The Wit and Humor of America, Volume III. (of X.) Read online

"Mister, how much do you ax apiece for them 'ere biscuits?"

  "A cent apiece," says he.

  "Well," says I, "I shan't give you that, but, if you've a mind to, I'llgive you two cents for three of them, for I begin to feel a little asthough I would like to take a bite."

  "Well," says he, "I wouldn't sell 'em to anybody else so, but, seeingit's you, I don't care if you take 'em."

  I knew he lied, for he never seen me before in his life. Well, he handeddown the biscuits, and I took 'em and walked round the store awhile, tosee what else he had to sell. At last says I,--

  "Mister, have you got any good cider?"

  Says he, "Yes, as good as ever ye see."

  "Well," says I, "what do you ax a glass for it?"

  "Two cents," says he.

  "Well," says I, "seems to me I feel more dry than I do hungry now. Ain'tyou a mind to take these 'ere biscuits again, and give me a glass ofcider?"

  And says he,--

  "I don't care if I do."

  So he took and laid 'em on the shelf again, and poured out a glass ofcider. I took the cider and drinkt it down, and, to tell the truth, itwas capital good cider. Then says I,--

  "I guess it's time for me to be a-going," and I stept along towards thedoor; but says he,--

  "Stop, mister: I believe you haven't paid me for the cider?"

  "Not paid you for the cider!" says I. "What do you mean by that? Didn'tthe biscuits that I give you just come to the cider?"

  "Oh, ah, right!" says he.

  So I started to go again, and says he,--

  "But stop there, mister: you didn't pay me for the biscuits."

  "What!" says I, "do you mean to impose upon me? do you think I am goingto pay you for the biscuits and let you keep them, too? Ain't they therenow on your shelf? What more do you want? I guess, sir, you don'twhittle me in that way."

  So I turned about and marched off, and left the feller staring andscratching his head, as though he was struck with a dunderment.

  Howsomever, I didn't want to cheat him, only jest to show 'em it wa'n'tso easy a matter to pull my eye-teeth out; so I called in next day andpaid him two cents.

  WILD ANIMALS I HAVE MET

  BY CAROLYN WELLS

  THE LION

  I've met this beast in drawing-rooms, 'Mong ladies gay with silks and plumes. He looks quite bored, and silly, too, When he's held up to public view. I think I like him better when Alone I brave him in his den.

  THE BEAR

  I never seek the surly Bear, But if I meet him in his lair I say, "Good day, sir; sir, good day," And then make haste to get away. It is no pleasure, I declare, To meet the cross, ill-natured Bear.

  THE GOOSE

  I know it would be of no use To say I'd never met a Goose. There are so many all around, With idle look and clacking sound. And sometimes it has come to pass I've seen one in my looking-glass.

  THE DUCK

  This merry one, with laughing eyes, Not too sedate nor overwise, Is best of comrades; frank and free, A clever hand at making tea; A fearless nature, full of pluck, I like her well--she is a Duck.

  THE CAT

  The Cat's a nasty little beast; She's seen at many a fete and feast. She's spiteful, sly and double-faced, Exceeding prim, exceeding chaste. And while a soft, sleek smile she wears, Her neighbor's reputation tears.

  THE PUPPY

  Of all the animals I've met The Puppy is the worst one yet. Clumsy and crude, he hasn't brains Enough to come in when it rains. But with insufferable conceit He thinks that he is just too sweet.

  THE KID

  Kids are the funniest things I know; Nothing they do but eat and grow. They're frolicsome, and it is said They eat tin cans and are not dead. I'm not astonished at that feat, For all things else I've seen them eat.

  A BALLADE OF THE "HOW TO" BOOKS

  BY JOHN JAMES DAVIES

  That time when Learning's path was steep, And rocks and fissures marred the way, The few who dared were forced to creep, Their souls oft quaking with dismay; The goal achieved, their hairs were gray, Their bodies bent like shepherds' crooks; How blest are we who run to-day The easy road of "How To" books!

  The presses groan, and volumes heap, Our dullness we no more betray; To know the stars, or shear a sheep-- To live on air, or polo play; The trick is ours, or we may stray Beneath the seas, with science cooks, And sprint by some reflected ray The easy road of "How To" books!

  Who craves the boon of dreamless sleep? Who bricks would make, _sans_ straw or clay? "Call spirits from the vasty deep," Or weave a lofty, living lay? Let him be heartened, jocund, gay, Nor hopeless writhe on tenter-hooks,-- They meet no barriers who essay The easy road of "How To" books!

