"And six pounds of rice at 3½ cents?"
"Twenty-one cents. Is that all?" asked the grocer, as the boy put his card in his pocket.
"Yes," said the boy; "what does it all cost?"
The grocer figured with a bit of charcoal on a bag and said: "A dollar fifty-five. Will you take the package?"
"Nope," said the boy, edging towards the door. "I'm on my way to school."
"Very well, I'll send it right up," said the grocer, urbanely.
"Wouldn't if I were you," said the boy. "Ma aint at home. She don't want the stuff, anyhow. That was only my 'rithmetic lesson."
As the lad vanished I laughed and said "bon voyage" to my prospective order. The worst of it is, the boys say that this story dates back to Joe Miller's great-grandfather. But it taught me that it is sometimes wise to be deaf, dumb and blind to the point of a joke.
Unfortunately, I am short on the joke market, and to date have been unable to meet the keen competition I encounter in this line. Job Withers, a big-faced, big-voiced chap, who travels for Soper & Co., spins yarns with the speed, ease and penetrating quality of a well greased circular saw. When he goes into a store he looks about, comments on any changes or improvements that may have occurred since his last visit, asks the proprietor about his dog, if he has one, and about his wife, if he has not, sits on a barrel and says: "Did I ever tell you—?" At that there is a great shuffling of feet and all the store loungers sit up and take notice. Then he launches into a story and follows it with another and another. Then, when the boss is wiping away the tears that come with the laughter, Job pulls out an order blank and, with a look about the store, says: "I see you're almost all out of—" and he writes off a list of things. Before the echoes of the laughter have ceased the order is rolling along towards "the House" in the custody of a two-cent stamp.