“But dat Jim—w’y, folks come f’om all de country roun’, jes’ to see Jim eat ham, fo’ de way he could tuck ham away was amazin’; it suttinly was. How you would laugh to see Jim a-settin’ by de fence one day, a-eatin’ one ham after another, like ez ef dey was cakes or biscuits! ’Twas ’ez easy to him as pickin’ teeth, an’ he’d got down eight hams, an’ de ninth was a follerin’, but I reckon it wuz f’om a middlin’ old hawg, for some gris’le got in his throat, an’ choked him an’ stopped his breath, so we wuz a-feared dat we wuz a-goin’ to lose Jim.
“But up got Unc’ Henry sort o’ easy-like, an’ he went over to de fence—dey was a lot o’ slabs on top o’ de fence—and he tuk a slab, an’ he walk t’ward Jim, an’ he sez: ‘Jim, git down on all fours!’ Dat slab looked mighty big, it did, an’ right in front o’ Jim was a big pile o’ stones; but Jim had conf’dence in Unc’ Henry, like ev’ybody did, so he got down on all fours an’ waited, an’ de gris’le in his throat, why, dat waited too. An’ Unc’ Henry pahted Jim’s coat-tails, an’ histed de slab, an’ fetched it down wid a mighty swish, an’ give Jim a hit, an’ Jim went head first onto dat pile o’ stones; but he had conf’dence in Unc’ Henry so he knowed he wouldn’t be knocked through de stones, but would stop ez soon ez he hit ’em—his conf’dence in Unc’ Henry was dat great. An’ when he struck dem stones dat piece o’ gris’le ’lowed it had bizness somewhar else. An’ Jim riz up an’ hollered ‘Gimme anudder ham!’”
Depew—Porter—Wilder—Sousa—Wanamaker
It will amaze millions of John Wanamaker’s customers to know that the man who is so busy that they can never get a glimpse of him unless they attend his church is an industrious teller of stories and always has the “luck”—though that is not his name for it—to have the right story for any situation. That most of his yarns are spun in Sunday-school does not make them any the less good. I wish Sunday-school teachers had told stories when I was a boy, and I will bet Bibles to buttons that if teachers were practically instructed in story-telling, all the Sunday-school rooms would have to be enlarged to hold the increase of attendants.
But I was speaking of John Wanamaker. While reproving some of his Sunday-school pupils for laughing at a deaf boy’s wrong answers to misunderstood questions, he said:
“Boys, it isn’t right to laugh at any one’s affliction. Besides, you never know when your own words may be turned against you. I once knew a deaf man—let us call him Brown—who was disposed to stinginess and to getting every dollar he could out of everybody and everything. He never married; but he was very fond of society, so one day he felt compelled to give a banquet to the many ladies and gentlemen whose guest he had been.
“They were amazed that his purse-strings had been unloosed so far, and they thought he deserved encouragement, so it was arranged that he should be toasted. One of the most daring young men of the company was selected, for it took a lot of nerve to frame and propose a toast to so unpopular a man as Miser Brown. But the young man rose, and Brown, who had been notified of what was to occur, fixed his face in the customary manner of a man about to be toasted. And this was what was heard by every one except Brown, who never heard anything that was not roared into his ear:
“‘Here’s to you, Miser Brown. You are no better than a tramp, and it is suspected that you got most of your money dishonestly. We trust that you may get your just deserts yet, and land in the penitentiary.’
“Visible evidences of applause made Brown smile with gratification. He got upon his feet, raised his glass to his lips, and said: ‘The same to you, sir.’”