Rensselaer Journal, Volume 12, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 June 1902 — A LITTLE NONSENSE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A LITTLE NONSENSE.

Hov/ a Lucky Number Caused a Heap of Trouble. The new dry goods clerk was stamping his check book “515” when a group of salesgirls surrounded him. “Where did you get that number?” demanded a black eyed damsel, pointing to the book. “Why—why”— stammered the new clerk, dismayed at this unexpected onslaught, “from the head of the department, of course.” “Well, you’re mean—that’s what you are,” said the girl with the bronze gold pompadour, with a withering glance. “We all were watching for a chance at it.” “You see,” explained the third girl, “that’s a lucky Both the girls that had it got married. We sent the last one a cut glass olive dish just this week. One of us ought to have got her number.” The trio nodded their heads emphatically, and the young man smiled weakly. Then, with a happy thought, he murmured: “Well, • maybe I wanted to get married too.” The three salesgirls sniffed, and as they moved away she of the bronze gold pompadour exclaimed sarcastically: “Just as if he had to wait for a lucky checkbook to settle that!”— New York Sun.

Illustrated Extract From a Novel.

“There was a decided coolness between them.”

Myctlfled. “I can’t understand it,” said the man with the heightening brow. “I Can’t understand it at all.” “What’s puzzling you ?” “The fact that my daughters seemed so content during the summer with bathing suits and then came home to trunks full of cloths and said they had nothing to wear.” —-Washington Star, A Lost Lesson. Mrs. Wjnkers (meaningly)—The paper says a man walked into a saloon yesterday aftemodn, took a drink and dropped dead. Mr. Winkers (solemnly)—Procrastination is a terrible thing. He should have taken his tonic sooner. •—New York Weekly. A Heavy Smoker. Wife—My dear, I’ll have to go and see a doctor. I’m afraid I have the tobacco heart and it’s often fatal. Husband—Good gracious! You don’t smoke ? Wife—No, but I live under the same roof with you. 'Good Cause. Bliffers—Can’t you run that typewriting machine without making such a terrible racket ? Whiffers (who has a desk in the same office) —Not when I’m writing to a man who called me a fool.— New York Weekly. Threat Carried Out. “Well, what do you think of it, Laura? Charley Smith has proposed to me!” “H’m! I thought so. When I refused him, he threatened he would do himself an injury.”—Cincinnati Enquirer. His Occupation Gone. “Dis ’Stralian ballot system hez tetotally ruint me,” said the colored campaigner. “How is that?”/ “I wuz de champion voter in de county!”■—Atlanta Constitution. Cold Analysis. “How do you know he loves you?” said Miss Cayenne. “He writes me such beautiful letters.”. “Humph! That isn’t love. That’s literature.”—Washington Star. No Thanks to Her. ‘Glow well behaved Mrs. Goodstreet’s children are.” “Yes; she has left their bringing up entirely in charge of a governess.”—Philadelphia Bulletin. A Drastic Measure. Old Lady (to district visitor)— It’s my ’ead that’s been troublin’ me so, miss, but the doctor he says. *You take these ’ere pills and you’ll toon shake it off.”