“From that night on he’s limped. Shot off two of his own toes.”
When the Rev. Dr. Henson, then of Chicago, came to the New York Chautauqua to lecture on “Fools,” Bishop Vincent introduced him thus:
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now to have a lecture on ‘Fools’ by one of the most distinguished——”
Here there was a long pause, the Bishop’s inflection indicating that he had finished. The audience roared with delight, and roared again, so that it was some time before the sentence was concluded—“men of Chicago.”
Dr. Henson, who is a man of ready wit, stepped to the front of the platform, and said:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I am not so great a fool as Bishop Vincent——” and then he paused as if he had finished, and the audience went fairly wild over the situation. When quiet was restored, Dr. Henson concluded—“would have you think.”
Doctor (feeling Sandy’s pulse in bed)—“What do you drink?”
Sandy (with brightening face)—“Oh, I’m nae particular, doctor! Anything you’ve got with ye.”