“Now, boys,” said the schoolmaster, “I want you to bear in mind that the word ‘stan’ at the end of a word means ‘the place of.’  Thus we have Afghanistan—­the place of the Afghans; also Hindustan—­the place of the Hindus.  Can any one give me another example?”

Nobody appeared very anxious to do so, until little Johnny Snaggs, the joy of his mother and the terror of the cats, said proudly—­

“Yes, sir, I can.  Umbrellastan—­the place for umbrellas.”

He went into a shop to buy a comb.  He was a man careful of other people’s grammar, and believed himself to be careful of his own.

“Do you want a narrow man’s comb?” asked the assistant.

“No,” answered the careful grammarian, “I want a comb for a stout man with tortoiseshell teeth.”

TEACHER—­“Thomas, will you tell me what a conjunction is, and compose a sentence containing one?”

THOMAS (after reflection)—­“A conjunction is a word connecting anything, such as ‘The horse is hitched to the fence by his halter.’  ‘Halter’ is a conjunction, because it connects the horse and the fence.”

A young man poured out a long story of adventure to a Boston girl.  Surprised, she asked: 

“Did you really do that?”

“I done it,” answered the proud young man.  He began another narrative, more startling than the first.

When she again expressed her surprise, he said, with inflated chest, “I done it.”

“Do you know,” remarked the girl, “you remind me strongly of Banquo’s Ghost?”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember that Macbeth said to him, ’Thou canst not say, “I did it"’?” and the young man wondered why everybody laughed.

An English professor, traveling through the hills, noted various quaint expressions.  For instance, after a long ride the professor sought provisions at a mountain hut.

“What d’ yo’-all want?” called out a woman.

“Madam,” said the professor, “can we get corn bread here?  We’d like to buy some of you.”

“Corn bread?  Corn bread, did yo’ say?” Then she chuckled to herself, and her manner grew amiable.  “Why, if corn bread’s all yo’ want, come right in, for that’s just what I hain’t got nothing else on hand but.”

Charles B. Towns, the antidrug champion, spent some time in China several years ago with Samuel Merwin, the writer.  In a Hongkong shop-window they noticed some Chinese house-coats of particularly striking designs and stepped in to purchase one.  Mr. Towns asked Mr. Merwin to do the bargaining.

“Wantum coatee,” said Mr. Merwin to the sleepy-eyed Oriental who shuffled up with a grunt.  He placed several of the coats before them.

“How muchee Melican monee?” inquired Mr. Merwin.

“It would aid me in transacting this sale,” said the Chinaman, “if you would confine your language to your mother tongue.  The coat is seven dollars.”

Mr. Merwin took it.