Good mornin’, Mr. Smith, he said. How is Mrs. Smith this mornin’?
Just about the same, old Smith replied. She didn’t sleep very well last night.
That’s too bad, the neighbor sympathized, and then, as a raucous sound came from the house, he added solicitously:
I s’pose that’s her coughin’, ain’t it?
No, old Smith answered absent-mindedly, his eyes still on his work, it ain’t her coffin, it’s a new hen house.
The world has so long been at war with the hapless printer that it will be interesting to know that at least one compositor has been capable of following instructions. Once upon a time a printer brought to Booth for inspection proof of a new poster, which after the manner of its kind, announced the actor as the eminent tragedian, Edwin Booth.
Mr. Booth did not fully approve of it.
I wish you’d leave out that eminent tragedian business. I’d much rather have it simple Edwin Booth, he said.
Very good, sir.