ABSENT-MINDEDNESS

This story is told of an absent-minded professor at Drew Theological Seminary.  One evening while studying he had need of a book-mark.  Seeing nothing else handy, he used his wife’s scissors, which lay on the sewing-table.  A few minutes later the wife wanted the scissors, but a diligent search failed to reveal them.

The next day the professor appeared before his class and opened his book.  There lay the scissors.  He picked them up and, holding them above his head, shouted: 

“Here they are, dear!”

Yes, the class got it.

Deep in a ponderous calculation, the professor leaned over his desk. 
One hand held his massive brow; the other guided the pencil.

Suddenly the library door was flung open, and a nurse entered, smiling broadly.

“There’s a little stranger upstairs, professor,” she announced, of course referring to the very latest arrival.

“Eh?” grunted the man of learning, poring deeply over his problem.

“It’s a little boy,” remarked the nurse, still smiling.

“Little boy,” mused the professor.  “Little boy-eh?  Well ask him what he wants.”

A story is current concerning a professor who is reputed to be slightly absent-minded.  The learned man had arranged to escort his wife one evening to the theater.  “I don’t like the tie you have on.  I wish you would go up and put on another,” said his wife.

The professor tranquilly obeyed.  Moment after moment elapsed, until finally the impatient wife went upstairs to learn the cause of the delay.  In his room she found her husband undressed and getting into bed.

“How will you have your roast beef?” asked the waiter.

“Well done, good and faithful servant,” murmured the clerical-looking diner absent-mindedly.

See also Habit; Memory.

ACCIDENTS

Hearing a crash of glassware one morning, Mrs. Blank called to her maid in the adjoining room, “Norah, what on earth are you doing?”

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’, mum,” replied Norah; “it’s done.”

A big Irishman, while carrying a ladder through a crowded street had the misfortune to break a plate-glass window in a store.  He immediately dropped his ladder and broke into a run, but he had been seen by the shopkeeper, who dashed after him in company with several salesmen, and was soon caught.

“Here you big loafer!” shouted the angry shopkeeper, when he had regained his breath.  “You have broken my window!”

“I sure have,” admitted the Celt, “and didn’t you see me running home to get the money to pay for it?”

  There was a man who fancied that by driving good and fast
  He’d get his car across the track before the train came past;
  He’d miss the engine by an inch, and make the train-hands sore. 
  There was a man who fancied this; there isn’t any more.