“Vat do you mean three strokes?” demanded Mr. Cohen. “Myself I stood here und counted und I distinctly heard you hit the ground mit your iron nine times.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Shapinsky, “I vas killing a snake.”
§ 238 One of Those Nature-Faking Yarns
A gentleman of social habits came home one evening to be confronted by a wife bristling with indignation. No sooner had he opened the front door of the apartment than she fired a blast at him.
“Why, my dear,” he said, “what’s the matter?”
“Matter enough,” she answered. “I thought you told me that you were going down to Belmont track yesterday afternoon with a party of men!”
“That’s right,” he said, “what of it?”
“Then perhaps you can explain this,” she said. “This morning I sent the suit you wore yesterday out to be pressed. But first I went through the pockets and in one of the pockets I found a card and on the card was written in your handwriting: ‘Evelyn, 2161 Fitzroy.’ Now then, what does this mean?”
Without a moment’s hesitation the husband answered.
“My dear child,” he said soothingly, “the thing is simplicity itself. ‘Evelyn’ is the name of a racehorse—a friend gave me a tip on her. And ‘2161’ were the odds on her for first and second place. ‘Fitzroy’ is the name of the jockey. Surely you’ve heard of Fitzroy, the famous jockey? Now then, aren’t you ashamed that you suspected me?”