A BUSINESS SESSION.
Raymond. "Papa, you say Congress is in session when it is sitting, don't you?"
Papa. "Certainly, my boy."
Raymond. "Well, then, would it be wrong for me to say that our old Plymouth Rock hen is now in session in the barn?"
A fat old gentleman in a light gray suit got into an elevated train at Thirty-fourth Street, and bustled every one out of his way in order to secure the only vacant seat left on the shady side of the car. As soon as he had thrown himself into the seat, he buried his face in a newspaper in order that he might not see how many women were standing in the car. The train had hardly pulled out of the station when a poorly dressed and undoubtedly Irish woman who sat next to him touched him on the arm, and said,
"I beg your pardon, sorr—"
The old gentleman looked up and frowned, and then turned to his newspaper again.
"Will you be so good, sorr—" began the woman again.
The fat man in the gray suit glared savagely, but gave no reply. Several times the woman tried to make him speak. At last, just after the guard had announced "Ninth Street!" the woman said again, "I really beg your pardon, sorr, but—"
The fat man turned upon her savagely, his face very red, and exclaimed,
"If you don't stop talking to me, woman, I'll call the conductor and have you put off the car!"
"Shure, sorr," exclaimed the woman, "I'm afther gettin' off at Ninth Street, but, conductor or no conductor, I won't get out until you get off my butter that you've been sittin' in since you got on at Thirty-fourth Street!"
A gentleman recently returned from travelling in England brought back the following story, which he tells with such hearty laughter as to make one believe that to have seen the incident were better than to read about it:
The engineer of a train, or rather driver, as they call him in England, not shutting off steam soon enough, ran his train some distance past the station. He backed down again, but either through carelessness or defective machinery his engine ran some distance the other way. The station-master, exceedingly wroth at the first miscalculation, was simply spluttering with wrath at the second, and running down the track he yelled out:
"Hold on there! Stop where you are! We'll just shift the station up to you, being as you can't get up to it."
Freddie was sent down stairs by his uncle to bring up a pair of tan shoes. The youngster returned with two shoes, one of which was laced and the other buttoned.
"That isn't the right pair, Freddie," said his uncle. "I can't wear those. They are not mates. Where are the others?"
The little boy looked somewhat puzzled for a moment, and then said, "I don't think you can wear the other pair, uncle; it isn't alike, either."