The Wit and Humor of America Volume VI Part 12

"You must excuse me, gentlemen, but the discussion of these topics has quite unnerved me. Allow me to share with you a thimbleful."

Fitz drained the gla.s.s, cast his eyes upward, and said solemnly, "To the repose of the postmaster's soul."

LOVE SONNETS OF AN OFFICE BOY

BY S.E. KISER

I

Oh, if you only knowed how much I like To stand here, when the "old man" ain't around, And watch your soft, white fingers while you pound Away at them there keys! Each time you strike It almost seems to me as though you'd found So me way, while writin' letters, how to play Sweet music on that thing, because the sound Is something I could listen to all day.

You're twenty-five or six, and I'm fourteen, And you don't hardly ever notice me-- But when you do, you call me Willie! Gee, I wisht I'd bundles of the old long green And could be twenty-eight or nine or so, And something happened to your other beau.

VI

When you're typewritin' and that long-legged clerk Tips back there on his chair and smiles at you, And you look up and get to smilin', too, I'd like to go and give his chair a jerk And send him flyin' till his head went through The door that goes out to the hall, and when They picked him up he'd be all black and blue And you'd be nearly busted laughin' then.

But if I done it, maybe you would run And hold his head and smooth his hair and say It made you sad that he got dumped that way, And I'd get h'isted out for what I done-- I wish that he'd get fired and you'd stay And suddenly I'd be a man some day.

VIII

This morning when that homely, long-legged clerk Come in he had a rose he got somewhere; He went and kind of leaned against her chair, Instead of goin' on about his work, And stood around and talked to her a while, Because the boss was out,--and both took care To watch the door; and when he left her there He dropped the flower with a sickish smile.

I snuck it from the gla.s.s of water she Had stuck it in, and tore it up and put It on the floor and smashed it with my foot, When neither him nor her was watchin' me-- I'd like to rub the stem acrost his nose, And I wish they'd never be another rose.

XIII

Last night I dreamed about her in my sleep; I thought that her and me had went away Out on some hill where birds sung 'round all day, And I had got a job of herdin' sheep.

I thought that she had went along to keep Me comp'ny, and we'd set around for hours Just lovin', and I'd go and gather flowers And pile them at her feet, all in a heap.

It seemed to me like heaven, bein' there With only her besides the sheep and birds, And us not sayin' anything but words About the way we loved. I wouldn't care To ever wake again if I could still Dream we was there forever on the hill.

XXVII

It's over now; the blow has fell at last; It seems as though the sun can't shine no more, And nothing looks the way it did before; The glad thoughts that I used to think are past.

Her desk's shut up to-day, the lid's locked fast; The keys where she typewrote are still; her chair Looks sad and lonesome standin' empty there-- I'd like to let the tears come if I dast.

This morning when the boss come in he found A letter that he'd got from her, and so He read it over twice and turned around And said: "The little fool's got married!" Oh, It seemed as if I'd sink down through the ground, And never peep no more--I didn't, though.

MR. DOOLEY ON THE GAME OF FOOTBALL

BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE

"Whin I was a young man," said Mr. Dooley, "an' that was a long time ago,--but not so long ago as manny iv me inimies'd like to believe, if I had anny inimies,--I played fut-ball, but 'twas not th' fut-ball I see whin th' Brothers' school an' th' Saint Aloysius Tigers played las' week on th' pee-raries.

"Whin I was a la-ad, iv a Sundah afthernoon we'd get out in th' field where th' oats'd been cut away, an' we'd choose up sides. Wan cap'n'd pick one man, an' th' other another. 'I choose Dooley,' 'I choose O'Connor,' 'I choose Dimpsey,' 'I choose Riordan,' an' so on till there was twinty-five or thirty on a side. Thin wan cap'n'd kick th' ball, an'

all our side'd r-run at it an' kick it back; an' thin wan iv th' other side'd kick it to us, an' afther awhile th' game'd get so timpischous that all th' la-ads iv both sides'd be in wan pile, kickin' away at wan or th' other or at th' ball or at th' impire, who was mos'ly a la-ad that cudden't play an' that come out less able to play thin he was whin he wint in. An', if anny wan laid hands on th' ball, he was kicked be ivry wan else an' be th' impire. We played fr'm noon till dark, an'

kicked th' ball all th' way home in the moonlight.

"That was futball, an' I was a great wan to play it. I'd think nawthin'

iv histin' th' ball two hundherd feet in th' air, an' wanst I give it such a boost that I stove in th' ribs iv th' Prowtestant minister--bad luck to him, he was a kind man--that was lookin' on fr'm a hedge. I was th' finest player in th' whole county, I was so.

