“Nary take,” said Jimmy, positively. “I said ’em, and I’ll stick by ’em. Besides, it’s so. Isn’t it, Bob? I’ll leave it to you.”
“Well,” said Bob, “in the interests of truth I’ll have to admit that as a rule I’d rather have a stomach ache than listen to one of Herb’s home-made jokes. But on the other hand, some of them aren’t so awfully bad. If you took one and polished it up a bit here and there and changed it around a little, it might be good enough to raise a laugh in an insane asylum.”
“It seems to me I remember once, a long time 152 ago, when he made a joke that was so funny that we all laughed at it,” said Joe. “It hardly seems possible, but I’m almost sure I remember it.”
“Oh, you’re all bugs, anyway, so that doesn’t prove anything,” said Herb, calmly finishing the last of his pie. “But some day, when I become a world-famous humorist, you’ll realize how dumb you were not to appreciate my jokes. Now you get them free, but then it will cost you money to hear them.”
“It will never cost me any money,” said Bob, with conviction. “I wouldn’t give a plugged nickel for a book full of them.”
“Neither will anybody else,” said Joe. “If you have any idea of ever making a living that way, Herb, you’d better forget it. You’d starve to death, sure.”
“Well, it’s a cinch I won’t have to starve to death right now, anyway, so quit your croaking,” retorted the much abused Herb. “Whoever told you fellows that you were judges of humor, anyway?”
“A person doesn’t have to be an expert to judge your jokes,” came back Joe. “If he knows anything at all, he can tell that they’re rotten.”
“All your friends seem to have very decided views on the question, Herbert,” laughed Frank Brandon. “The popular vote seems to be heavily against you.” 153
“Oh, their opinions aren’t worth worrying about,” said Herb, complacently. “As long as I know my jokes are good, I don’t care what they say.”