The student thereupon went to a wardrobe, opened a drawer, and took out a skeleton, which he handed to the woman.
“What is that?” asked the landlady, recoiling a little.
“That! Oh, that is the skeleton of my first landlord. He was inconsiderate enough to claim the rent for three quarters that I owed him, and then—— Be careful not to break it; it is number one of my collection.”
The landlady was growing visibly pale. The student opened a second drawer, and took out another skeleton.
“This—this is my landlady in South Street; a very worthy woman, but who also demanded the rent of two quarters. Will you place it upon the other? It is number two.”
The landlady opened her eyes widely.
“This,” continued the student, “this is number three. They are all here. A very honest man, and whom I did not pay, either. Let us pass on to number four.”
But the landlady was no longer there. She had fled.
AN OLD LADY’S DILEMMA.
A friend of mine, who owned a pneumatic-tired bicycle, was explaining the different parts to his grandmother, who was paying him a visit.