“Yep,” said the other, “best old town on the earth.”
“D’ye know,” drawled the Boston man, “what we Boston people call the people that live in your town?”
“Nope, an’ we don’t care much, neither. But, just by way of conversation, may I inquire what you call ’em?”
“We call ’em a zoo. See?”
“Yep, I see,” said the Kalamazoo man. “And do you know and can you tell me what kind o’ people live in your town of Boston?”
“Best and smartest people on earth,” was the emphatic answer.
“Well,” was the response, “out my way we say that people that live in Boston are nothing but human beans. See? Cut for a new deal.”
NAMING THE APOSTLES
After a dinner in one of the most hospitable residences in Washington, a party of very distinguished men—Cabinet ministers, senators, diplomats, scientists and soldiers—sat in the smoking-room, and the conversation drifted from politics to religious questions. Somebody remarked that he once sat in the Union League Club in New York, with Roscoe Conkling, Chester A. Arthur and several other distinguished gentlemen who had been carefully educated in religious families, and that none of them was able to name the Twelve Apostles.
“That’s easy,” said a senator brashly, beginning: “Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, bless the bed that I lie on, Paul, the two Jameses, Jude, Barnabas—“ and there he stopped with some embarrassment.