“You recommended yourself pretty highly when you came around the other day,” said Mr. Barnum. “In fact, as I recall, you told me you were the best man in your line anywhere. Now I hear that you haven’t made good.” Being an artiste, the young man naturally had his share of temperament. “Is that so?” he answered with heavy sarcasm. “Well, lemme tell you somethin’—there ain’t nobody can reflect on my abilities without answerin’ to me. If I hear any more of this sort of talk I’ll quit!” “All right, then, quit,” said the famous showman. “You said it,” answered the indignant trouper. “I’ve quit. I’ve resigned. Do you know what that means, Mr. Barnum?” “I think so,” said the older man. “It means you’ve quit.” “Think again. Do you happen to know what town this is?” “Certainly I do—Pine Bluff.” “That’s it. Now you’ve got it. Here right in the middle of the season I’m leavin’ Barnum and Bailey’s circus flat on its back in Pine Bluff, Arkansas.” § 337 An Over Sensitive Deer An Englishman was visiting on a big ranch in the southern part of Texas. The country abounded in game and the visitor, who had done very little shooting in his life, became filled with an ambition to kill a deer. His host fitted him out with a rifle and sent him on a still hunt under the guidance of a negro hand who had considerable experience at stalking. The darky led the greenhorn to a likely place on the edge of a thicket. Before the pair had traveled very far the keen eyes of the negro spied out a handsome buck feeding in the thickets and by slow degrees moving in their direction. He drew the Englishman down into a handy clump of chaparral; but when the buck almost was within easy gunshot of them he suddenly quit feeding, raised his head, sniffed, snorted, and instantly was gone. The disappointed amateur turned to his guide: “Surely the brute didn’t see us? I did not move, I know,” he said. “Naw suh, he ain’t see you—dat I’m sho’,” said the negro, “but I think, boss, he must a’ smell’ you.” “But that couldn’t be,” said the still puzzled Englishman. “Why, I had a barth only this morning!” § 338 The Proper Rate of Exchange The late Charles E. Van Loan, a splendid story-teller in his own right and equally adept as a story-writer, used to love to tell this one: An ambitious promoter undertook to stage a prize-fight between two heavy-weights at a little town just over the international boundary between Mexico and California. The fight was advertised to go for twenty rounds. From both sides of the line a great crowd gathered, the majority of those present being Mexicans.