* * *
How Perfectly Lovely
“Is this—can it be love?” sighed Angebella, as she sat on a seat in the park with MacCuthbert’s arm around her waist and his soft voice whispering fondly in her ear. Oh, it was lovely! “It is, my darling,” MacCuthbert assured her. “But tell me, sweet one, how do you feel?” “I feel,” cooed the lady, “as though my heart would leap from my throbbing breast! My parched throat contracts and then expands, while my breath comes in quick, choking sobs.”
There was a sudden rustle in the bushes behind them as a sleeping tramp crawled forth and glowered at them. “I’d take something for it, miss,” he growled. “That ain’t love you’ve got; it’s hiccups.”
* * *
Ruined Reputations
“Whisky has ruined the reputation of many men.”
“Yes,” replied Broncho Bob, “and at the same time, I ain’t so sure that a lot of naturally no-account men haven’t done their share to ruin the reputation of whisky.”
* * *