One day, as he was sitting at his desk, two men came in without knocking or announcement and without removing their hats.
Allen looked up and impaled the intruders with his glittering eye. “Gentlemen,” he said severely, “who are visitors to this office to see me are always announced, and always remove their hats.”
“Huh,” replied one of the men, “we ain’t visitors, and we don’t give a hoot about seeing you. We came in to fix the steam pipes.”
One time there was a fire in a small town. It was being discussed in the hearing of several of the citizens. One man said he believed it was incendiary. Another replied: “Incendiary, nonsense! It was set on fire!”
Addressing a political gathering the other day a speaker gave his hearers a touch of the pathetic. “I miss,” he said, brushing away a not unmanly tear, “I miss many of the old faces I used to shake hands with.”
The Rev. Moses Jackson was holding services in a small country church, and at the conclusion lent his hat to a member (as was the custom) to pass around for contributions. The brother canvassed the congregation thoroughly, but the hat was returned empty to its owner.
Bre’r Jackson looked into it, turned it upside down, and shook it vigorously, but not a copper was forthcoming. He sniffed audibly. “Brederen,” he said, “I sho’ is glad dat I got my hat back ergin.”