“But, mother,” persisted Thomas. “I think you ought to go in right away; she is real sick, and maybe you can do something to help.”
“Yes, dear,” said the mother patiently, “but wait a day or so until she is just a little better.”
Thomas seemed much dissatisfied at his mother’s apparent lack of neighborly interest, and then something seemed to dawn upon him, for he blurted out:
“Mother, you needn’t be afraid—it ain’t catching.”
Burton Holmes, the lecturer, had an interesting experience while in London. He told some Washington friends a day or two ago that when he visited the theatre where he was to deliver his travelogue he decided that the entrance to the theatre was rather dingy and that there should be more display of his attraction.
Accordingly, he suggested to the manager of the house that the front be brightened up at night by electrical signs, one row of lights spelling his name “Burton” and another row of lights spelling the name “Holmes.”
The manager told him it was too much of an innovation for him to authorize and referred him to the owner of the theatre. Mr. Holmes traveled several hours into the country to consult with the owner, who referred him to his agent in the city. The agent in turn sent Mr. Holmes to the janitor of the theatre.
“I talked with the janitor and explained my plan to him for about an hour,” Mr. Holmes said. “Finally, after we had gone into every detail of the cost and everything else, the janitor told me that the theatre was a very exclusive and high-class theatre, and that he would not put up the sign. I asked him why?”
“Because it would attract too much attention to the theatre,” the janitor replied.
The fine art of concealment is thus formulated by Carolyn Wells, writing in Life:
Once upon a time there lived an elderly millionaire who had four nephews. Desiring to make one of these his heir, he tested their cleverness.
He gave to each a one-hundred-dollar bill, with the request that they hide the bills for a year in the city of New York.
Any of them who should succeed in finding the hidden bill at the end of the year should share in the inheritance.
The year being over, the four nephews brought their reports.
The first, deeply chagrined, told how he had put his bill in the strongest and surest safety deposit vaults, but, alas, clever thieves had broken in and stolen it.
The second had put his bill in charge of a tried and true friend. But the friend had proved untrustworthy and had spent the money.
The third had hidden his bill in a crevice in the floor of his room, but a mouse had nibbled it to bits to build her nest.
The fourth nephew calmly produced his hundred-dollar bill, as crisp and fresh as when it had been given him.