This drew forth the required pounds and shillings.

Here is another story typical of the great maker of enemies:

Whistler had a French poodle of which he was extravagantly fond. The poodle was seized with an affection of the throat, and Whistler had the audacity to send for the great throat specialist Mackenzie.

Sir Morell, when he saw that he had been called in to treat a dog, didn't like it much, it was plain. But he said nothing. He prescribed, pocketed a big fee, and drove away.

The next day he sent post-haste for Whistler; and Whistler, thinking he was summoned on some matter connected with his beloved dog, dropped his work and rushed like the wind to Mackenzie's.

On his arrival Sir Morell said gravely:

"How do you do, Mr. Whistler? I wanted to see you about having my front door painted."

A story is told of a very popular cavalry officer. He was being tried for drunkenness, and among other witnesses was his Irish orderly. The court, anxious to give the officer every chance, put several questions to this witness with a view of eliciting any facts that might be in his master's favor. When the orderly said that his master, on going to bed, had expressed a wish to be called early, the members of the court-martial were distinctly pleased.

A man who gave special instructions to be called early could not, surely--they argued to themselves--have been drunk. Hoping to get favorable particulars, the judge advocate put a further question.

"And why did the major wish to be called early?" he asked.

"Faith, an' he tould me it was because he was to be Queen of the May,"

came the answer.

That settled it.

A college professor, noted for his concentration of thought, returned home from a scientific meeting one night, still pondering deeply upon the subject that had been discussed. As he entered his room he heard a noise that seemed to come from under the bed.

"Is there some one there?" he asked absently.

"No, professor," answered the intruder, who knew of his peculiarities.

"That's strange," muttered the professor. "I was almost sure I heard some one under the bed."

Fond Mother--"Jane, has Johnny come home from school yet?"

Jane--"I think so. I haven't seen him, but the cat is hiding under the stove."

Somebody told Mr. Jenks that red flannel worn next to the skin would cure the rheumatism from which he suffered. So he purchased several sets of red flannel undergarments. The clerk a.s.sured him that the firm guaranteed the goods in every particular. About two months later, says the New York "Times," Mr. Jenks revisited the shop, sought out the proprietor and told his woful story.

"The goods are the best in the house," declared the proprietor. "Of course," he said, in a reasonable tone used on unreasonable persons, "of course the shirts may have shrunk or faded a little--"

"Shrunk! Faded!" bellowed Mr. Jenks. "What do you think my wife said to me, when I came down to breakfast yesterday with one of them on?"

The proprietor looked bored.

"Well, sir," said the aggrieved Jenks, "she looked at me a minute, and then said, 'What is that little red line round your neck John? It isn't the baby's string of coral beads, is it?'"

"Now, Tommy," said Mrs. Bull, "I want you to be good while I'm out."

"I'll be good for a nickel," replied Tommy.

"Tommy," she said, "I want you to remember that you can not be a son of mine unless you are good for nothing."

Bill Jones is a country storekeeper down in Louisiana, and last spring he went to New Orleans to purchase a stock of goods. The goods were shipped immediately and reached home before he did. When the boxes of goods were delivered at his store by the drayman his wife happened to look at the largest; she uttered a loud cry and called for a hammer.

A neighbor, hearing the screams, rushed to her a.s.sistance and asked what was the matter. The wife, pale and faint, pointed to an inscription on the box which read as follows:

"Bill inside."

Customer--"Are these five or six wedding rings all you have in stock?

Why, you've got a whole trayful of engagement rings."

Jeweler--"Yes, sir, and it will take that whole trayful of engagement rings to work off those five or six wedding rings."

They were newly married and on a honeymoon trip. They put up at a skysc.r.a.per hotel. The bridegroom felt indisposed, and the bride said she would slip out and do a little shopping.

In due time she returned and tripped blithely up to her room, a little awed by the number of doors that looked all alike. But she was sure of her own and tapped gently on the panel.

"I'm back, honey; let me in," she whispered.

No answer.

"Honey, honey, let me in!" she called again, rapping louder. Still no answer.

"Honey, honey, it's Mabel. Let me in."

There was silence for several seconds; then a man's voice, cold and full of dignity, came from the other side of the door:

"Madame, this is not a beehive; it's a bathroom."