Toaster's Handbook Part 44

Blinker," he said. "Your face seems familiar. I fancy you have a double.

And a funny thing about it is that I remember I formed a strong prejudice against the man who looks like you--although, I'm quite sure, we never met."

The little guest softly laughed. "I'm the man," he answered, "and I know why you formed the prejudice. I pa.s.sed the contribution plate for two years in the church you attended."

The collections had fallen off badly in the colored church and the pastor made a short address before the box was pa.s.sed.

"I don' want any man to gib mo' dan his share, bredern," he said gently, "but we mus' all gib ercordin' to what we rightly hab. I say 'rightly hab," bredern, because we don't want no tainted money in dis box.

'Squire Jones tol' me dat he done miss some chickens dis week. Now if any of our bredern hab fallen by de wayside in connection wif dose chickens let him stay his hand from de box.

"Now, Deacon Smiff, please pa.s.s de box while I watch de signs an' see if dere's any one in dis congregation dat needs me ter wrastle in prayer fer him."

A newly appointed Scotch minister on his first Sunday of office had reason to complain of the poorness of the collection. "Mon," replied one of the elders, "they are close--vera close."

"But," confidentially, "the auld meenister he put three or four saxpenses into the plate hissel', just to gie them a start. Of course he took the saxpenses awa' with him afterward." The new minister tried the same plan, but the next Sunday he again had to report a dismal failure.

The total collection was not only small, but he was grieved to find that his own sixpences were missing. "Ye may be a better preacher than the auld meenister," exclaimed the elder, "but if ye had half the knowledge o' the world, an' o' yer ain flock in particular, ye'd ha' done what he did an' glued the saxpenses to the plate."

POLICE COMMISSIONER--"If you were ordered to disperse a mob, what would you do?"

APPLICANT--"Pa.s.s around the hat, sir."

POLICE COMMISSIONER--"That'll do; you're engaged."

"I advertized that the poor were made welcome in this church," said the vicar to his congregation, "and as the offertory amounts to ninety-five cents, I see that they have come."

_See also_ Salvation.

CONUNDRUMS

"Mose, what is the difference between a bucket of milk in a rain storm and a conversation between two confidence men?"

"Say, boss, dat nut am too hard to crack; I'se gwine to give it up."

"Well, Mose, one is a thinning scheme and the other is a skinning theme."

CONVERSATION

"My dog understands every word I say."

"Um."

"Do you doubt it?"

"No, I do not doubt the brute's intelligence. The scant attention he bestows upon your conversation would indicate that he understands it perfectly."

THE TALL AND AGGRESSIVE ONE--"Excuse me, but I'm in a hurry! You've had that phone twenty minutes and not said a word!"

THE SHORT AND MEEK ONE--"Sir, I'm talking to my wife."--_Puck_.

HUS (during a quarrel)--"You talk like an idiot."

WIFE--"I've got to talk so you can understand me."

Irving Bach.e.l.ler, it appears, was on a tramping tour through New England. He discovered a chin-bearded patriarch on a roadside rock.

"Fine corn," said Mr. Bach.e.l.ler, tentatively, using a hillside filled with straggling stalks as a means of breaking the conversational ice.

"Best in Ma.s.sachusetts," said the sitter.

"How do you plow that field?" asked Mr. Bach.e.l.ler. "It is so very steep."

"Don't plow it," said the sitter. "When the spring thaws come, the rocks rolling down hill tear it up so that we can plant corn."

"And how do you plant it?" asked Mr. Bach.e.l.ler. The sitter said that he didn't plant it, really. He stood in his back door and shot the seed in with a shotgun.

"Is that the truth?" asked Bach.e.l.ler.

"H--ll no," said the sitter, disgusted. "That's conversation."

Conversation is the laboratory and workshop of the student.--_Emerson_.

A single conversation across the table with a wise man is better than ten years' study of books.--_Longfellow_.

COOKERY

"John, John," whispered an alarmed wife, poking her sleeping husband in the ribs. "Wake up, John; there are burglars in the pantry and they're eating all my pies."

"Well, what do we care," mumbled John, rolling over, "so long as they don't die in the house?"