A Matter of Loyalty
Two men were talking at the Grand Central depot yesterday, and one of them was telling about a difficulty he had recently been engaged in.
“He said I was the biggest liar ever heard in Texas,” said the man, “and I jumped on him and blacked both his eyes in about a minute.”
“That’s right,” said the other man, “a man ought to resent an imputation of that sort right away.”
“It wasn’t exactly that,” said the first speaker, “but Tom Achiltree is a second cousin of mine, and I won’t stand by and hear any man belittle him.”
Taking No Chances
“Let’s see,” said the genial manager as he looked over the atlas. “Here’s a town one might strike on our way back. Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar, is a city of 100,000 inhabitants.”
“That sounds promising,” said Mark Twain, running his hands through his busy curls, “read some more about it.”
“The people of Madagascar,” continued the genial manager, reading from his book, “are not a savage race and few of the tribes could be classed as barbarian people. There are many native orators among them, and their language abounds in figures, metaphors, and parables, and ample evidence is given of the mental ability of the inhabitants.”
“Sounds like it might be all right,” said the humorist, “read some more.”
“Madagascar is the home,” read the manager, “of an enormous bird called the epyornis, that lays an egg 15½ by 9½ in. in size, weighing from ten to twelve pounds. These eggs—”
“Never mind reading any more,” said Mark Twain. “We will not go to Madagascar.”