The late Tom Williams dropped into a gambling house in Reno, Nevada, one night, and, playing roulette, speedily dropped his roll, but not before he had made up his mind that the game was crooked. On his way downstairs in deep disgust he met the proprietor, Long Brown. “What kind of a dump is this you’re running?” demanded Williams. “I’ve just been skinned out of four hundred dollars.” “Who brought you in here?” said Brown. “I brought myself in,” said Williams. “Oh, if that’s the case,” said Brown, “I owe you eighty dollars.” “How come?” “Well, you see, I pay twenty per cent. apiece for all suckers that are steered in. You appear to have steered yourself in. Here’s your eighty.” § 280 Going and Coming Two scholars, a Frenchman and an Italian, were having an argument. Each insisted his own country had produced the most distinguished literary figure that had ever lived. “Dante,” said the Italian, “was the greatest of all writers. Dante went to hell.” “Bah!” cried the Frenchman, “Baudelaire was a thousand times greater than Dante. Baudelaire came from hell.” § 281 The Evils of Intemperance A certain newspaper proprietor in New York who always was—and still is, even in these prohibition days—a total abstainer, dropped into the office just before press time, and found the assistant managing editor in charge. “Where’s Blank?” he asked, naming the managing editor. “Off on one of those periodical tears of his,” answered the assistant. “Where’s the city editor?” “Pie-eyed—down in Perry’s bar.” “I didn’t see the make-up editor as I came through the composing-room. What’s become of him?” “He’s in a Turkish bath over in Brooklyn, getting a bun boiled out of him.” The proprietor dropped into a chair, shaking his head sadly. “Well,” he said, “for a person who never touches a drop I seem to suffer more from the effects of drunkenness than any man in this town.” § 282 Not a Family of Musicians A self-made Western millionaire built the finest house in his home town. He imported decorators to furnish it, and managed to get it finished by the time his eldest son arrived from the East, where the youth had been completing his education. The proud father escorted the young man through the shining new mansion, followed by the other members of the household. When the grand tour had been completed the millionaire inquired whether the son had any suggestions to make. “Well,” said the young man, “to me it seems complete in every possible detail except one.” “What’s missin’?” demanded the parent. “You ought to have a chandelier in the music-room,” said the boy. “All right,” said the father. “I’ll order one by telegraph to-night, but I’ll bet a thousand dollars there ain’t a damn one in the family can play it.” § 283 The Reverend Had a Little Lamb