I don’t know.
They are both sheeneys.
“Doctor,” said the friend, stopping him on the street, “what do you take for a heavy cold?” “A fee,” replied the doctor, softly, and he passed on.
Mrs. Peck (hearing a racket in the hall)—What are you up to now, Henry?
Mr. Peck (feebly)—I’m not up to anything, my dear. I just fell down stairs.
I got on a train to-day and rode as far as Yonkers, and the conductor came around and looked at my ticket and said: “Young man, you are on the wrong train.” I had to get off and walk all the way back to New York again. I got on another train and went out about thirty miles, and the conductor came around and looked at my ticket and said: “Young man, you are on the wrong train.” I had to get off and walk back to New York again. I got on another train, and, of course, was mad and began to swear; a minister, sitting in a seat behind me, said: “Young man, stop your swearing. Do you know you are on the road to hell?” I said: “Here I am on the wrong train again,” and I had to get off.