A man had been sent by the house-agents to take an inventory of the drawing-room furniture. He was so long about his task that at last the mistress of the house went to see what was taking place. She found the man slumbering sweetly on the sofa with an empty bottle beside him; it was evident, however, that he had made a pathetic though solitary attempt to do his work, for in the inventory book was written, “One revolving carpet.”
The customs of military service require officers to visit the kitchens during cooking hours to see that the soldiers’ food is properly prepared. One old colonel, who let it be pretty generally known that his orders must be obeyed without question or explanation, once stopped two soldiers who were carrying a soup-kettle out of a kitchen.
“Here, you,” he growled, “give me a taste of that.”
One of the soldiers ran and fetched a ladle and gave the colonel the desired taste. The colonel spat and spluttered.
“Good heavens, man! You don’t call that stuff soup, do you?”
“No, sir,” replied the soldier meekly, “it’s dishwater we was emptyin’, sir.”
The ship upon clearing the harbor ran into a half-pitching, half-rolling sea, that became particularly noticeable about the time the twenty-five passengers at the captain’s table sat down to dinner.
“I hope that all twenty-five of you will have a pleasant trip,” the captain told them as the soup appeared, “and that this little assemblage of twenty-four will reach port much benefited by the voyage. I look upon these twenty-two smiling faces much as a father does upon his family, for I am responsible for the safety of this group of seventeen. I hope that all thirteen of you will join me later in drinking to a merry trip. I believe that we seven fellow passengers are most congenial and I applaud the judgment which chose from the passenger list these three persons for my table. You and I, my dear, sir, are—Here, steward! Bring on the fish and clear away these dishes.”