Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 158, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 July 1910 — GOOD SHORT STORIES [ARTICLE]

GOOD SHORT STORIES

Two Irishmen were in a city hank recently, waiting their turn at the ■cashier's window. “This reminds me of Finnegan,” remarked one. “What about Finnegan?” inquired the'other. ** "Ms a story that Finnegan died, and ivhen he greeted St Peter«be said, ‘lt’s a fine Job you’ve had here for a long time.’ ‘Weil, Finnegan,’ said St Peter, ‘here we count a million years as a minute and a million dollars as a ■cent’ ‘Ah!’ said Finnegan, ‘l’m needing cash. Lend me a cent.’ ‘Sure,’ said St Peter, ‘Just wait a minute.' ’’ Aa one of the White Star steamships ■caane steaming up New York harbor the other day a grimy coal barge floated immediately in front of her. ‘‘Clear cut of the way with that old mud e°ow!” shouted an officer on the bridge

A round, sun-browned face appeared ever the cabin hatchway. “Are ye the captain of that vessel?” “No,” answered the officer. ‘‘Then spake to yer equals. I’m the captain o’ this! ” came from the barge. The village constable was In a hurry, when somebody asked him where he was going in such a hurry. “Godn’ down to Hi Perkinses,” he replied. HTe got a curiosity down thar. The j. ether night his old Jersey cow had the colic and Hi went down to give her a dose of cow medicine. Blamed if he didn’t make a mistake and give 'her a pint of gasoline. Now, Instead of going ‘Mpo, moo!’ like any other sansible

cow, she goes ‘Honk, hank!’ like one of them thar blamed automobiles.” . Jack Barrymore dropped Into a Broadway restaurant the other day and fate assigned to him a waiter ■who, to quote the actor, was “solid ivory from the chin up.” Failing to get anything, he ordered, he at last lost patience. "Waiter,” he said, “you are the ultimate thing in punk dispensers of gastronomic piovender! Why don’t you chuck this Job and try piccolo-playing at the opera?” "I no can play-a da peecado,” said the waiter. “That’s all right,” replied Barrymore. “Why waste all your Incompetence in one place?” It was the ’morning of the Yale-Har-vard game at Cambridge, and two New Haven collegians were wandering' through the Harvard yard, looking at the university buildings. Down a walk toward them came a youth of serious aspect, but palpably an undergraduate. “I beg your pardon,” said the Yale man, who is a hit of & wag, to the stranger, “can you tell me where I can find the Harvard University?” “I’m very sorry,” said the serious one, with never a smile. “They’ve locked It up. You see, there are so many Yale tnen in town.”

He was a kindly constable, and had, for long, been answering the inquisitive old lady’s questions to the best of his ability. But he was beginning to tire a little, “And what’s your truncheon for, policeman?” inquired the inquisitive dame. “Ketch a feller a cop over the nob if 'e gets vi’lent!” responded Bobby. “And what are those numbers for?” "Hldentiflcashun purposes, mum,” said Bobby, laconically, turning away. ‘‘And what policeman,” said the old dame, catching him by the arm, “Is that strap under your chin for?” “Well, mum,” snorted Bobby, "that’s ter rest me jaws when I gits tired answerin’ silly Questions.”