“What on earth are you doing, man?” shouted the manager, rushing behind the scenes.  “Do you call that thunder?  It’s not a bit like it.”

“Awfully sorry, sir,” responded the carpenter; “but the fact is, sir, I couldn’t hear you because of the storm.  That was real thunder, sir!”

Everybody has his own theater, in which he is manager, actor, prompter, playwright, sceneshifter, boxkeeper, doorkeeper, all in one, and audience into the bargain.—­J.C. and A.W.  Hare.

THIEVES

GEORGIA LAWYER (to colored prisoner)—­“Well, Ras, so you want me to defend you.  Have you any money?”

RASTUS—­“No; but I’se got a mule, and a few chickens, and a hog or two.”

LAWYER—­“Those will do very nicely.  Now, let’s see; what do they accuse you of stealing?”

RASTUS—­“Oh, a mule, and a few chickens, and a hog or two.”

At a dinner given by the prime minister of a little kingdom on the Balkan Peninsula, a distinguished diplomat complained to his host that the minister of justice, who had been sitting on his left, had stolen his watch.

“Ah, he shouldn’t have done that,” said the prime minister, in tones of annoyance.  “I will get it back for you.”

Sure enough, toward the end of the evening the watch was returned to its owner.

“And what did he say?” asked the diplomat.

“Sh-h,” cautioned the host, glancing anxiously about him.  “He doesn’t know that I have got it back.”

Senator “Bob” Taylor, of Tennessee, tells a story of how, when he was “Fiddling Bob,” governor of that state, an old negress came to him and said: 

“Massa Gov’na, we’s mighty po’ this winter, and Ah wish you would pardon mah old man.  He is a fiddler same as you is, and he’s in the pen’tentry.”

“What was he put in for?” asked the governor.

“Stead of workin’ fo’ it that good-fo’-nothin’ nigger done stole some bacon.”

“If he is good for nothing what do you want him back for?”

“Well, yo’ see, we’s all out of bacon ag’in,” said the old negress innocently.

“Did ye see as Jim got ten years’ penal for stealing that ’oss?”

“Serve ’im right, too.  Why didn’t ’e buy the ’oss and not pay for ’im like any other gentleman?”

Some time ago a crowd of Bowery sports went over to Philadelphia to see a prize fight.  One “wise guy,” who, among other things, is something of a pickpocket, was so sure of the result that he was willing to bet on it.

“The Kid’s goin’ t’ win.  It’s a pipe,” he told a friend.

The friend expressed doubts.

“Sure he’ll win,” the pickpocket persisted.  “I’ll bet you a gold watch he wins.”

Still the friend doubted.

“Why,” exclaimed the pickpocket, “I’m willin’ to bet you a good gold watch he wins!  Y’ know what I’ll do?  Come through the train with me now, an’ y’ can pick out any old watch y’ like.”