ANONYMOUS
A book-agent importuned James Watson, a rich merchant living a few miles out of the city, until he bought a book,—the "Early Christian Martyrs." Mr. Watson didn't want the book, but he bought it to get rid of the agent; then, taking it under his arm, he started for the train which takes him to his office in the city.
Mr. Watson hadn't been gone long before Mrs. Watson came home from a neighbor's. The book-agent saw her, and went in and persuaded the wife to buy a copy of the book. She was ignorant of the fact that her husband had bought the same book in the morning. When Mr. Watson came back in the evening, he met his wife with a cheery smile as he said, "Well, my dear, how have you enjoyed yourself to-day? Well, I hope?"
"Oh, yes! had an early caller this morning."
"Ah, and who was she?"
"It wasn't a 'she' at all; it was a gentleman,—a book-agent."
"A what?"
"A book-agent; and to get rid of his importuning I bought his book,—the 'Early Christian Martyrs.' See, here it is," she exclaimed, advancing toward her husband.
"I don't want to see it," said Watson, frowning terribly.
"Why, husband?" asked his wife.
"Because that rascally book-agent sold me the same book this morning. Now we've got two copies of the same book,—two copies of the 'Early Christian Martyrs,' and—"
"But, husband, we can—"
"No, we can't, either!" interrupted Mr. Watson. "The man is off on the train before this. Confound it! I could kill the fellow. I—"
"Why, there he goes to the depot now," said Mrs. Watson, pointing out of the window at the retreating form of the book-agent making for the train.
"But it's too late to catch him, and I'm not dressed. I've taken off my boots, and—"
Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr. Watson, drove by, when Mr. Watson pounded on the window-pane in a frantic manner, almost frightening the horse.
"Here, Stevens!" he shouted, "you're hitched up! Won't you run your horse down to the train and hold that book-agent till I come? Run! Catch 'im now!"
"All right," said Mr. Stevens, whipping up his horse and tearing down the road.
Mr. Stevens reached the train just as the conductor shouted, "All aboard!"
"Book-agent!" he yelled, as the book-agent stepped on the train. "Book-agent, hold on! Mr. Watson wants to see you."
"Watson? Watson wants to see me?" repeated the seemingly puzzled book-agent. "Oh, I know what he wants: he wants to buy one of my books; but I can't miss the train to sell it to him."
"If that is all he wants, I can pay for it and take it back to him. How much is it?"
"Two dollars, for the 'Early Christian Martyrs,'" said the book-agent, as he reached for the money and passed the book out of the car-window.
Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and blowing, in his shirt-sleeves. As he saw the train pull out he was too full for utterance.
"Well, I got it for you," said Stevens,—"just got it, and that's all."
"Got what?" yelled Watson.
"Why, I got the book,—'Early Christian Martyrs,'—and paid—"
"By—the—great—guns!" moaned Watson, as he placed his hands to his brow and swooned right in the middle of the street.