In a small city which we will not name, there lived a maiden lady who, for convenience, shall here be called Miss Henrietta Blank. She was of an old family and she was prominent in club life. In fact, so constantly was she engaged by her communal activities that, according to local rumor, she rarely found time for applying soap and water to her neck and ears. On a certain occasion a patriotic organization, of which she was a member, was holding a session. Miss Blank was not present. The presiding officer, a lady civically celebrated for her ready wit, was delegated to choose the members of a special committee. After deliberation she made this announcement: “For the members of this committee I shall name Mrs. Major Jones, Mrs. Dr. Robinson and Miss Henrietta Blank.” “Oh, Madam Chairman,” put in a member, “I’m sure I do not wish to be unkind, but this is really a very important matter where decision is needed and prompt action. Don’t you think you should substitute someone else for dear Miss Henrietta—she’s so wishy-washy!” The presiding officer’s retort was instantaneously delivered: “The person in question may be wishy,” she said, “but the Lord in Heaven knows she is not washy!” § 215 The Embarrassing Broad A A Chicago man visiting in London was invited to a ball where everybody except himself talked with an exceedingly broad a, as people will do in England—and Boston, Mass. The accent was puzzling to his Chicago ears but he did his best. He danced with the wife of his host. The lady spoke with an especially broad accent; also she ran somewhat to flesh. When they had finished the round of the floor she was panting in a repressed and well-bred way. “Shall we try another whirl?” inquired the Chicago man. “Not now,” she said; “I’m darnced out.” “Oh, no,” said the Chicago man, “not darn stout—just nice and plump, ma’am.” § 216 Tributes to the Late Lamented Ones Out West a dump car broke its couplings and went on a wild trip down grade. At a switch it was derailed, turning over on its side and instantly crushing to death a Mexican laborer. It fell to the lot of the foreman of the gang to which the victim belonged to render a report of the tragedy. This foreman, whose name I believe was Cassidy,—at any rate, it was a good Hibernian name,—got along fairly well with his literary labors until he came to the final space in the printed form, opposite the question: _Remarks?_ Mr. Cassidy studied awhile and then inserted these words: “He never made none!” The companion-piece to this has for a setting a stretch of a Southern line whereon a freight train had killed a cow, the property of a farmer. Mr. Dugan, the resident section boss, interviewed the owner of the slain animal and then proceeded to fill out a blank for the subsequent use of the claim agent.