On the night before the funeral the mourning widower sat alone by the bier. For long hours he communed with himself. Finally he reached forth a caressing hand and softly patted the casket.
“Vell,” he said, “maybe Mommer vas sick!”
§ 309 Caught in the Jam
There is an actor in New York who is distinguished among other qualities for his frugality. There have been other frugal actors from time to time, but probably none quite so much so as this gentleman is. His passion for personal economy has come to be proverbial. Let us for convenience call him Jones, which isn’t his name at all.
One day in the early part of December of last year a gentleman of a waggish turn of mind came, with a look of concern on his face, into the Lambs Club. He approached a card table where four brother members were playing bridge.
“Did you hear about the accident to Jones?” he asked.
“No,” they chorused. “What was it?”
“Well, it just happened over on the East Side. While Jones was doing his Christmas shopping he got crushed between two push-carts.”
§ 310 And Getting Worse All the Time
The transcontinental flier had pulled out from Chicago for the long run to the Coast and the conductor had made his rounds, when the passengers in one of the coaches became aware of signs of concern on the part of a fellow traveler. This was an elderly bearded man in old-fashioned garb and of fatherly aspect. He sat with his head in his hands muttering to himself in Yiddish and at intervals uttering low moaning sounds.