“And I hope that you will distinguish yourself in more than one way.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I particularly desire that you become noted as an essayist also,” continued the ambitious parent.

“Yes, Father,” was the still modest reply.

“I have spared neither pains nor expense in your education thus far, but notwithstanding this immense outlay of time and money, if you can think of anything which you believe will add to your equipment for the career which you are about to begin—­if you can suggest some other way of refining your taste, please do so.  Do you know of anything else, my dear?”

“Yes, Father,” and this time the downcast eyes were raised and looked hopefully into his.

“Speak out; never mind the expense.”

“Well, Father, I’d like to go this afternoon and see Sullivan thump that yap from the country.”

Taking Mamma at Her Word

MOTHER:  “Ethel, you naughty child, what have you been doing to make
Charlie cry so?”

ETHEL:  “I’ve only been sharing my cod-liver oil with him, mamma.  You said it was so nice.”

It Was Worse Than Bigotry

A prisoner was brought before a police magistrate.  He looked around and discovered that his clerk was absent.  “Here, officer,” he said, “what’s this man charged with?”

“Bigotry, your Honor,” replied the policeman.  “He’s got three wives.”

The magistrate looked at the officer as though astounded at such ignorance.  “Why, officer,” he said, “that’s not bigotry—­that’s trigonometry.”

A Devotional Turn of Mind

As the new minister of the village was on his way to evening service he met a rising young man of the place whom he was anxious to have become an active member of the church.

“Good-evening, my young friend,” he said solemnly; “do you ever attend a place of worship?” /

“Yes, indeed, sir; regularly, every Sunday night,” replied the young fellow with a smile.  “I’m on my way to see her now.”

Poor Little Chap!

A little boy from the slums had been taken out into the country for the first time.  After a bit he was found sitting, all by himself, on a high bank, and gazing wistfully out over the hills.

The woman who had made the little excursion possible quietly seated herself at the youngster’s side.  To her the child turned a radiant face and asked: 

“Say, it’s dern pretty, ain’t it?  Is this all in the United States?”

The Horse Had a Habit

At an annual series of races “for all comers,” the sun was blazing down on a field of hot, excited horses and men, all waiting for a tall, raw-boned beast to yield to the importunities of the starter and get into line.

The patience of the starter was nearly exhausted.  “Bring up that horse!” he shouted.  “Bring him up!”

The rider of the refractory beast, a youthful Irishman, yelled back; “I can’t!  This here’s been a cab-horse, and he won’t start till he hears the door shut, an’ I ain’t got no door!”