“That,” said the keeper in his best professional manner, “is a marsupial, a mammal that carries its young in a pouch on its breast, lives on roots and herbs, can jump twenty feet at one leap, is able to knock a human being down with a kick from either hind leg, and is a native of Australia.”
“For the love of Hiven!” cried the Irishman, bursting into tears. “Me sisther’s married to wan of thim!”
§ 248 Aiding the Sheriff’s Vision
The late Charlie Case, for many years a headliner in vaudeville, was, I think, one of the funniest men and certainly one of the most original that the American stage has produced. He used to come sidling out of the wings in a diffident, apologetic sort of way and while twisting a string in and out of his fingers, tell side-splitting stories of what a mythical father of his had been saying and doing. The one I loved best had to do with Father’s famous lapse from sobriety. As nearly as I recall Case’s own rendition it ran as follows:
“Father came mighty near getting into some serious trouble here the other day. A lot of folks wanted to have him arrested for obtaining money under false pretences; but he got out of it all right.
“Here’s the way the thing happened: A fellow up in the mountains made some moonshine whiskey and he gave Father a quart of it. So Father took three drinks of it and then, he went down town and rented a vacant store and began charging people ten cents apiece to come in and see the animals and the snakes. Right away they raised a row. Father could see the snakes and animals all right but they couldn’t see anything but just an empty store.
“So some of them got mad and they went away and found the sheriff and swore out a warrant and told the sheriff that they wanted to have Father locked up in jail until he’d given them their money back. The sheriff put on his badge and came around to arrest Father.
“But Father gave the sheriff one drink out of the bottle and sold him a half-interest in the show for three hundred dollars.”
§ 249 The Affair in Half Moon Street
Ever since I first heard it—and that must be fully ten years ago now—I have treasured the story of the gentleman, living at Number 5 Half Moon Street, who inserted the advertisement in the Agony Column of the London Times.