  ENVOY

  The critics still _will_ slash and slay Poor hapless scribes, in sanctum nooks; Lo! here's a refuge for their prey-- The easy road of "How To" books!

  THE TREE-TOAD

  BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

  "'Scurious-like," said the tree-toad, "I've twittered fer rain all day; And I got up soon, And I hollered till noon-- But the sun, hit blazed away, Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole, Weary at heart, and sick at soul!

  "Dozed away fer an hour, And I tackled the thing agin; And I sung, and sung, Till I knowed my lung Was jest about give in; And then, thinks I, ef hit don't rain now, There're nothin' in singin', anyhow!

  "Once in awhile some farmer Would come a-drivin' past; And he'd hear my cry, And stop and sigh-- Till I jest laid back, at last, And I hollered rain till I thought my th'oat Would bust right open at ever' note!

  "But I _fetched_ her! O _I fetched_ her!-- 'Cause a little while ago, As I kindo' set, With one eye shet, And a-singin' soft and low, A voice drapped down on my fevered brain, Sayin',--'Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'"

  THE HIRED HAND AND "HA'NTS"

  BY E.O. LAUGHLIN

  The Hired Hand was Johnnie's oracle. His auguries were infallible; fromhis decisions there was no appeal. The wisdom of experienced age washis, and he always stood willing to impart it to the youngest. Noquestion was too trivial for him to consider, and none too abstruse forhim to answer. He did not tell Johnnie to "never mind" or wait until hegrew older, but was ever willing to pause in his work to explain things.And his oracular qualifications were genuine. He had traveled--had evenbeen as far as the State Fair; he had read--from _Robinson Crusoe_ to_Dick the Dead Shot_, and, more than all, he had meditated deeply.

  The Hired Hand's name was Eph. Perhaps he had another name, too, but ifso it had become obsolete. Far and wide he was known simply as Eph.

  Eph was generally termed "a cur'ous feller," and this characterizationapplied equally well to his peculiar appearance and his inquiringdisposition. In his confirmation nature had evidently sacrificed herlove of beauty to a temporary passion for elongation. Length seemed tohave been the central thought, the theme, as it were, upon which he hadbeen composed. This effect was heightened by generously broad hands andfeet and a contrastingly abbreviated chin. The latter feature caused hiscountenance to wear in repose a decidedly vacant look, but it was seldomcaught reposing, usually having to bear a smirk of some sort.

  Eph's position in the Winkle household was as peculiar as hispersonality. Nominally he was a hired servant, but, in fact, from hisown point of view at least, he was Mr. Winkle's private secretary andconfidential adviser. He had been on the place "ever sence old Fan was ayearlin'," which was a long while, indeed; and had come to regardhimself as indispensable. The Winkles treated him as one of the family,and he reciprocated in truly familiar ways. He sat at the table withthem, helped entertain their guests, and often accompanie
d them tochurch. In regulating matters on the farm Mr. Winkle proposed, but Ephinvariably disposed, in a diplomatic way, of course; and, although hisjudgment might be based on false logic, the result was generallysuccessful and satisfactory.

  With all his good qualities and her attachment to him, however, Mrs.Winkle was not sure that Eph's moral status was quite sound, and she wasinclined to discourage Johnnie's association with him. As a matter offact she had overheard Johnnie utter several bad words, of which Eph wascertainly the prime source. But a mother's solicitude was of littleavail when compared with Eph's Delphian wisdom. Johnnie would steal awayto join Eph in the field at every chance, and the information heacquired at these secret seances, was varied and valuable.

  It was Eph who taught him how to tell the time of day by the sun; how toinsert a "dutchman" in the place of a lost suspender button; how to makebird-traps; and how to "skin the cat." Eph initiated him into themysteries of magic and witchcraft, and showed him how to locate asubterranean vein of water by means of a twig of witch-hazel. Eph alsoconfided to Johnnie that he himself could stanch the flow of blood orstop a toothache instantly by force of a certain charm, but he couldnot tell how to do this because the secret could be imparted only fromman to woman, or vice versa. Even the shadowy domain of spirits had notbeen exempt from Eph's investigations, and he related many a terrifyingexperience with "ha'nts."

  Johnnie was first introduced to the ghost world one summer night, whenhe and Eph had gone fishing together.

  "If ye want to ketch the big uns, always go at night in the dark o' themoon," said Eph, and his piscatorial knowledge was absolute.

