The Wit and Humor of America
Chapter 51 : An' what do you reckon? His folks didn't know, An' paid to see Jimmy tha

An' what do you reckon? His folks didn't know, An' paid to see Jimmy that night in the show!

An' there's Billy Jenkins--he jest run away (Folks at his house wuzn't treatin' him right); Went to the place where the red Injuns stay; An' once, when his daddy wuz travelin' at night An' the Injuns took after him, hollerin' loud, Bill run to his rescue, an' scalped the whole crowd!

No use in talkin'--boys don't have no show!

Wuzn't fer people a-follerin' 'em roun', Jest ain't no tellin' how fast they would grow; Bet you they'd fool everybody in town!

But mother--she says they need lickin', an' so They're too busy hollerin' to git up an' grow!

"RINGWORM FRANK"

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

Jest Frank Reed's his _real_ name--though Boys all calls him "Ringworm Frank,"

'Cause he allus _runs round_ so.-- No man can't tell where to bank _Frank_'ll be, Next you see Er _hear_ of him!--Drat his melts!-- That man's allus _somers else_!

We're old pards.--But Frank he jest _Can't_ stay still!--Wuz _prosper'n here_, But lit out on furder West Somers on a ranch, last year: Never heard Nary a word _How_ he liked it, tel to-day, Got this card, reads thisaway:--

"Dad-burn climate out here makes Me homesick all Winter long, And when Springtime _comes_, it takes Two pee-wees to sing one song,-- One sings '_pee_'

And the other one '_wee_!'

Stay right where you air, old pard.-- Wisht _I_ wuz this postal-card!"

THE COLONEL'S CLOTHES

BY CAROLINE HOWARD GILMAN

Every man has some peculiar taste or preference, and, I think, though papa dressed with great elegance, his was a decided love of his old clothes; his garments, like his friends, became dearer to him from their wear and tear in his service, and they were deposited successively in his dressing-room, though mamma thought them quite unfit for him. He averred that he required his old hunting-suits for accidents; his summer jackets and vests, though faded, were the coolest in the world; his worm-eaten but warm _roquelaure_ was admirable for riding about the fields, etc. In vain mamma represented the economy of cutting up some for the boys, and giving others to the servants; he would not consent, nor part with articles in which he said he felt at home. Often did mamma remonstrate against the dressing-room's looking like a haberdasher's shop; often did she take down a coat, hold it up to the light, and show him perforations that would have honored New Orleans or Waterloo; often, while Chloe was flogging the pantaloons, which ungallantly kicked in return, did she declare that it was a sin and a shame for her master to have such things in the house; still the anti-cherubic shapes acc.u.mulated on the nails and hooks, and were even considered as of sufficient importance to be preserved from the fire at the burning of Roseland.

Our little circle about this time was animated by a visit from a peddler. As soon as he was perceived crossing the lawn with a large basket on his arm, and a bundle slung across a stick on his shoulder, a stir commenced in the house. Mamma a.s.sumed an air of importance and responsibility; I felt a pleasurable excitement; Chloe's and Flora's eyes twinkled with expectation; while, from different quarters, the house servants entered, standing with eyes and mouth silently open, as the peddler, after depositing his basket and deliberately untying his bundle, offered his goods to our inspection. He was a stout man, with a dark complexion, pitted with the small-pox, and spoke in a foreign accent. I confess that I yielded myself to the pleasure of purchasing some gewgaws, which I afterward gave to Flora, while mamma looked at the gla.s.s and plated ware.

"Ver sheap," said the peddler, following her eye, and taking up a pair of gla.s.s pitchers; "only two dollar--sheap as dirt. If te lady hash any old closhes, it is petter as money."

Mamma took the pitchers in her hand with an inquisitorial air, balanced them, knocked them with her small knuckles--they rang as clear as a bell--examined the gla.s.s--there was not a flaw in it. Chloe went through the same process; they looked significantly at each other, nodded, set the pitchers on the slab, and gave a little approbatory cough.

