Moved by curiosity, a friend of mine trailed behind them, arriving just in time to hear the following dialogue between the linguist and the storekeeper: “Parley voo Fransay?” “Oui, oui, Monsieur.” “Then, why the hell don’t you give this here boy his right change?” § 31 He Lacked Storage Space Congressman John K. Hendrick of Kentucky, now deceased, was notoriously soft hearted. He was sitting in a courtroom one day when a young and struggling member of the local bar, who was not especially renowned for mental brilliancy, undertook to read a petition in a divorce suit and speedily got himself badly tangled up in a confused maze of legal phrases. The judge sought to set the young lawyer right, but the only result was to tangle him worse than ever. The judge was showing signs of losing his temper when Col. Hendrick arose. “I hope, your Honor,” he said, “that you will bear patiently with our young friend here. He is doing his best.” “I know that, Col. Hendrick,” said the judge, somewhat testily, “and I intend to bear patiently with him. I am merely trying to give Mr. So-and-So an idea.” “Your Honor,” said Col. Hendrick, “don’t do it. He’s got no place to put it.” § 32 The Voice of the Purist In the National League formerly was an umpire who was a stickler for correct deportment on the diamond. In a game in which he officiated at the Polo Grounds Chief Meyers, catcher for New York, came to bat. Certain of the Boston players sitting on their bench began to guy the brawny red man. In an instant the umpire had left his place behind the catcher and was running toward the visitors’ bombproof. “Cut out them personalities!” he ordered. “Cut out them personalities!” A high pitched voice filtered out from the grandstand: “Cut out them grammar!” § 33 There Spoke Envy’s Voice The town drunkard of a small Scotch community went on an especially vehement tear. The village authorities locked him up. On the second day of his captivity, as he sat in his cell, thirsty beyond words, the minister, who was of a full habit of life, came to give him consolation and good advice. They sat down side by side and the dominie read the parable of the Prodigal Son. The prisoner seemed to hang on the words. He nudged up closer and closer, bending forward until his face almost was in the minister’s face, and listened. “Please read it over once more,” he said when the dominie had finished the chapter and started to close the Good Book. Touched by this further sign of penitence, the minister read it again. “Tell me, poor man,” he said when he was done, “what was it held you so close the while I was reading—was it the lesson of the Scripture or was it the words?” “Nay, nay,” said the tippler—“’twas your grand breath!” § 34 The Treacherous Warehouse