“Dearie,” he said, “drunk or sober or drinking, as is the case at present, my aim is ever to be a gen’man. Far be it from me to do anythin’ which would bring reproach upon me as a gen’man or upon the fair and unsullied name of thish noble ’stablishment. But, dearie, in justish to all concerned, it becomes nes’ary for me to ash you a queshun.”
“What’s your question?” she said snappily.
“Well,” he said, “I drift off in slumber. I wake up, and right here under my nose I find thish.” And again with his fork he daintily agitated a frond of dressing-soaked lettuce. “So, therefore, dearie, the queshun is as follows: Do I eat this—or DID I?”
§ 66 A Time for All Things
It was an irate Iowa farmer of the old-fashioned type who sat him down, pen in hand, and wrote an indignant letter to a concern which made a specialty of selling plumbing supplies to rural patrons.
“I have got a kick to make,”—thus the farmer wrote. “Early last spring your agent came through this district taking orders for your patent porcelain bath tub. Some of the neighbors give him their names and so nothing would do but that my wife and daughter should have one for our house and they kept after me until I give your man my name too and told him to send me one of his tubs.
“Well, that was in the early part of April. April passed and also May and no sign of that bath tub. So I wrote to you telling you to hurry on up and deliver me that there tub. Nothing was done and so June went by and July and then August.
“And now here, when it’s the middle of September and the bathing season practically over for the year, you people are trying to make me take that dern tub.”
§ 67 Tuesday Would Be Just Like Sunday
On the occasion of a local election in a small Tennessee town an old colored man was the only member of his race who voted the Democratic ticket. It was felt that this devotion to the cause of the Caucasian—as it prevailed in that vicinity—was deserving of recognition.