Charles Dana Gibson, the creator of the “Gibson girl,” is one of the tallest men in his profession, standing six feet two inches tall and weighing two hundred pounds.
A fellow-illustrator, called upon Mr. Gibson in his studio one day and found him working at a specially constructed table accommodated to his height and breadth. He shook hands cordially with his visitor, but his frank face revealed deep discontent. His visitor expressed the fear that his visit was untimely.
“Not at all, my dear fellow,” Mr. Gibson responded. “But I was just looking at this as you came in,” and he showed him a very small pen, called a crow-quill, with which illustrators make their sketches. The crow-quill is smaller than the ordinary pen and holder, a fragile, perishable, and insignificant instrument.
“Just look at it,” complained Mr. Gibson, “and think of a man of my size earning his living with a thing like that!”
Going into a port where the water was very deep—Rio de Janeiro, I believe—relates Captain A. T. Mahan, the chain cables “got away,” as the expression is, control was lost, and shackle after shackle tore out of the hawse-holes with tremendous rattling and roaring. The admiral was on deck at the moment, and when the chain had been stopped and secured he said to the captain: “Alfred, send for the young man in charge of those chains and give him a good setting-down. Ask him what he means by letting such things happen.” Alfred was a mild person, and clearly did not like his job; he could not have come up to the admiral’s standard. The latter saw it, and said: “Perhaps you had better leave it to me. I’ll settle him.” Fixing his eyes on the offender, he said, sternly: “What do you mean by this, sir? Why the hell didn’t you stop that chain?” The culprit looked quietly at him and said: “How the hell could I?” After a moment the admiral turned to the captain and said meekly: “That’s true, Alfred; how the hell could he?”
An old darky of the Blue Grass State was looking at the high steppers belonging to his new master, who said, “I suppose your master down South had a good many horses?” “’Deed we did, sah, dat we did; an’ ole massa had ’em all name’ Bible names. Faith, Hope, and Charity, Bustle, Stays, and Crinoline was all one spring’s colts!”
The wife of a well-known judge lost her cook, and since she had no other recourse she rolled up her sleeves and for a week provided such meals as the judge had not enjoyed since those happy days when they didn’t keep a cook. The judge’s delight was so great that by way of acknowledgment he presented his wife with a beautiful ermine coat. Naturally the incident was noised about among their acquaintances and a spirit of envious emulation was developed in certain quarters. Mrs. Jerome, after reciting the story to her husband, asked, “What do I get, Jerry, if I will do the cooking for a week?”