“Yes,” said the second commuter, “I was missing too many trains.  The old brand required three seconds to prepare.  You can fix this new brand in a second and a half.”

After the sermon on Sunday morning the rector welcomed and shook hands with a young German.

“And are you a regular communicant?” said the rector.  “Yes,” said the German:  “I take the 7:45 every morning.”—­M.L.  Hayward.

A suburban train was slowly working its way through one of the blizzards of 1894.  Finally it came to a dead stop and all efforts to start it again were futile.

In the wee, small hours of the morning a weary commuter, numb from the cold and the cramped position in which he had tried to sleep, crawled out of the train and floundered through the heavy snow-drifts to the nearest telegraph station.  This is the message he handed to the operator: 

“Will not be at office to-day.  Not home yesterday yet.”

A nervous commuter on his dark, lonely way home from the railroad station heard footsteps behind him.  He had an uncomfortable feeling that he was being followed.  He increased his speed.  The footsteps quickened accordingly.  The commuter darted down a lane.  The footsteps still pursued him.  In desperation he vaulted over a fence and, rushing into a churchyard, threw himself panting on one of the graves.

“If he follows me here,” he thought fearfully, “there can be no doubt as to his intentions.”

The man behind was following.  He could hear him scrambling over the fence.  Visions of highwaymen, maniacs, garroters and the like flashed through his brain.  Quivering with fear, the nervous one arose and faced his pursuer.

“What do you want?” he demanded.  “Wh-why are you following me?”

“Say,” asked the stranger, mopping his brow, “do you always go home like this?  I’m going up to Mr. Brown’s and the man at the station told me to follow you, as you lived next door.  Excuse my asking you, but is there much more to do before we get there?”

COMPARISONS

A milliner endeavored to sell to a colored woman one of the last season’s hats at a very moderate price.  It was a big white picture-hat.

“Law, no, honey!” exclaimed the woman.  “I could nevah wear that.  I’d look jes’ like a blueberry in a pan of milk.”

A well-known author tells of an English spinster who said, as she watched a great actress writhing about the floor as Cleopatra: 

“How different from the home life of our late dear queen!”

“Darling,” whispered the ardent suitor, “I lay my fortune at your feet.”

“Your fortune?” she replied in surprise.  “I didn’t know you had one.”

“Well, it isn’t much of a fortune, but it will look large besides those tiny feet.”

“Girls make me tired,” said the fresh young man.  “They are always going to palmists to have their hands read.”