leather collars,

If he has to sleep on a silk cus.h.i.+on.

If he dies before you can get him home.

Then he is a well-bred dog.

TRY IT AND SEE

A few years ago, while watching a parade in Boston in which the Stars and Stripes were conspicuous, a fair foreigner with strong anti-American proclivities turned to a companion, and commenting on the display, pettishly remarked:

"That American flag makes me sick. It looks just like a piece of checkerberry candy."

Senator Lodge, who was standing near by, overheard the remark, and turning to the young lady, said:

"Yes, miss, it does. And it makes everyone sick who tries to lick it."

WHAT HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN

Being well equipped physically, Michael Murphy had no difficulty in holding his job as village s.e.xton, until the first interment, when he was asked to sign the certificate. "Oi can't write," said Mike, and was discharged.

Out of a job, Mike turned to contracting and in time became wealthy and a figure in his community. When he applied to the leading bank for a loan of fifty thousand dollars, he was a.s.sured that he could get it--and was asked to sign the necessary notes. Again he was obliged to reply: "Oi can't write."

The banker was astounded. "And you have acc.u.mulated all this wealth and position without knowing how to write!" he exclaimed. "What would you have been to-day if you could write?"

Mike paused a moment, and answered:

"Oi would have been a s.e.xton."

CONCLUSIVE

Two Irishmen were working on the roof of a building one day when one made a mis-step and fell to the ground; the other leaned over and called: "Are ye dead or alive, Mike?"

"I'm alive," said Mike, feebly.

"Sure, yer such a liar I don't know whether to believe ye or not."

"Well, then, I must be dead," said Mike, "for ye would never dare to call me a liar if I were alive."

WHY NOT?

They were a very saving old couple, and as a result they had a beautifully furnished house. One day the old woman missed her husband.

"Joseph, where are you?" she called out.