“I brought a cockroach in a bottle, and I told teacher we had lots more, and if she wanted I would bring one every day.”
Was It His Ghost?
A well-known publisher has the entrance to his private office guarded by one of his editors, a small man, who, as the day wears on, sinks down in a little heap in his high-backed chair under the weight of the manuscripts he has to read. The publisher was exceedingly proud of his friendship with a prominent Congressman, who usually called when he was in New York.
One day the huge form of the Speaker of the House of Representatives loomed up before the little editor, with the evident intent of bearing down upon the private office.
“Back!” shouted the little editor, waving a slender arm with much vigor. “Back! Go back to the offith and thend in your card.”
The Congressman paused, inclined his head to view the obstacle that opposed his progress, and smiled. Then he turned on his heel and did as he was directed.
Of course the publisher bustled out personally to conduct the great man into the private office. When his visitor had departed the publisher came forth in a rage. The little editor shriveled before him as he began:
“What do you mean by holding up one of my oldest friends in this fashion? Don’t you know he’s at perfect liberty to walk into my office at any time without so much as knocking?”
“Yeth,” admitted the little editor feebly.
“Then what do you mean by holding him up and subjecting him to such discourtesy?”