Among the Humorists and After Dinner Speakers Part 37

"Oh, K."

"O. K. Jepson."

"Excuse me, it isn't O. K. You did not understand me. I said 'Oh.'"

"O. Jepson."

"No; rub out the O and let the K stand."

The clerk looked annoyed. "Will you please give me your initials again?"

"I said K."

"I beg your pardon, you said O. K. Perhaps you had better write it yourself."

"I said 'Oh'--"

"Just now you said K."

"Allow me to finish what I started to say. I said 'Oh,' because I did not understand what you were asking me. I did not mean that it was my initial. My name is Kirby Jepson."

"Oh!"

"No, not O., but K.," said the man. "Give me the pencil, and I'll write it down for you myself. There, I guess it's O. K. now."

The furnis.h.i.+ng of the new house had gone on vociferously. All the family told stories of the beautiful and rare articles picked up at auctions, usually at such bargains as only amateurs in such matters are able to find. There was naturally much curiosity to see how the house looked. The first visitor who had the opportunity to inspect it was eagerly questioned by her friends.

"I can't describe it myself," she explained. "All I can say is that auctions speak louder than words."

When Frank R. Stockton started out with his Rudder Grange experiences he undertook to keep chickens. One old motherly Plymouth Rock brought out a brood late in the fall, and Stockton named each of the chicks after some literary friend, among the rest Mary Mapes Dodge. Mrs.

Dodge was visiting the farm some time later, and, happening to think of her namesake, she said: "By the way, Frank, how does little Mary Mapes Dodge get along?" "The funny thing about little Mary Mapes Dodge," said he, "is, she turns out to be Thomas Bailey Aldrich."

A short time ago a lady with an only child (aged seven) was entertaining the bishop of the diocese to afternoon tea. The small girl was allowed to come to tea, but her mother had instilled into her mind the necessity of speaking reverently to the bishop. Tea came and with it the pangs of hunger, but at the same time her mother's warning, "speak reverently," was always before her. After sitting for about ten minutes gazing at the good things and repeating over and over again, "speak reverently," she exclaimed, "For G.o.d's sake pa.s.s me the bread and b.u.t.ter."

Hiram Hardscrabble and his load of hay, two horses, and a perfectly good wagon were pitched so high and so far by a reckless railroad train that when they came down they weren't--any of 'em--good for much. The local Congressman took the case, and after some months advised Hiram to accept the railroad company's offer of lifelong employment at $15 a week. Hiram accepted. They put him out as a flagman on a crossing near his native village.

Ca.s.sidy, the section boss, stopped his handcar before the flag-shanty, and after a searching look at Hiram advised as follows:

"So you're the new flagman, are ye? And ye've niver railroaded before.

No harm. We'll make a man iv ye. See, now, there's yer red flag and yer green flag and yer white flag, and yer thrain schedule within on the wall. All ye have to do is dhrop the gates befoor the thrains do come, so that they'll have a clear thrack. D'ye mind, now?

"But there's wan thing above all others--th' Impire Shtate Express!

Putt yer gates down two minyits before she comes and keep them down till she's pasht. Mind now, she must niver be late on this section.

Niver wan minyit late. I won't sthand f'r it. Remimber--th' Impire Shtate Express. She must niver be late here."

Hiram promised. At 2 P.M., when the Empire State Express was due in two minutes, he dropped the crossing gates and stood by with the white flag to wave her along. Three minutes pa.s.sed, four, five--and still no train. As a matter of fact, she had lost half an hour at an open draw on the Harlem River in the morning, and was laboring mightily to regain lost time in spite of her fast schedule.

Seven minutes late, and then Hiram heard a wild shriek a mile away and saw the express coming. He darted into the shanty, grabbed a red flag, and leaped out upon the track, waving it furiously. The engineer shut off, threw over the reverse lever, gave her sand and the air; and the mighty train stopped short, in a whirl of sand, cinders, and sparks, brakes creaking and pa.s.sengers pitchpoling everywhere.

"What's the matter now?" roared the engineer, thrusting half his body out of the cab and glaring down at Hiram.

"Be yeou th' ingineer?" asked the flagman, peering at him with suspicion.

"Yes, yes! Whad-do-you want?"

"I want t' know whut's made ye so goldinged late? Ca.s.sidy says he wun't stand f'r it."

During a match at St. Andrews, Scotland, a rustic was struck in the eye accidentally by a golf ball. Running up to his a.s.sailant, he yelled:

"This'll cost ye five pounds--five pounds!"

"But I called out 'fore' as loudly as I could," explained the golfer.

"Did ye, sir?" replied the troubled one, much appeased. "Weel, I didna hear; I'll take fower."

Mark Twain observed once at a public dinner that he had written a friendly letter to Queen Victoria protesting against a tax being levied in England on his head, on the ground that it was a gas-works.

"I don't know you," he wrote, "but I've met your son. He was at the head of a procession in the Strand, and I was on a 'bus." Years afterward he met the King at Homburg, and they had a long talk. At parting the King said: "I am glad to have met you again." That last word troubled Mark, who asked whether the King had not mistaken him for some one else. The reply--"Why, don't you remember meeting me in the Strand when I was at the head of a procession and you were on a 'bus?" revealed the strength of Royal memories.

An Irishman and an Englishman were recounting feats of physical prowess. The Englishman, by way of showing his strength, said that he was accustomed to swim across the Thames three times before breakfast every morning.

"Well," said the Irishman, "that may be all right, but it do seem to me that your clothes would be on the wrong side of the river all the time."

An excess luggage porter at a large railway station said to a "commercial," "I see your luggage is overweight, sir." "Ah! your visionary powers are far too acute for me, my friend." "What did you say, sir?" "I say you can see too well for me." "Ah! to be sure, sir.

I take you----" "Could you see as well now if you had sixpence over one eye?" "Well, I don't know, sir, but I'm darned well sure I couldn't see at all if I'd another over t'other one."

Henry James, the American novelist, lives at Rye, one of the Cinque Ports, but recently he left Rye for a time and took a house in the country near the estate of a millionaire jam manufacturer, retired.

This man, having married an earl's daughter, was ashamed of the trade whereby he had piled up his fortune.

The jam manufacturer one day wrote Mr. James an impudent letter, vowing that it was outrageous the way the James servants were trespa.s.sing on his grounds. Mr. James wrote back: