The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V. (of X.)

by Finley Peter Dunne

  "Not for a day or so, unfortunately," confessed the young man. "The dogsdestroyed all my papers. The only thing I could find was a portion of abrief note from my mother."

  The three aunts, as by one electric impulse, bent forward with shiningeyes.

  "From your mother!" hungrily repeated Aunt Sarah. "Let us see it, if youwill, please."

  He produced it reluctantly. It was not exactly the sort of letter ayoung man cares to parade.

  "'My beloved son,'" Aunt Sarah read aloud, pausing to bestow a softenedglance upon him. "'I can not wait for your return to say how proud I amof you. Your noble and generous action in regard to the aged widowCrane's property has just come to my ears, through a laughing complaintof your father about your unbusinesslike methods in dealing with thosewho have been unfortunate. In spite of his whimsically expresseddisapproval, he feels that you are an honor to him. Your sister Nelliecried in her pride and love of you when she heard--'"

  The rest of the letter had been lost, but this was enough.

  Adnah had gradually hitched closer to him, and now her hand, unreproved,stole affectionately to his shoulder. Aunt Matilda was wiping her eyes.Aunt Ann openly sniffled. Aunt Sarah cleared her throat most violently.

  "Your references are all that we could wish, young man," she presentlyadmitted in a businesslike tone. "We shall waive, in your favor, ourobjections to men in general. If we must have one in the family we areto be congratulated upon having one whose mother is proud of him."

  Coming from Aunt Sarah this was a marvelous concession. The young manbowed his head in pleased acknowledgment and, by and by, crossed hislegs in comfort as a home-like feeling began to settle down upon him.Suddenly observing their bloomered exposure, however, he tried to pokehis legs under the couch, and twiddled his thumbs instead.

  "And when do our young people expect to be married?" meek Sister Annpresently ventured to inquire.

  "As quickly as possible," promptly answered the young man, smilingtriumphantly down at the girl by his side. He was astonished, and ratherpleased, too, to find her suddenly embarrassed and blushing prettily.

  "I believe, then," announced Aunt Sarah, after due deliberation, "thatyou may now kiss our niece; may he not, Sisters Ann and Matilda?"

  "He may!" eagerly assented the others.

  "Very well, then, proceed," commanded Aunt Sarah, folding her arms.

  The young man hastily braced himself to meet this new shock, then gazeddown at the girl again. She was still blushing in her newly-foundself-conscious femininity, but she trustingly held up her pretty lips tohim, looking full into his eyes with the steady flame of her loveburning unveiled--and he kissed her.

  "Ah-h-h-h!" sighed the three man-hating spinsters in ecstatic unison.

  A LETTER FROM A SELF-MADE MERCHANT TO HIS SON

  BY GEORGE HORACE LORIMER

  [From John Graham, at the London House of Graham & Co., to his son,Pierrepont, at the Union Stock Yards in Chicago. Mr. Pierrepont isworried over rumors that the old man is a bear on lard, and that thelongs are about to make him climb a tree.]

  LONDON, October 27, 189-

  _Dear Pierrepont:_ Yours of the twenty-first inst. to hand and I notethe inclosed clippings. You needn't pay any special attention to thisnewspaper talk about the Comstock crowd having caught me short a bigline of November lard. I never sell goods without knowing where I canfind them when I want them, and if these fellows try to put theirforefeet in the trough, or start any shoving and crowding, they're goingto find me forgetting my table manners, too. For when it comes to funnybusiness I'm something of a humorist myself. And while I'm too old torun, I'm young enough to stand and fight.

  First and last, a good many men have gone gunning for me, but they'vealways planned the obsequies before they caught the deceased. I reckonthere hasn't been a time in twenty years when there wasn't a nice "GatesAjar" piece all made up and ready for me in some office near the Boardof Trade. But the first essential of a quiet funeral is a willingcorpse. And I'm still sitting up and taking nourishment.

  There are two things you never want to pay any attention to--abuse andflattery. The first can't harm you and the second can't help you. Somemen are like yellow dogs--when you're coming toward them they'll jump upand try to lick your hands; and when you're walking away from themthey'll sneak up behind and snap at your heels. Last year, when I wasbulling the market, the longs all said that I was a kindhearted oldphilanthropist, who was laying awake nights scheming to get the farmersa top price for their hogs; and the shorts allowed that I was aninfamous old robber, who was stealing the pork out of the workingman'spot. As long as you can't please both sides in this world, there'snothing like pleasing your own side.

  There are mighty few people who can see any side to a thing except theirown side. I remember once I had a vacant lot out on the Avenue, and alady came in to my office and in a soothing-sirupy way asked if I wouldlend it to her, as she wanted to build a _creche_ on it. I hesitated alittle, because I had never heard of a _creche_ before, and someways itsounded sort of foreign and frisky, though the woman looked like a good,safe, reliable old heifer. But she explained that a _creche_ was a babyfarm, where old maids went to wash and feed and stick pins in otherpeople's children while their mothers were off at work. Of course, therewas nothing in that to get our pastor or the police after me, so I toldher to go ahead.

  She went off happy, but about a week later she dropped in again,looking sort of dissatisfied, to find out if I wouldn't build the_creche_ itself. It seemed like a worthy object, so I sent somecarpenters over to knock together a long frame pavilion. She was mightygrateful, you bet, and I didn't see her again for a fortnight. Then shecalled by to say that so long as I was in the business and they didn'tcost me anything special, would I mind giving her a few cows. She had asurprised and grieved expression on her face as she talked, and the wayshe put it made me feel that I ought to be ashamed of myself for nothaving thought of the live stock myself. So I threw in a half dozen cowsto provide the refreshments.

  I thought that was pretty good measure, but the carpenters hadn't morethan finished with the pavilion before the woman telephoned a sharpmessage to ask why I hadn't had it painted.

  I was too busy that morning to quarrel, so I sent word that I would fixit up; and when I was driving by there next day the painters were hardat work on it. There was a sixty-foot frontage of that shed on theAvenue, and I saw right off that it was just a natural signboard. So Icalled over the boss painter and between us we cooked up a nice littlead that ran something like this:

  Graham's Extract: It Makes the Weak Strong.

  Well, sir, when she saw the ad next morning that old hen justscratched gravel. Went all around town saying that I had given afive-hundred-dollar shed to charity and painted a thousand-dollar ad onit. Allowed I ought to send my check for that amount to the _creche_fund. Kept at it till I began to think there might be something in it,after all, and sent her the money. Then I found a fellow who wanted tobuild in that neighborhood, sold him the lot cheap, and got out of the_creche_ industry.

  I've put a good deal more than work into my business, and I've drawn agood deal more than money out of it; but the only thing I've ever putinto it which didn't draw dividends in fun or dollars was worry. That isa branch of the trade which you want to leave to our competitors.

  I've always found worrying a blamed sight more uncertain thanhorse-racing--it's harder to pick a winner at it. You go home worryingbecause you're afraid that your fool new clerk forgot to lock the safeafter you, and during the night the lard refinery burns down; you spenda year fretting because you think Bill Jones is going to cut you outwith your best girl, and then you spend ten worrying because he didn't;you worry over Charlie at college because he's a little wild, and hewrites you that he's been elected president of the Y.M.C.A.; and youworry over William because he's so pious that you're afraid he's goingto throw up everything and go to China as a missionary, and he draws onyou for a hundred; you worry because you're afraid your busine
ss isgoing to smash, and your health busts up instead. Worrying is the onegame in which, if you guess right, you don't get any satisfaction out ofyour smartness. A busy man has no time to bother with it. He can alwaysfind plenty of old women in skirts or trousers to spend their daysworrying over their own troubles and to sit up nights waking his.

  Speaking of handing over your worries to others naturally calls to mindthe Widow Williams and her son Bud, who was a playmate of mine when Iwas a boy. Bud was the youngest of the Widow's troubles, and she was awoman whose troubles seldom came singly. Had fourteen altogether, andfour pair of 'em were twins. Used to turn 'em loose in the morning, whenshe let out her cows and pigs to browse along the street, and then she'dshed all worry over them for the rest of the day. Allowed that if theygot hurt the neighbors would bring them home; and that if they gothungry they'd come home. And someways, the whole drove always showed upsafe and dirty about meal time.

  I've no doubt she thought a lot of Bud, but when a woman has fourteen itsort of unsettles her mind so that she can't focus her affections orplay any favorites. And so when Bud's clothes were found at the swimminghole one day, and no Bud inside them, she didn't take on up to theexpectations of the neighbors who had brought the news, and who werestanding around waiting for her to go off into something special in theway of high-strikes.

  She allowed that they were Bud's clothes, all right, but she wanted toknow where the remains were. Hinted that there'd be no funeral, or suchlike expensive goings-on, until some one produced the deceased. Take herby and large, she was a pretty cool, calm cucumber.

  But if she showed a little too much Christian resignation, the rest ofthe town was mightily stirred up over Bud's death, and every one justquit work to tell each other what a noble little fellow he was; and howhis mother hadn't deserved to have such a bright little sunbeam in herhome; and to drag the river between talks. But they couldn't get a rise.

  Through all the worry and excitement the Widow was the only one whodidn't show any special interest, except to ask for results. Butfinally, at the end of a week, when they'd strained the whole riverthrough their drags and hadn't anything to show for it but a collectionof tin cans and dead catfish, she threw a shawl over her head and wentdown the street to the cabin of Louisiana Clytemnestra, an old yellowwoman, who would go into a trance for four bits and find a fortune foryou for a dollar. I reckon she'd have called herself a clairvoyantnowadays, but then she was just a voodoo woman.

  Well, the Widow said she reckoned that boys ought to be let out as wellas in for half price, and so she laid down two bits, allowing that shewanted a few minutes' private conversation with her Bud. Clytie saidshe'd do her best, but that spirits were mighty snifty and high-toned,even when they'd only been poor white trash on earth, and it might makethem mad to be called away from their high jinks if they were taking alittle recreation, or from their high-priced New York customers if theywere working, to tend to cut-rate business. Still, she'd have a try, andshe did. But after having convulsions for half an hour, she gave it up.Reckoned that Bud was up to some cussedness off somewhere, and that hewouldn't answer for any two-bits.

  The Widow was badly disappointed, but she allowed that that was justlike Bud. He'd always been a boy that never could be found when any onewanted him. So she went off, saying that she'd had her money's worth inseeing Clytie throw those fancy fits. But next day she came again andpaid down four bits, and Clytie reckoned that that ought to fetch Budsure. Someways though, she didn't have any luck, and finally the Widowsuggested that she call up Bud's father--Buck Williams had been dead amatter of ten years--and the old man responded promptly.

  "Where's Bud?" asked the Widow.

  Hadn't laid eyes on him. Didn't know he'd come across. Had he joined thechurch before he started?

  "No."

  Then he'd have to look downstairs for him.

  Clytie told the Widow to call again and they'd get him sure. So she cameback next day and laid down a dollar. That fetched old Buck Williams'ghost On the jump, you bet, but he said he hadn't laid eyes on Bud yet.They hauled the Sweet By and By with a drag net, but they couldn't get arap from him. Clytie trotted out George Washington, and Napoleon, andBilly Patterson, and Ben Franklin, and Captain Kidd, just to show thatthere was no deception, but they couldn't get a whisper even from Bud.

  I reckon Clytie had been stringing the old lady along, intending toproduce Bud's spook as a sort of red-fire, calcium-light,grand-march-of-the-Amazons climax, but she didn't get a chance. Forright there the old lady got up with a mighty set expression around herlips and marched out, muttering that it was just as she had thought allalong--Bud wasn't there. And when the neighbors dropped in thatafternoon to plan out a memorial service for her "lost lamb," shechased them off the lot with a broom. Said that they had looked in theriver for him and that she had looked beyond the river for him, and thatthey would just stand pat now and wait for him to make the next move.Allowed that if she could once get her hands in "that lost lamb's" woolthere might be an opening for a funeral when she got through with him,but there wouldn't be till then. Altogether, it looked as if there was aheap of trouble coming to Bud if he had made any mistake and was stillalive.

  The Widow found her "lost lamb" hiding behind a rain-barrel when sheopened up the house next morning, and there was a mighty touching andaffecting scene. In fact, the Widow must have touched him at least ahundred times and every time he was affected to tears, for she was usinga bed slat, which is a powerfully strong moral agent for making a boysee the error of his ways. And it was a month after that before Budcould go down Main Street without some man who had called him a noblelittle fellow, or a bright, manly little chap, while he was drowned,reaching out and fetching him a clip on the ear for having come back andput the laugh on him.

  No one except the Widow ever really got at the straight of Bud'sconduct, but it appeared that he left home to get a few Indians scalps,and that he came back for a little bacon and corn pone.

  I simply mention the Widow in passing as an example of the fact that thetime to do your worrying is when a thing is all over, and that the wayto do it is to leave it to the neighbors. I sail for home to-morrow.

  Your affectionate father,JOHN GRAHAM.

  FAREWELL

  _Provoked by Calverley's "Forever"_

  By Bert Leston Taylor

  "Farewell!" Another gloomy word As ever into language crept. 'Tis often written, never heard, Except

  In playhouse. Ere the hero flits-- In handcuffs--from our pitying view. "Farewell!" he murmurs, then exits R.U.

  "Farewell" is much too sighful for An age that has not time to sigh. We say, "I'll see you later," or "Good-by!"

  When, warned by chanticleer, you go From her to whom you owe devoir, "Say not 'good-by,'" she laughs, "but 'Au Revoir!'"

  Thus from the garden are you sped; And Juliet were the first to tell You, you were silly if you said "Farewell!"

  "Farewell," meant long ago, before It crept, tear-spattered, into song, "Safe voyage!" "Pleasant journey!" or "So long!"

  But gone its cheery, old-time ring; The poets made it rhyme with knell-- Joined it became a dismal thing-- "Farewell!"

  "Farewell!" into the lover's soul You see Fate plunge the fatal iron. All poets use it. It's the whole Of Byron.

  "I only feel--farewell!" said he; And always fearful was the telling-- Lord Byron was eternally Farewelling.

  "Farewell!" A dismal word, 'tis true (And why not tell the truth about it!); But what on earth would poets do Without it?

  MY RUTHERS

  BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

  [Writ durin' State Fair at Indanoplis, whilse visitin' a Soninlaw thenresidin' thare, who has sence got back to the country whare he says aman that's raised thare ot to a-stayed in the first place.]

  I tell you what I'd ruther do--
Ef I only had my ruthers,-- I'd ruther work when I wanted to Than be bossed round by others;-- I'd ruther kindo' git the swing O' what was _needed_, first, I jing! Afore I _swet_ at anything!-- Ef I only had my ruthers;-- In fact I'd aim to be the same With all men as my brothers; And they'd all be the same with _me_-- Ef I only had my ruthers.

  I wouldn't likely know it all-- Ef I only had my ruthers;-- I'd know _some_ sense, and some base-ball-- Some _old_ jokes, and--some others: I'd know _some politics_, and 'low Some tarif-speeches same as now, Then go hear Nye on "Branes and How To Detect Theyr Presence." _T'others_, That stayed away, I'd _let_ 'em stay-- All my dissentin' brothers Could chuse as shore a kill er cuore, Ef I only had my ruthers.

  The pore 'ud git theyr dues _some_times-- Ef I only had my ruthers,-- And be paid _dollars_ 'stid o' _dimes_, Fer children, wives and mothers: Theyr boy that slaves; theyr girl that sews-- Fer _others_--not herself, God knows!-- The grave's _her_ only change of clothes! ... Ef I only had my ruthers, They'd all have "stuff" and time enugh To answer one-another's Appealin' prayer fer "lovin' care"-- Ef I only had my ruthers.

  They'd be few folks 'ud ast fer trust, Ef I only had my ruthers, And blame few business-men to bu'st Theyrselves, er harts of others: Big Guns that come here durin' Fair- Week could put up jest anywhare, And find a full-and-plenty thare, Ef I only had my ruthers: The rich and great 'ud 'sociate With all theyr lowly brothers, Feelin' _we_ done the honorun-- Ef I only had my ruthers.