“He did not,” the Inkstand replied; “he isn’t at all forehanded at repartee.”
“Why, then, do you come, things being even when he had hurled me back?”
“He wanted to be a little ahead.”
Two of the Pious
A Christian and a Heathen in His Blindness were disputing, when the Christian, with that charming consideration which serves to distinguish the truly pious from the wolves that perish, exclaimed:
“If I could have my way, I’d blow up all your gods with dynamite.”
“And if I could have mine,” retorted the Heathen in His Blindness, bitterly malevolent but oleaginuously suave, “I’d fan all yours out of the universe.”
The Desperate Object
A Dishonest Gain was driving in its luxurious carriage through its private park, when it saw something which frantically and repeatedly ran against a stone wall, endeavouring to butt out its brains.
“Hold! Hold! thou desperate Object,” cried the Dishonest Gain; “these beautiful private grounds are no place for such work as thine.”