A BUSINESS SESSION.
Raymond. "Papa, you say Congress is in session when it is sitting, don't you?"
Papa. "Certainly, my boy."
Raymond. "Well, then, would it be wrong for me to say that our old Plymouth Rock hen is now in session in the barn?"
A fat old gentleman in a light gray suit got into an elevated train at Thirty-fourth Street, and bustled every one out of his way in order to secure the only vacant seat left on the shady side of the car. As soon as he had thrown himself into the seat, he buried his face in a newspaper in order that he might not see how many women were standing in the car. The train had hardly pulled out of the station when a poorly dressed and undoubtedly Irish woman who sat next to him touched him on the arm, and said,
"I beg your pardon, sorr—"
The old gentleman looked up and frowned, and then turned to his newspaper again.
"Will you be so good, sorr—" began the woman again.
The fat man in the gray suit glared savagely, but gave no reply. Several times the woman tried to make him speak. At last, just after the guard had announced "Ninth Street!" the woman said again, "I really beg your pardon, sorr, but—"