Best Short Stories Part 9

"Yes, your honor, I'll explain meself," said the juror. "When Mr. Finn finished his talking me mind was clear all through, but whin Mr. Evans begins his talkin' I becomes all confused an' says I to meself, Taith, I'd better lave at once, an' shtay away until he is done,' because, your honor, to tell the truth, I didn't like the way the argument was going."

ON HER NERVES

The local p.a.w.nbroker's shop was on fire, and among the crowd of spectators was an old woman who attracted much attention by her sobs and cries of despair.

"What is the matter with you?" a fireman said. "You don't own the shop, do you?"

"No," she wailed, "but my old man's suit is p.a.w.ned there, and he don't know it."

CASH

We cannot deny that one of the great questions of the day among tradespeople is how to get their bills paid. Neither can we deny that we have all been over-extravagant. This little story (which is really a satire) contains its moral.

One bright morning Mr. Dobson, an American gentleman in excellent circ.u.mstances, and yet (quite singular to relate of any American gentleman!) constantly harried by his bills, conceived of a brilliant idea. Thereupon he said to Mrs. Dobson:

"My dear, let us pay cash for one day."

"How absurd!"

"It may seem so, but you must admit that it is a brand-new idea, and therefore worth while for you, as a modern woman, to try."

This was the only possible way in which the astute Mr. Dobson could have persuaded his wife to try his ideas. They both agreed, and he gave her a hundred dollars in bright, new bills. Taking the same amount himself, he began his day.

It would be easily possible for us to make a story out of this by recording the incidents of that day. But they would be too painful for modern readers, who insist upon being amused. Sufficient is it to observe that at night the Dobsons met each other face to face.

"I have been grossly insulted by four people," said Mrs. Dobson, who looked very much the worse for wear. "By a saleswoman in a department store, my milliner, my shoemaker, and my glovemaker. I offered them all cash, and it will take years to reinstate myself with them again."

"I got in wrong with my haberdasher and my hatter," said Dobson, "and then quit for the day. I didn't have the courage to attempt to buy anything more. Your people, by the way, sent collectors to collect last month's bills. Also, I calculated this afternoon that if we should pay cash for everything, it would cost me twice my income."

"How much does it cost now?"

"I don't know--that's the strange part of it. But, my dear, isn't it worthwhile to learn something, even by making such a mistake?"

At this point Mrs. Dobson, who had been softly shedding tears, braced up and impulsively put her arms about her erring husband's neck.

"Never mind, dear," she said, "we must face this together. We are probably ruined, but we are both comparatively young, and we will live it down side by side."

TOO MUCH

In these days of the conservation of fuel no wonder a certain gentleman was disturbed.

"You've made a mistake in your paper," said this indignant man, entering the editorial sanctum of a daily paper. "I was one of the compet.i.tors at that athletic match yesterday, and you have called me 'the well-known light-weight champion.'"

"Well, aren't you?" inquired the editor.

"No, I'm nothing of the kind, and it's confoundedly awkward, because I'm in the coal business."

MISTAKEN IDENt.i.tY?

A kindergarten teacher entering a street-car saw a gentleman whose face seemed familiar, and she said, "Good evening!"

He seemed somewhat surprised, and she soon realized that she had spoken to a stranger. Much confused, she explained: "When I first saw you I thought you were the father of two of my children."

THIS HAPPENED IN CHICAGO

Some time after the Civil War James Russell Lowell was asked to go to Chicago to deliver a political speech upholding the Republican Party. It was a great occasion, for Russell was easily the foremost literary and political figure of the day, and his coming was widely advertised. But at the last moment, just before the address was to be delivered, for certain political reasons it was deemed inexpedient by the managers of the affair to have Russell talk politics, and so a hurried announcement was made that Mr. Russell, instead of speaking on the issues of the day, would deliver his celebrated lecture on Shakespeare. This he did, it having been correctly described by critics as the best lecture on the great poet ever delivered.

After the lecture was over, however, one of the Chicago politicians, who doubtless had never heard of Shakespeare, was in his disappointment led to exclaim:

"Hum! I suppose he thought anything was good enough for us!"

HAD HEARD HIM BEFORE

The critical instinct grows by what it is fed upon. No matter how well you may do, some people are never satisfied and this is especially true in families.

A Philadelphia divine was entertaining a couple of clergymen from New York at dinner. The guests spoke in praise of a sermon their host had delivered the Sunday before. The host's son was at the table, and one of the New York clergymen said to him: "My lad, what did you think of your father's sermon?"

"I guess it was very good," said the boy, "but there were three mighty fine places where he could have stopped."

HER DOMESTIC INSTINCTS

We must not always look down upon those innocent people who may not have had the same cultural influences we have had, although it is some difficult not to smile at their point of view:

Sir Frederick Kenyon, the Director of the British Museum and a man of great knowledge, has had all sorts of funny experiences with visitors there.

Once he was showing a distinguished lady visitor some of the priceless treasures of which he is the custodian, but for a long time nothing seemed to interest her very much.

Then suddenly he noticed a change. Her face lighted up and she leaned forward.

"What is it, madam?" asked Sir Frederick, gratified at this tardy sign of awakening appreciation. "Pray do not hesitate to ask if there is anything you would like to know."

"So good of you!" chirruped the lady. "I wish you would tell me what brand of blacklead you use on those iron ventilators that are let into the floor. We have the same sort of things at my house, but my maids never get them to shine half so brilliantly."

LAST RESORT

Anybody who, a stranger, has tried to find his way about Boston will understand the experience of Mr. Hubb, a native who was addressed by his friend Mr. Penn, from Philadelphia.

"They say," remarked Mr. Penn, "the streets in Boston are frightfully crooked."

"They are," replied Mr. Hubb. "Why, do you know, when I first went there I could hardly find my way around."