The Story of the Salt Shake
Uncle Reuben and his more amiable wife were visiting with relatives. His hostess was one of the New England type who never could do enough for her guests.
Uncle Reuben who was quite advanced in years and whose habitual irritability had proportionally increased, was feeling unusually peevish this morning. It was midsummer and exceedingly warm and humid.
The contents of the glass salt shake allotted to this peevish old gentleman had become, like everything else, affected by the prevailing humidity. The most vigorous shaking failed to produce any results. After repeated attempts, Uncle Reuben paused and quietly examined the salt shake which he held in his hand. His amiable wife, knowing his characteristics, looked anxious. His kindly hostess, also well acquainted with the aforesaid characteristics, looked deeply concerned.
Finally Uncle Reuben spoke in those tones of forced calmness which are usually associated with some great crisis.
“Pauline,” said he, “I wish to buy this salt shake.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t sell it,” replied his hostess, “you may have it, and welcome.”
“No, I want to buy it!” said Uncle Reuben in dramatic tones.
“I want to buy it. I want to take it out to the stone pile and grind it to powder.”