  They had fished in silence for some time, and Johnnie was nodding, whenEph suddenly whispered:

  "Let's go home, sonny, I think I see a ha'nt down yander."

  Johnnie had no idea what a "ha'nt" might be, but Eph's constrainedmanner betokened something dreadful.

  It was not until they had come within sight of home that Johnnieventured to inquire:

  "Say, Eph, what is a ha'nt?"

  "Huh! What is ha'nts? Why, sonny, you mean to tell me you don't knowwhat ha'nts is?"

  "Not exactly; sompin' like wildcats, ain't they?"

  "Well, I'll be confounded! Wildcats! Not by a long shot;" and Eph brokeinto the soft chuckle which always preceded his explanations. Theyreached the orchard fence, and, seating himself squarely on the topmostrail, Eph began impressively:

  "Ha'nts is the remains of dead folks--more 'specially them that's beenassinated, er, that is, kilt--understan'? They're kind o' like sperrits,ye know. After so long a time they take to comin' back to yarth an'ha'ntin' the precise spot where they wuz murdered. They always comeafter dark, an' the diffrunt shapes they take on is supprisin'. I haveseed ha'nts that looked like sheep, an' ha'nts that looked like humanpersons; but lots of 'em ye cain't see a-tall, bein' invisible, as thesayin' is. Now, fer all we know, they may be a ha'nt settin' right herebetwixt us, this minute!"

  With this solemn declaration Johnnie shivered and began edging closer toEph, until restrained and appalled by the thought that he might actuallysit on the unseen spirit by such movement.

  "But do they hurt people, Eph?" he asked anxiously.

  Eph gave vent to another chuckle.

  "Not if ye understan' the'r ways," he observed sagely. "If ye let 'emalone an' don't go foolin' aroun' the'r ha'ntin'-groun' they'll neverharm ye. But don't ye never trifle with no ha'nt, sonny. I knowed afeller't thought 'twuz smart to hector 'em an' said he wuzn't feared.Onct he throwed a rock at one--"

  Here Eph paused.

  "What h-happened?" gasped Johnnie.

  "In one year from that time," replied Eph gruesomely, "that therefeller's cow wuz hit by lightnin'; in three year his hoss kicked him an'busted a rib; an' in seven year he wuz a corpse!"

  The power of this horrible example was too much for Johnnie.

  "Don't you reckon it's bedtime?" he suggested tremblingly.

  Thenceforth for many months Johnnie led a haunted life. Ghosts gloweredat him from cellar and garret. Specters slunk at his heels, phantomsflitted through the barn. Twilight teemed with horrors, and midnight,when he awoke at that hour, made of his bedroom a veritable Brocken.

  It was vain for his parents to expostulate with him. Was one not boundto believe one's own eyes? And how about the testimony of the HiredHand?

  The story in his reader--told in verse and graphically illustrated--ofthe boy named Walter, who, being alone on a lonesome highway one darknight, beheld a sight that made his blood run cold, acquired an abnormalinterest for Johnnie. Walter, with courage resembling madness, marchedstraight up to the alleged ghost and laughed gleefully to find, "It wasa friendly guide-post, his wand'ring steps to guide."

  This was all very well, as it turned out, but what if it had been asure-enough ghost, reflected Johnnie. What if it had reached down withits long, snaky arms and snatched Walter up--and run off with him in thedark--and no telling what? Or it might have swooped straight up in theair with him, for ghosts could do that. Johnnie resolved he would nottake any chances with friendly guide-posts which might turn out to behostile spirits.

  Then there was the similar tale of the lame goose, and the oneconcerning the pillow in the swing--each intended, no doubt, to allayfoolish fears on the part of children, but exercising an opposite andharrowing influence upon Johnnie.

  MAXIOMS

  BY CAROLYN WELLS

  Reward is its own virtue. The wages of sin is alimony. Money makes the mayor go. A penny saved spoils the broth. Of two evils, choose the prettier. There's no fool like an old maid. Make love while the moon shines. Where there's a won't there's a way. Nonsense makes the heart grow fonder. A word to the wise is a dangerous thing. A living gale is better than a dead calm. A fool and his money corrupt good manners. A word in the hand is worth two in the ear. A man is known by the love-letters he keeps. A guilty conscience is the mother of invention. Whosoever thy hands find to do, do with thy might. It's a wise child who knows less than his own father. Never put off till to-morrow what you can wear to-night. He who loves and runs away, may live to love another day.

