"Well," continued the young man, "I've a bottle out in the haymow, and we might as well get a taste of the stuff while dad's not by."
The Pittsburgher said "yes" again, and the two repaired to the haymow and looked upon the contents of the black bottle. Then the young Washingtonian hid the bottle in the haymow, saying as he did so: "Don't tell the old man anything about this—he's awful down on drinking."
Of course the Pittsburgher vowed silence as he smacked his lips and left the barn. Two minutes later he was in the house paying over the money to the old stock raiser. After the business in hand had been dispatched and the bargain had been closed the Pittsburgher was about to take his leave, when the old man said, rather awkwardly: "Say, are you feelin' dry? I've a jug down in the cellar, and the liquor's fine."
It is hardly necessary to say they were soon in the cellar. As the old Prohibitionist drained his glass he said to his guest: "Don't say nothing 'bout this to them boys o' mine—they don't know about the jug!"
—Pittsburgh Dispatch.
His Last Resort.
Mrs. Smalltalk (two minutes later)—Well, doctor, why in the world don't you look at my tongue, if you want to, instead of writing away like a newspaper editor? How long do you expect I am going to sit here with my mouth wide open?
Physician—Just one moment more, please, madame; I only wanted you to keep still long enough so that I could write this prescription.