He was a Southern local politician running for office, and believed in making a thorough canvass in person. One day he was addressing a crowd of negro voters who had turned out to greet him, when he caught sight of a gray-wooled old man on the outskirts of the crowd. The old uncle had a rusty sword with him, and the orator thought he saw his opportunity to catch the negro vote.
"There," he cried, pointing to the apparent veteran, "that gentleman over there illustrates the bravery of your race. Men of his merit I admire. Brave men of your race should be upheld; their dignity should be maintained. And were I in office, I would fight for you the same as that aged hero fought for us. Look at him. There he stands to-day with his trusty sword, the weapon that he drew in defence of his country. What better example could—"
Broad smiles that threatened to divide the faces of that colored crowd had been spreading during the latter part of the orator's harangue; but when the old darky broke in with, "'Deed, massa, youse am right 'bout dat sword bein' drawn, but Ise done drawed it in a raffle," it completely broke up the meeting.
ANOTHER QUESTION.
"I hate to bother you, Pop; but, really, I'd like to know—"
"Well, what?"
"How it happens that baby fish don't get drowned before they've learned to swim?"