The proprietor of a drug store in a small Indiana town was issuing from the front door of his place when a small boy came tearing ’round the corner at top gait with his head down and butted squarely into him.
“Hey, kid!” demanded the druggist. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m tryin’ to keep two boys from gittin’ into a fight,” panted the youngster.
“Who are the boys?” asked the druggist.
“I’m one of ’em.”
§ 187 The Long Wait at Burlington
Included in my list of acquaintances is a gentleman who promotes sporting events. Originally he promoted foot-races, later he conducted balloon ascensions and parachute drops at county fairs and carnivals. Still later, he turned aviator himself and bought an early model aeroplane with which, in the period when flying was more of a novelty than it is at present, he gave exhibitions.
The members of a Catholic congregation in a suburb of New York City were striving to raise funds for a new rectory. They rented an old driving-park and gave a fair. For the crowning attraction on the final afternoon my friend was engaged to make a flight.
Now, the weather was lowering and the winds were capricious. Feeling a natural reluctance to trusting himself aloft under such circumstances the performer had recourse to an expedient he had employed on similar occasions. He sparred for time in the hope that darkness would come and so save him from taking the risk. He tinkered with his engine. He fiddled with the planes. He unscrewed this bolt and he screwed up that one.
The assembled crowd, grew impatient over the delay. Finally the parish priest, who was acting as master of ceremonies, approached the aeronaut and to him he said: