We’ve had a good laugh on our neighbor, Deacon Callahan, since the episode several of us witnessed in front of the Palace Shoe Store in Robbinsdale the other evening. The Deacon saw his wife coming down the street, so he hid in the doorway of the Palace. When she passed him, he jumped out suddenly and kissed her. Instead of the scream he expected, she hoarsely whispered: “Don’t be so bold, mister. Folks ’round here know me.”
* * *
Johnnie Beaton, of Ranier, Minn., tells about a period in his life when old John Law grabbed out and placed him in the Ranier calaboose. He had been inside but a short time when one of the local civic improvement “birds” handed him the usual circular asking a donation for the improvement of the local jail. Johnnie replied: “The present jail is good enough to suit me.” Half an hour later, he organized a stud poker game. As usual, the sucker squawked. His reply to the saphead was pert and to the point: “Sh! keep still. Do you want to get thrown out of here?”
* * *
The “no booze” edict for soldiers during the recent friction with Germany raised havoc with some of us rum-soaked sinners, but it also had its comical side at times. I remember a system I put into effect in Camp Lee. The first sergeant was informed that no passes would be granted to visit Pennsylvania points (Pennsy was wet) unless the fortunate man returned with proper credentials, said credentials to be deposited upon arrival in the top drawer of the skipper’s desk in the orderly room. It was my duty to check properly the pass“port.”
In our organization was a lieutenant whom we will call Evans for short. Once upon a time Evans was in a mess (he often was, as far as that goes, but this time I mean a mess where we eat), and in that mess there also was a colonel—a man of meanness and incidentally a strict teetotaller. This colonel saw, or thought he saw, in Evans a gentleman after his own heart—a steady, yea, even puritanical, officer.
One early morning, Evans returned from a pass to Altoona, Pa., and flopped his weary way to the mess hall. Collapsing in a seat, he played with his fork and tried to look sober for a few minutes, and then giving it up he concentrated on grub—or rather on waiters.
Near the mantelpiece in the mess stood what appeared to Evans to be the waiter on duty, and he addressed this person—the only other person in the mess—rather gruffly, I’m afraid.
“Heah—hic—orderly!” he exploded. “D’yuh think I’m—hic—sitting here—hic—merely to provide you—hic—with a spectacle? I want some food....”