Part 4

“Well, Mr. Depew,” said the western railroad president as he arose to go, “your road may be a little longer than mine, but it ain’t any wider.”

His Joke Worked Badly.

A young man who seemed to be boiling over to do something smart was a passenger on a Michigan avenue car the other day. After racking his massive brain for a while he took out a silver dollar and laid it on the seat and took a seat opposite. The car soon stopped at a crossing to let on an old woman with a basket. She saw the empty seat and the dollar, and it didn’t take her over thirty seconds to drop herself into the place and the dollar into her pocket.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the joker, “but I’ve lost a dollar. I think I left it on that seat.”

“I don’t,” she bluntly replied.

“But I’m sure of it. Did you pick up a dollar?”

“None of your business, sir.”

“But all of us saw you pick it up, ma’am, and I can prove it was mine.”

“Look a’ here, young chap,” she said, as she put down her basket, “if it’s a row you want you’ll find me ready. I allow no one to walk on me.”

“But, ma’am, I left----”

“Come on, then,” she said, as she stood up and doubled up her fists. “I am a peaceful woman, and I want to get along the easiest way, but if I must I will.”

Everybody began to clap and laugh, and the smart Aleck took a drop off the platform without asking what it was all about.

Mike’s Dilemma.

Mike is an Irishman just fresh from the Emerald isle, who recently came to Hackensack, N. J., and was employed by two gentlemen, each keeping a horse in the same stable, to look after their equines. One day Mr. Jones told Mike to hitch up his horse and bring it around to his residence.

Mike did as he was bidden, but when Mr. Jones saw the turnout he said: “Why, Mike, that is not my horse, that is Mr. Smith’s animal.”

“Begorra,” promptly replied Mike, “so it is. I knowed that wasn’t your horse, sir, but I couldn’t quite make up my mind which horse belonged to the other gintleman.”

A Rank Failure.

“I don’t believe whippings do children any good,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Why, I whipped Johnny at the photographer’s three times because he wouldn’t look pleasant and he still looked as cross and disagreeable as ever.”

At Reduced Speed.

Uncle Hays--’Member the Hawkins boys who ran away to jine a theatre company?

Aunt Marthy--Why, yes! What about ’em?

Uncle Hays (quietly)--They’ve walked back.

Two Feminine Views of Adam.

First Nineteenth Century Girl--I never did have any opinion of Adam. A man who could excuse himself by saying, “The woman tempted me,” had none of the instincts of a gentleman.

Second Ditto--But what could you expect of the first man? You know it takes three generations to make a gentleman.

Posted on the Ring.

“Strange,” remarked Mrs. Brown, “I have rung at Mrs. Smith’s door three times this week, and I didn’t succeed in arousing anyone. I suppose the family is out of town!”

“Possibly,” replied Mrs. Jones; “but Mrs. Smith was telling me just now that she could tell your ring among a thousand.”