"They are certainly very cheap," said mamma, tentatively.

"They is, for true, my mistress," said Chloe, with solemnity, "and more handsomer than Mrs. Whitney's that she gin six dollars for at Charleston."

"Chloe," said mamma, "were not those pantaloons you were shaking to-day quite shrunk and worn out?"

"Yes, ma'am," said she; "and they don't fit nohow. The last time the colonel wore them he seemed quite _on-restless_."

"Just step up," said her mistress, "and bring them down; but stay--what did you say was the price of these candlesticks, sir?"

"Tish only von dollars; but tish more cheaper for te old closhes. If te lady will get te old closhes, I will put in te pellows and te prush, and it ish more sheaper, too."

Chloe and mamma looked at each other, and raised their eyebrows.

"I will just step up and see those pantaloons," said mamma, in a consulting tone. "It will be a mercy to the colonel to clear out some of that rubbish. I am confident he can never wear the pantaloons again; they are rubbed in the knees, and require seating, and he never _will_ wear seated pantaloons. These things are unusually cheap, and the colonel told me lately we were in want of a few little matters of this sort." Thus saying, with a significant whisper to me to watch the peddler, she disappeared with Chloe.

They soon returned, Chloe bearing a variety of garments, for mamma had taken the important _premier pas_. The pantaloons were first produced.

The peddler took them in his hand, which flew up like an empty scale, to show how light they were; he held them up to the sun, and a half contemptuous smile crossed his lips; then shaking his head, he threw them down beside his basket. A drab overcoat was next inspected, and was also thrown aside with a doubtful expression.

"Mr. Peddler," said mamma, in a very soft tone, "you must allow me a fair price; these are very excellent articles."

"Oh, ver fair," said he, "but te closhes ish not ver goot; te closhesman is not going to give me noting for dish," and he laid a waistcoat on the other two articles.

Mamma and Chloe had by this time reached the depths of the basket, and, with sympathetic exclamations, arranged several articles on the slab.

"You will let me have these pitchers," said mamma, with a look of concentrated resolution, "for that very nice pair of pantaloons."

The peddler gave a short whistle expressive of contempt, shook his head, and said, "Tish not possibles. I will give two pishers and von prush for te pantaloon and waistcoat."

Mamma and Chloe glanced at each other and at me; I was absorbed in my own bargains, and said, carelessly, that the pitchers were perfect beauties. Chloe pushed one pitcher a little forward, mamma pushed the other on a parallel line, then poised a decanter, and again applied her delicate knuckles for the test. That, too, rang out the musical, unbroken sound, so dear to the housewife's ear, and, with a pair of plated candlesticks, was deposited on the table. The peddler took up the drab overcoat.

"Te closhesman's give noting for dish."

Mamma looked disconcerted. The expression of her face implied the fear that the peddler would not even accept it as a gift. Chloe and she held a whispering consultation. At this moment Binah came in with little Patsey, who, seeing the articles on the slab, pointed with her dimpled fingers, and said her only words,

"Pretty! pretty!"

At the same moment, Lafayette and Venus, the two little novices in furniture-rubbing, exclaimed,

"Ki! if dem ting an't s.h.i.+ne too much!"

These opinions made the turning-point in mamma's mind, though coming from such insignificant sources.

"So they are pretty, my darling," said mamma to Patsey; and then, turning to the peddler, she asked him what he would give in exchange for the pantaloons, the waistcoat and the coat.

The peddler set aside two decanters, one pitcher, the plated candlesticks, and a hearth-brush.

"Tish ver goot pargains for te lady," said he.

Mamma gained courage.

"I can not think of letting you have all these things without something more. You must at least throw in that little tray," and she looked at a small scarlet one, worth perhaps a quarter of a dollar.

The peddler hesitated, and held it up so that the morning sun shone on its bright hues.

"I shall not make a bargain without _that_," said mamma, resolutely. The peddler sighed, and laying it with the selected articles said:

"Tish ver great pargains for te lady."