Little Bartholomew's mother overheard him swearing like a mule-driver. He displayed a fluency that overwhelmed her. She took him to task, explaining the wickedness of profanity as well as its vulgarity. She asked where he had learned all those dreadful words. Bartholomew announced that Cavert, one of his playmates, had taught him.
Cavert's mother was straightway informed and Cavert was brought to book. He vigorously denied having instructed Bartholomew, and neither threats nor tears could make him confess. At last he burst out:
"I didn't tell Bartholomew any cuss words. Why should I know how to cuss any better than he does? Hasn't his father got an automobile, too?"
They were in Italy together.
"If you would let me curse them black and blue," said the groom, "we shouldn't have to wait so long for the trunks."
"But, darling, please don't. It would distress me so," murmured the bride.
The groom went off, but quickly returned with the porters before him trundling the trunks at a double quick.
"Oh, dearest, how did you do it? You didn't—?"
"Not at all. I thought of something that did quite as well. I said, 'S-s-s-susquehanna, R-r-r-rappahannock!'"—Cornelia C. Ward.