The train stopped and the other man got up and, leaning over, grabbed him by the arm.
“I’m changing my mind,” he said; “guess I will get off at this station. By-by. Sorry I can’t know you better.”
The pioneer in human progress sat for some time after the train had started, pondering on the deep problem of destiny. Suddenly, however, he clapped his hands to his pockets and ran forward to the conductor.
“Say, conductor,” he whispered, hoarsely, “did that man I was talking to get off at the last station?”
“Yes, sir; did you lose anything?”
The human benefactor smiled sadly.
“Not in comparison with what the world has lost,” he replied. “The human race has lost one of those priceless ideas which, in the course of centuries, sometimes come to real genius only to be abandoned. I lost only my watch.”
He was a Scot, with the usual thrifty characteristics of his race. Wishing to know his fate, he telegraphed a proposal of marriage to the lady of his choice. After waiting all day at the telegraph office he received an affirmative answer late at night.
“Well, if I were you,” said the operator who delivered the message, “I’d think twice before I’d marry a girl who kept me waiting so long for an answer.”
“Na, na,” replied the Scot. “The lass for me is the lass wha waits for the night rates.”
As a truly polite nation the French undoubtedly lead the world, thinks a contributor to a British weekly. The other day a Paris dentist’s servant opened the door to a woebegone patient.
“And who, monsieur,” he queried in a tender tone, “shall I have the misery of announcing?”
The Methodist minister in a small country town was noted for his begging propensities and for his ability to extract generous offerings from the close-fisted congregation, which was made up mostly of farmers. One day the young son of one of the members accidentally swallowed a ten-cent piece, much to the excitement of the rest of the family. Every means of dislodging the coin had failed and the frightened parents were about to give up in despair when a bright thought struck the little daughter, who exclaimed: “Oh, mamma, I know how you can get it! Send for our minister; he’ll get it out of him!”
A small, hen-pecked, worried-looking man was about to take an examination for life insurance.
“You don’t dissipate, do you?” asked the physician, as he made ready for tests. “Not a fast liver, or anything of that sort?”
The little man hesitated a moment, looked a bit frightened, then replied, in a small, piping voice: “I sometimes chew a little gum.”