Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 19, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 December 1897 — A SENSE OF HUMOR. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A SENSE OF HUMOR.

■—n IVE me,” said I, W "before everything W a sense of humor.” “To hi m that hath ?” inquired Ks Arabella. “Well,” said I, modestly, “I hope I | J have. But I would T desire even more.” I I She smiled. “You ■4 } may smile, young 4/ lady.” “I’m not smiling.” sK* “Look in theglass.” “I don't want to grow vain.”

“Then look.’’ “Evidently there is some joke In your remark, if I could see it. But you know I have no sense of humor.” “Then you should cultivate it. It is a remedy for half the ills of life, and when you are my age you will realize It.” “When I am my grandmother!” I am 33 and she is 20. “You wouldn’t make that remark if you had any sense of humor,” I retorted, crjistily. “But I haven’t, and I don’t see that I should be any better if I had.” “I admit it is difficult to imagine any Improvement in you.” “Is that humor or sarcasm?" “Oh, well! Humor is—er—well, it's—er——” “Ignorance of itself?” Arabella has plenty of humor, you know. “Humor is a kindly appreciation of ifoibles and incongruities. And ” “I don’t appreciate the kindness. How can you feel kind to people when you're making fun of them yourself?” “I don’t see any difficulty. Why, I •ad an example this morning.” I laughed at the thought. “I've half a mind to tell you.” “Oh, do!” Arabella is as curious as a —woman. “It was rather confidential, you see.” 1 knew that would excite her interest. “But you might trust me.” You may have noticed that the more attractive -k womanJfi,. the more she emphasizes itbe first person singular. Arabella almost puts it in capitals. ; “In strict confidence?” i “Yes—of course.” ' “Well, a nice young fellow, whom Vou know, came to me this morning, knd ” ' “Who was it?” | “That isn’t material.” • “Oh, but it is, though! Yerv material.” “But, my dear Arabella!” “If you will not trust me we are on distant terms.” I’ve known her since •lie was in short frocks. $ “It really isn't relevant to the point •f humor.” “I don’t care anything about the point of humor.” “Ob, well, if you don't want me to Jtell you ” j “But I do. There's a good—Tom.” ; “It was Ted Xaughton.” i “Oh, how interesting. I like Ted awSully, don't you?” “Yes—oh, yes, certainly. I do, but I idon’t see why Arabella should.” “Now, tell n?e.’ She clasped her {hands round her knees and cocked her [pretty head expectantly on one side. “Well,” said I, laughing, “poor Ted 3b in love.” “With whom?” “I didn't ask.” “18 that your sense of humor?” She looked at me as if I had made a plum podding without the plums. _ “I don’t see that it matters.” “Not matter! You don’t care who it !■!” “Why should I so long as he’s satisfied?” “Well!” Words seemed to fall her, (Which is rare with Arabella. “Anyhow, she seemed to be the usual There never was anyone like fter, according to tie love-lorn Ted. •be was beautiful, amiable, accomplished, gentle, saintly—in shprt, perfect They all are in these cases, you •now.” “So they should be-pto the lover.” “Of course they should.” Why, it's Just what I think of Arabella. “Where is the humor?” “I’m coming to it. Toor Ted, it seems, is very diffident in the face of •uch wondrous charms. He is burning to avow his passion to the young lady, but he doesn't know how to proceed. So he came to ask my advice.” “What do you know about it?” Arabella sat bolt upright, and put the question like a sword thrust. “Nothing—except a vague general idea. But be evidently thought I did.” I bad a little experience, but, of course, I wasn't going to tell her. “DM you give him the benefit of your vague general Idea?”

“Oh, yes, poor beggar! Indeed, I put it Into concrete form for him. It waa very funny.” ' “ “You are so humorous, you see.” Somehow Arabella seemed a bit cross. “Please go on.” “We went through quite a little rehearsal. I assure you. They were to begin with the weather, of course. Ha, ha!” “Very humorous, certainly.” “Then he was to make some remarks about the weather, not mattering where she was. Of course, she would blush and look down.” Arabella laughed. “I don’t suppose she would.” “She ought to. according to the laws of the game. Then he was to take hold of her hand and ask if she would make life all fair weather for him—and so on.” _ ' " “And, then?” “Oh! he’d be able to go on from there. He's not a fool, you know, really. He’s (i very fine fellow, as a matter of fact.” “Did he do it?” “I expect so. Anyhow, he came back beaming like a sunflower, and threw up his hat when he saw me at the window; so I concluded they’d settled it.” I chuckled. “So that is humor!” Arabella strolled over to the window, and her lips quivered as if I had hurt her. “Why, whatever is the matter, Bell?” “I call it mean—horrid—cruel,” she cried, stamping her little foot angrily, “to make game of a man when lie’s in love. 1 don't see that it’s a subject for humor at all.”

“But, my dear Bell—!” “Miss Murison, if you please.” And we had always been such chums! “I think that if humor is making ridicule of the most sacred thing in life, one is better without it,” she continuued. • “But I do not ridicule it, Bell. Tliere was an element of humor in the case, all the same.” Arabella twisted her handkerchief round her fingers. Did she think that I had no serious affection for her, I wondered? Perhaps I had better tell her. . “Let me tell you something serious, Bell,” I said, going close up to her. But she suddenly interrupted. “You do not know her name?” “No. But if you want to know I’ll ” “I know,” She turned upon me-with her eyes flashing. “And I know that she is a very proud and happy girl.” Good heavens! “So perhaps we had better close the subject,” she said. I felt as if the room was going round me. I had made a pet of her from the time she was 10, and I thought that she and all the family understood that I was only waiting for my promotion this year. But she must never know now, or she would be so grieved for me—for a very kind-hearted little soul is pretty Arabella. “Well, my dear,” said I, slowly, “I didn't think it was you, I confess. But Ted’s a good fellow—almost good enough for you, even—and I congratulate you.” I spoke so unsteadily that she must almost have noticed it, so I tried to laugh it off. “W T hen you were, a little girl, you know, you promised t 6 be my sweetheart, so I feel a bit jealous"—l felt nearly mad, to tell the truth. “Perhaps the best amends I can make is to ask you to choose your own present. A piano—or a necklace and bracelets—or anything you like.” Well, well—dear me! I couldn’t pretend cheerfulness much longer. I must be off. “God bless you, little Bell!” said I. “He's a lucky fellow.” And I made for the door.

Just as I was taking my hat she rushed down the stairs in her most reckless fashion, and ran right into me, so that I had to catch hold of her. “I believe I have a sense of humor,” she said breathlessly. “It was young Sis he proposed to —not me. Hadn’t you better go and offer her the piano?” It was Ted and Sis who caught us ten minutes later, and my arm was round Arabella’s waist.—Black and White.