"But this here game that I've been seein' ivry time th' pagan fistival iv Thanksgivin' comes ar-round, sure it ain't th' game I played. I seen th' Dorgan la-ad comin' up th' sthreet yesterdah in his futball clothes,--a pair iv matthresses on his legs, a pillow behind, a mask over his nose, an' a bushel measure iv hair on his head. He was followed by thee men with bottles, Dr. Ryan, an' th' Dorgan fam'ly. I jined thim.

They was a big crowd on th' peerary,--a bigger crowd than ye cud get to go f'r to see a prize fight. Both sides had their frinds that give th'

colledge cries. Says wan crowd: 'Take an ax, an ax, an ax to thim.

Hooroo, hooroo, h.e.l.labaloo. Christyan Bro-others!' an' th' other says, 'Hit thim, saw thim, gnaw thim, chaw thim, Saint Alo-ysius!' Well, afther awhile they got down to wur-ruk. 'Sivin, eighteen, two, four,'

says a la-ad. I've seen people go mad over figures durin' th' free silver campaign, but I niver see figures make a man want f'r to go out an' kill his fellow-men befure. But these here figures had th' same effect on th' la-ads that a mintion iv Lord Castlereagh'd have on their fathers. Wan la-ad hauled off, an' give a la-ad acrost fr'm him a punch in th' stomach. His frind acrost th' way caught him in th' ear. Th'

cinter rush iv th' Saint Aloysiuses took a runnin' jump at th' left lung iv wan iv th' Christyan Brothers, an' wint to th' gra.s.s with him. Four Christyan Brothers leaped most crooly at four Saint Aloysiuses, an'

rolled thim. Th' cap'n iv th' Saint Aloysiuses he took th' cap'n iv th'

Christyan Brothers be th' leg, an' he pounded th' pile with him as I've seen a section hand tamp th' thrack. All this time young Dorgan was standin' back, takin' no hand in th' affray. All iv a suddent he give a cry iv rage, an' jumped feet foremost into th' pile. 'Down!' says th'

impire. 'Faith, they are all iv that,' says I. 'Will iver they get up?'

'They will,' says ol' man Dorgan. 'Ye can't stop thim,' says he.

"It took some time f'r to pry thim off. Near ivry man iv th' Saint Aloysiuses was tied in a knot around wan iv th' Christyan Brothers. On'y wan iv thim remained on th' field. He was lyin' face down, with his nose in th' mud. 'He's kilt,' says I. 'I think he is,' says Dorgan, with a merry smile. 'Twas my boy Jimmy done it, too,' says he. 'He'll be arrested f'r murdher,' says I. 'He will not,' says he. 'There's on'y wan polisman in town cud take him, an' he's down town doin' th' same f'r somebody,' he says. Well, they carried th' corpse to th' side, an' took th' ball out iv his stomach with a monkey wrinch, an' th' game was rayshumed. 'Sivin, sixteen, eight, eleven,' says Saint Aloysius; an'

young Dorgan started to run down th' field. They was another young la-ad r-runnin' in fr-ront iv Dorgan; an', as fast as wan iv th' Christyan Brothers come up an' got in th' way, this here young Saint Aloysius grabbed him be th' hair iv th' head an' th' sole iv th' fut, an' thrun him over his shoulder. 'What's that la-ad doin'?' says I. 'Interfering'

says he. 'I shud think he was,' says I, 'an' most impudent,' I says.

"Tis such interference as this,' I says, 'that breaks up fam'lies'; an'

I come away.

"'Tis a n.o.ble sport, an' I'm glad to see us Irish ar-re gettin' into it.

Whin we larn it thruly, we'll teach thim colledge joods fr'm th' pie belt a thrick or two."

"We have already," said Mr. Hennessy. "They'se a team up in Wisconsin with a la-ad be th' name iv Jeremiah Riordan f'r cap'n, an' wan named Patsy O'Dea behind him. They come down here, an' bate th' la-ads fr'm th' Chicawgo Colledge down be th' Midway."

"Iv coorse, they did," said Mr. Dooley. "Iv coorse, they did. An' they cud bate anny collection iv Baptists that iver come out iv a tank."

THE FAIRPORT ART MUSEUM

BY OCTAVE THANET

After the war was over, the Middle West addressed itself to Culture.

Perhaps the husbands and brothers and fathers might still be busy making money; but the women of the West, whose energies and emotions had been mightily roused, found life a little tame when there were no more sanitary commissions, no more great fairs or little fairs for the soldiers, no more intense emotions over printed sheets. Then it was that the Woman's Club lifted a modest finger at the pa.s.sing car of progress, and un.o.btrusively boarded it.