“Huh,” said the boy, “you’ve got to go. It’s your job.”
A celebrated continental specialist to whom time was literally money and who was possessed of a fiery temper made it a rule that all patients should undress before entering his consulting room so as not to waste any of his valuable time. One day a meek-looking little man entered with all his clothes on. “What do you mean by coming in like that?” said the doctor in a rage. “Go and strip at once!” “But I—” faltered the man. “I tell you I’ve no time to waste,” yelled the doctor, and the poor man left the room in haste. When his turn came he reentered the room. “Now then,” said the doctor, “that’s better. What can I do for you?” “I called to collect your subscription for the benevolent society.”
A tall man, impatiently pacing the platform of a wayside station, accosted a red-haired boy of about twelve.
“S-s-say,” he said, “d-d-do y-you know ha-ha-how late this train is?”
The boy grinned but made no reply. The man stuttered out something about red-headed kids in general and passed into the station.
A stranger, overhearing the one-sided conversation, asked the boy why he hadn’t answered the big man.
“D-d-d’ye wanter see me g-g-get me fa-fa-face punched?” stammered the boy. “D-d-dat big g-g-guy’d tink I was mo-mo-mocking him.”