“No, thanks,” drawled Ralph, “It’s hardly necessary. I think I can remember every word.”
The following is a typical Ian Maclaren story:
“Who had this place last year?” asked a Southern shooting tenant of his keeper.
“Well,” said Donald, “I’m not denyin’ that he wass an Englishman, but he wass a good man whatever. Oh, yess, he went to kirk and he shot very well, but he wass narrow, very narrow.”
“Narrow,” said the other in amazement, for he supposed he meant bigoted, and the charge was generally the other way about. “What was he narrow in?”
“Well,” said Donald, “I will be tellin’ you, and it wass this way. The twelfth [the beginning of the grouse shooting] wass a very good day, and we had fifty-two brace. But it wass warm, oh! yess, very warm, and when we came back to the Lodge, the gentleman will say to me, ‘It is warm.’ and I will not be contradicting him. Then he will be saying, ‘Maybe you are thirsty,’ and I will not be contradicting him. Afterwards he will take out his flask and be speaking about a dram. I will not be contradicting him, but will just say, ‘Toots, toots.’ Then he will be pouring it out, and when the glass wass maybe half-full I will say, just for politeness, ‘Stop.’ And he stopped. Oh! yess, a very narrow man.”
Mark Twain as a humorist is no respecter of persons, and a story is told of him and Bishop Doane which is worth repeating. It occurred when Mark Twain was living in Hartford, where Mr. Doane was then rector of an Episcopal church. Twain had listened to one of the doctor’s best sermons, on Sunday morning, when he approached him and said politely: “I have enjoyed your sermon this morning. I welcomed it as I would an old friend. I have a book in my library that contains every word of it.” “Impossible, sir,” replied the rector, indignantly. “Not at all. I assure you it is true,” said Twain. “Then I shall trouble you to send me that book,” rejoined the rector with dignity. The next morning Dr. Doane received, with Mark Twain’s compliments, a dictionary.