“Awful clap, wasn’t it?  You ought to’ve had lightning-rods on this building.  Struck by lightning, wasn’t I?”

[Illustration:  BANG!!!]

“You intolerable ass!” exclaimed the major as the clerks and reporters came rushing in and began to place Partridge on his legs; “it wasn’t lightning.  It was that infernal machine that you wanted me to put on my head.  If it had driven you under ground about forty feet, I’d have been glad, even if it had also demolished the building.”

“What! the receiver exploded, did it?  Too bad, ain’t it?  Blamed if I didn’t think she was strong enough to bear twice that pressure.  I must have made a mistake in my calculations, however,” said Partridge, pinning up his clothes and holding his handkerchief to his bloody nose; “I’ll have another one made, and come around to show you the invention to better advantage.”

“If you do, I’ll brain you with an inkstand,” said the major.

Then Partridge limped out, and the major, abandoning the subject of resumption, began a fresh editorial upon “The Extraordinary Prevalence of Idiots at the Present Time.”

* * * * *

The Patriot has shown a remarkable amount of enterprise lately in obtaining, or professing to obtain, an interview with the Wandering Jew.  The reader can form his own estimate of the value of the report, which appeared in the Patriot in the following fashion: 

Reports were floating about the city yesterday to the effect that the Wandering Jew had been seen over in New Jersey.  A reporter was sent over at once to hunt him up, and to interview him if he should be found.  After a somewhat protracted search the reporter discovered a promising-looking person sitting on the top rail of a fence just outside of Camden engaged in eating some crackers and cheese.  The reporter approached him and addressed him at a venture: 

“Beautiful day, Cantaphilus!”

This familiarity seemed necessary; because if the Wandering Jew has any family name, the fact has not been revealed to the public.

“Bless my soul, young man, how on earth did you know me?” exclaimed the Jew.

“Oh, I don’t know; something about your appearance told me who it was.  I’m mighty glad to see you, any way.  When did you arrive?”

“I came on here yesterday.  Been down in Terra del Fuego, where I heard about the Centennial, and I thought I’d run up and have a look at it.  Be a good thing, I reckon.  Time flies, though, don’t it?  Seems to me only yesterday that a man over here in Siberia told me that you people were fighting your Revolutionary war.”

[Illustration:  THE WANDERING JEW]

He sat upon the fence as he talked; his feet, cased in gum shoes, rested on the third rail from the bottom; his umbrella was under his arm; his face was deeply wrinkled, and his long white beard bobbed up and down as he ate his lunch voraciously, diving into his carpet-bag every now and then for more.  The reporter remarked that he feared that such a liberal diet of cheese would disagree with the eater, but the old man said,