  GARDEN ETHICS

  BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER

  I believe that I have found, if not original sin, at least vegetabletotal depravity in my garden; and it was there before I went into it. Itis the bunch-, or joint-, or snake-grass,--whatever it is called. As Ido not know the names of all the weeds and plants, I have to do as Adamdid in his garden,--name things as I find them. This grass has aslender, beautiful stalk: and when you cut it down, or pull up a longroot of it, you fancy it is got rid of; but in a day or two it will comeup in the same spot in half a dozen vigorous blades. Cutting down andpulling up is what it thrives on. Extermination rather helps it. If youfollow a slender white root, it will be found to run under the grounduntil it meets another slender white root; and you will soon unearth anetwork of them, with a knot somewhere, sending out dozens ofsharp-pointed, healthy shoots, every joint prepared to be an independentlife and plant. The only way to deal with it is to take one part hoe andtwo parts fingers, and carefully dig it out, not leaving a jointanywhere. It will take a little time, say all summer, to dig outthoroughly a small patch; but if you once dig it out, and keep it out,you will have no further trouble.

  I have said it was total depravity. Here it is. If you attempt to pullup and root out sin in you, which shows on the surface,--if it does notshow, you do not care for it,--you may have noticed how it runs into aninterior network of sins, and an ever-sprouting branch of these rootssomewhere; and that you can not pull out one without making a generalinternal disturbance, and rooting up your whole being. I suppose it isless trouble to quietly cut them off at the top--say once a week, onSunday, when you put on your religious clothes and face,--so that no onewill see them, and not try to eradicate the network within.

  _Remark._--This moral vegetable figure is at the service of anyclergyman who will have the manliness to come forwar
d and help me at aday's hoeing on my potatoes. None but the orthodox need apply.

  I, however, believe in the intellectual, if not the moral, qualities ofvegetables, and especially weeds. There was a worthless vine that (orwho) started up about midway between a grape-trellis and a row ofbean-poles, some three feet from each, but a little nearer the trellis.When it came out of the ground, it looked around to see what it shoulddo. The trellis was already occupied. The bean-pole was empty. There wasevidently a little the best chance of light, air, and soleproprietorship on the pole. And the vine started for the pole, and beganto climb it with determination. Here was as distinct an act of choice,of reason, as a boy exercises when he goes into a forest, and, lookingabout, decides which tree he will climb. And, besides, how did the vineknow enough to travel in exactly the right direction, three feet, tofind what it wanted? This is intellect. The weeds, on the other hand,have hateful moral qualities. To cut down a weed is, therefore, to do amoral action. I feel as if I were destroying a sin. My hoe becomes aninstrument of retributive justice. I am an apostle of nature. This viewof the matter lends a dignity to the art of hoeing which nothing elsedoes, and lifts it into the region of ethics. Hoeing becomes, not apastime, but a duty. And you get to regard it so, as the days and theweeds lengthen.

  _Observation._--Nevertheless, what a man needs in gardening is acast-iron back, with a hinge in it. The hoe is an ingenious instrument,calculated to call out a great deal of strength at a great disadvantage.

  The striped bug has come, the saddest of the year. He is a moraldouble-ender, iron-clad at that. He is unpleasant in two ways. Heburrows in the ground so that you can not find him, and he flies away sothat you can not catch him. He is rather handsome, as bugs go, bututterly dastardly, in that he gnaws the stem of the plant close to theground, and ruins it without any apparent advantage to himself. I findhim on the hills of cucumbers (perhaps it will be a cholera-year, and weshall not want any), the squashes (small loss), and the melons (whichnever ripen). The best way to deal with the striped bug is to sit downby the hills, and patiently watch for him. If you are spry, you canannoy him. This, however, takes time. It takes all day and part of thenight. For he flieth in the darkness, and wasteth at noonday. If you getup before the dew is off the plants,--it goes off very early,--you cansprinkle soot on the plant (soot is my panacea: if I can get the diseaseof a plant reduced to the necessity of soot, I am all right); and sootis unpleasant to the bug. But the best thing to do is set a toad tocatch the bugs. The toad at once establishes the most intimate relationswith the bug. It is a pleasure to see such unity among the loweranimals. The difficulty is to make the toad stay and watch the hill. Ifyou know your toad, it is all right. If you do not, you must build atight fence round the plants, which the toad can not jump over. This,however, introduces a new element. I find that I have a zooelogicalgarden. It is an unexpected result of my little enterprise, which neveraspired to the completeness of the Paris "Jardin des Plantes."