“Foh de Lawd!” exclaimed one. “How you git heah?”
“Me?” said Uncle Sam calmly, “oh, I come ’long home wid de dawgs.”
§ 6 The Day Denver Was Surprised
Swifty, the High Diver, was imported to give his performance as a crowning feature on the last day of the annual fair and races in a certain small county-seat of interior Vermont.
Those who remember the late Swifty may recall that it was his custom, clad in silken tights, to ascend to the top of a slender ladder which reared nearly ninety feet aloft and after poising himself there for a moment to leap forth headlong into air, describing a graceful curve in his downward flight, then with a great splatter and splash to strike in a tank of water but little larger and wider and deeper than the average well-filled family bathtub, and immediately thereafter to emerge from it, in his glittering spangles, amid the plaudits of the admiring multitude. That is to say, he did this until the sad and tragic afternoon when, just as Swifty jumped, some quaint practical joker moved the tank.
But on this particular occasion no mishap marred the splendor of the feat. Naturally enough that night, when the community loafers assembled at their favorite general store, the achievement of the afternoon was the main topic of the evening.
The official liar held in as long as he could; and when he no longer could contain himself, he spoke up and said:
“Wall, I hain’t denyin’ but what that there Swifty is consid’able of a diver—but I had a cousin onc’t that could a-beat him.”
The official skeptic gave a scornful grunt.
“Ah, hah!” he exclaimed, “I rather thought you’d be sayin’ somethin’ of that general nature before the evenin’ was over. Who, for instance, was this yere cousin of yourn?”