INVESTIGATING LIGHT LITERATURE.
The other day a stout woman, armed with an umbrella and leading a small urchin, called at the office of a New York boys’ story paper.
“Is this the place where they fight Indians?” she inquired of the gentleman in charge. “Is this the locality where the brave boy charges up the canyon and speeds a bullet to the heart of the dusky red-skin?” and she jerked the urchin around by the ear and brought her umbrella down on the desk.
“We publish stories for boys,” replied the young man evasively.
“I want to know if these are the premises on which the daring lad springs upon the fiery mustang and, darting through the circle of thunderstruck savages, cuts the captive’s cords and bears him away before the wondering Indians have recovered from their astonishment! That’s the information I’m after. I want to know if that sort of thing is perpetrated here!” and she swung the umbrella around her head and launched a crack at the young man’s head.
“I don’t remember those specific acts,” protested the young man.
“I want to know if this is the precinct where the adventurous boy jumps on the back of a buffalo and with unerring aim, picks off one by one, the bloodthirsty pursuers, who bite the dust at every crack of his faithful rifle! I’m looking for the place where that sort of thing happens!” and this time she brought the unlucky young man a tremendous whack across the back.
“I think—?’ commenced the dodging victim.
“I’m in search of the shop in which the boy road agent holds the quivering stage driver powerless with his glittering eye, while he robs the male passengers with an adroitness born of long and tried experience, and kisses the hands of the lady passengers with a gallantry of bearing that bespeaks noble birth and a chivalrous nature!” screamed the woman, driving the young man into the corner. “I’m looking for the apartment in which that business is transacted!” and down came the umbrella with trip-hammer force on the young man’s head.
“Upon my soul, ma’am—!” gasped the wretched youth.