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In our last issue we published that portion of Shakespeare’s “King Lear” wherein Kent denounces Oswald, the lounge lizard, which brings my memory back to nights in 1913 when I was a police reporter for a morning paper in Minneapolis. This was prior to my incrustment upon the fertile pastures of Robbinsdale.
One evening, while “chinning” with the desk sergeant at headquarters, a policeman brought in a typical “divan dearie”—one of the sissy variety, but well dressed. The sergeant gave him a private cell and was just returning to his desk when another of the same species walked in.
“I have been informed,” said the caller in a meek voice, “that this place is a jail, and I would like to know if you have a prisoner here by the name of Harold Archibald Eaton.” The sergeant referred to the “blotter” and replied affirmatively. He informed the inquirer that Eaton was being held on a charge of flirting.
Great joy was registered by the caller, and he replied in accents sweet: “Oh, dear, what a relief! I was afraid he might have been arrested for stealing.”
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Last fall I bought a pig for $5. It cost me $5 to feed the pig this winter. This spring I sold the pig for $10. Of course, I didn’t make any money, but I had the use of the pig all winter.
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We’ve heard the old yarn about the lazy darky who harnessed the mule by simply standing still and commanding “Giddap” and “Whoa,” but the hobo that leaned against my wagon in Robbinsdale the other day wins the hand-painted jar.