The poet threw aside his book and called his Airedale terrier; the dog, responding in time, eventually reached his master's knee.
Seizing his opportunity, the representative of the Press observed, "You are, I see, fond of dogs."
"Fond of dogs?" replied the poet. "I? I detest them;" and so saying he kicked the Airedale a distance of several feet into the air, so that, falling immediately on the sun-dial, it was transfixed by the gnomon.
As he watched its struggles, thus impaled, the poet laughed the hearty resonant laugh for which he was famous.
V.
The Civil Service clerk so famous for his drollery was entering the office doors at half-past ten in the morning, or exactly sixty minutes past the appointed time. By an unfortunate chance his principal met him, as, alas! he had too often done, at the same tardy hour. "Late again," said the great man, consulting his watch. "I believe that you get here later every day." "Yes," said the clerk, "I do. But then I always stay on and work overtime."
VI.
The eminent publicist replaced his glass on the table and turned to the lady who sat beside him. "My business," he said, "is the manufacture of mustard. I have made a vast fortune out of it."
"How very interesting," the lady replied absently; but the next moment, inspired by a hidden thought, she added with quickened interest, "Please don't think me inquisitive, but how can a fortune be made out of a thing like mustard? People take so little of it."
"Madam," answered the mustard magnate deliberately, "we do not make our fortunes from the mustard that people eat"—