THE SAME OLD KIND
“When I was down there in Atlantic City,” said Dickinson with that delightful drawl of his, “I went one day into a shoe store on ‘The Avenue,’ as they call the business street of the town, and looked around. The clerk came up smiling and asked could he wait on me, and I said he could if he had any ‘crochetted overshoes.’ That made him scratch his head. ‘Must be a new kind,’ said he. ‘Oh, no,’ said I. ‘They’ve been in use some years.’ ‘But,’ said he, ‘I can’t see what use crochet work would be on overshoes. Why, the rain and mud would spoil it all in a short time.’ ‘Oh, no,’ said I. ‘You don’t catch on. I am not looking for overshoes with crochet work on them, but for crochetted overshoes—overshoes that are crow-shade; black ones, you understand?’”
A TOUGH GOOSE-YARN
It is hard to tell whether the biggest liars live by the sea or on the mountain, but certainly the sailor folk will have a time of it to match one Bob Sempers, one of the most elastic of all the prevaricators on the Pocono Mountain. Here is a story Bob told a party of gentlemen hunters not long ago:
“You know where I live. About three mile from the Big Lake. Well—one evenin’ last spring when I was goin’ home, I see a flock o’ geese a-settlin’ on the lake. I got up bright an’ early next mornin’, took down my shootin’ iron an’ started for the lake to try my luck. When I got there I found they were out o’ gun shot, an’ I knowed ’twan’t no use to shoot at that distance. I’d jist skeer ’em away if I did. So, I stood there thinkin’ what best to do. I see a fox come down to the water edge and stand there a minnit or so a-snuffin’ the air. I’d a mind to shoot him, but I thought I’d wait an’ see what he’d do. Well, sir, he just plumped into the water an’ made for them geese. They were all huddled together about a half a mile from the shore. After swimmin’ up to within a few yards of ’em, he suddenly disappeared, and in a few minnits a goose was drawn under water. Then the fox swum ashore an’ laid the dead goose on the bank, and went back fer another snap, an’ so he kep on till he got the whole flock, an’ I waited till he brought in the last one, an’ then I shot him.
“Well, sir, I found when I come to count ’em, that I had just fifty nice fat geese, which I lugged home together with my gun an’ the dead fox. An’ when I got home I found my old woman hadn’t the breakfast quite ready yet.”
“‘But, Bob,’ said some one, ‘the fox had to swim a mile for each goose—half a mile each way—consequently he had to swim just fifty miles. And the geese averaged, say, six pounds; so that you had three hundred pounds of goose-flesh to carry three miles, to say nothing of the dead fox and your gun—impossible!’
“‘Impossible or not,’ maintained Bob, ‘every word is truth, and I can prove it, too, by more than a dozen of my neighbors, to each of whom I sold enough feathers to fill a feather-bed.’”
FIRST CLASS
A company of tourists were traveling in Switzerland, and they went to buy tickets for the coach-ride up the mountain. The American man of course bought a first-class ticket, but he noticed that all the rest got second and third class, and they all got into the wagon with him. He said to the driver, “What advantage is there in paying for a first class ticket when holders of second and third class tickets have precisely the same accommodations?” The driver said, “You just wait a while and you will see.” So by and by they came to a steep hill, and the driver called out, “First class passengers will keep their seats; second class passengers will get out and walk; third class passengers will get out and push.”