There was a young girl named O'Neill,
Who went up in the great Ferris wheel;
But when half way around
She looked at the ground,
And it cost her an eighty-cent meal.
Everybody knew that John Polkinhorn was the carelessest man in town, but nobody ever thought he was careless enough to marry Susan Rankin, seeing that he had known her for years. For awhile they got along fairly well but one day after five years of it John hung himself in the attic, where Susan used to dry the wash on rainy days, and a carpenter, who went up to the roof to do some repairs, found him there. He told Susan, and Susan hurried up to see about it, and, sure enough, the carpenter was right. She stood looking at her late husband for about a minute—kind of dazed, the carpenter thought—then she spoke.
"Well, I declare!" she exclaimed. "If he hasn't used my new clothes-line, and the old would have done every bit as well! But, of course, that's just like John Polkinhorn."
"The editor of my paper," declared the newspaper business manager to a little coterie of friends, "is a peculiar genius. Why, would you believe it, when he draws his weekly salary he keeps out only one dollar for spending money and sends the rest to his wife in Indianapolis!"
His listeners—with one exception, who sat silent and reflective—gave vent to loud murmurs of wonder and admiration.