Alderman Curran, of New York City, worked his way through Yale College. During his course he was kept very busy by the various jobs he did to help with his expenses. On graduation he went to New York, and was even busier than he had been in New Haven.
After some months of life in New York, a friend met him and said, “Henry, what are you doing?”
“I have three jobs,” replied Mr. Curran, “I am studying law, I am a newspaper reporter, and I am selling life insurance.”
“How do you manage to get it all in?” said the friend.
“Oh,” replied Mr Curran, “that’s easy enough. They’re only eight-hour jobs.”
A quaint story is told to exemplify the pride that every man should take in the work by which he makes a living.
Two street sweepers, seated on a curbstone, were discussing a comrade who had died the day before.
“Bill certainly was a good sweeper,” said one.
“Y-e-s,” conceded the other thoughtfully. “But don’t you think he was a little weak around the lamp-posts?”
His face was pinched and drawn. With faltering footsteps he wended his way among the bustling Christmas crowd.
“Kind sir,” he suddenly exclaimed, “will you not give me a loaf of bread for my wife and little ones?” The stranger regarded him not unkindly. “Far be it from me,” he rejoined, “to take advantage of your destitution. Keep your wife and little ones; I do not want them.”
A “Tommy,” lying in a hospital, had beside him a watch of curious and foreign design. The attending doctor was interested.
“Where did your watch come from?” he asked.
“A German give it me,” he answered.
A little piqued, the doctor inquired how the foe had come to convey this token of esteem and affection.
“E ’ad to,” was the laconic reply.
A well-known banker in a downtown restaurant was eating mush and milk.
“What’s the matter?” inquired a friend.
“Don’t you enjoy your meals?”
“Enjoy my meals?” snorted the indignant dyspeptic. “My meals are merely guide-posts to take medicine before or after.”