Here the young man colored redder than his shirt, and hastily produced his ticket amid shouts of laughter from his friends.
The penny-in-the-slot-machine can be found in the remotest portions of the backwoods, and sometimes it is about the only thing to remind one of civilization that can be found there.
A weary hunting party stopped at a small hotel off in the backwoods not long ago, and wishing to remove the evidences of their long tramp before supper, found after washing that to secure a towel they would be obliged to make use of a slot-machine that stood next to the wash-basin. The sign read, "To obtain a clean towel put a penny in the slot, and pull the drawer slowly out." One of the party was somewhat of a wag, and procuring all the coppers he could gather he proceeded to abstract the towels one at a time. He had reached the fifth towel when the proprietor entered to wash his hands. He gazed at the man with the five towels in astonishment. The wag laughingly complimented the proprietor upon his enterprise in selling new towels for such a little money. It is needless to say the proprietor later put up a sign that read, "For the use of a clean towel put a penny in the slot."
Every lover of art knows of the celebrated works of Meissonier, the painter. Now Meissonier not only could paint, but he could tell a good story, and he was especially fond of relating this little anecdote of his gardener, whose horticultural erudition was remarkable. A smattering of learning is a dangerous thing, and Meissonier's gardener had a little knowledge of the Latin tongue, which he was fond of using to name his different plants. Meissonier for a long time was sceptical of the correctness of his gardener's Latin, so one day he set a trap for him by giving him the roe of a red herring and asking what seed it was. Without hesitating the gardener gave it a long Latin name, and promised that it would bloom in about three weeks. Meissonier chuckled to himself, and agreed to inspect the blooms in three weeks or more. When the time came the painter questioned his learned horticulturist about it, and that party led him into the hot-house to an enormous flower-pot. There, sure enough, were the blooms in the nature of the heads of six red herrings just emerging from the dirt in the pot. Meissonier breathed a deep sigh, and shook his gardener's hand, exclaiming, "What a wonderful man you are!"
A TAIL OF WOE, OR THE MONKEY WRENCH.