On one occasion I heard a tourist who had just arrived ask him the old chestnut: "Is this a good place, landlord, do you think, for a person affected with a weak chest?" "None better, sir, none better." "I've been recommended, you know, by the doctor, to spend the summer in some mountain region where the south wind blows. Does it blow much here?" [Illustration] "Why sure, it's always the south wind that blows here," replied the landlord, stoutly. "Ah, indeed, then how do you account for it blowing from the north just now?" "That's easy enough, sir--you see it's the same old south wind on its road back again." That landlord was a jewel, and afforded me considerable entertainment during my sojourn; but he had a neighbor, a stout German farmer, who took the cake when it came to doing business. Le'me tell you about his experience with the insurance agent, for it was certainly laughable, though old Platzenburger didn't see it that way. It seems that the house of the farmer, insured for a thousand dollars, had burned down. The privilege of replacing a burned house is reserved by insurance companies and the agent, having this in mind, said to the farmer: "We'll put you up a better house than the one you had for six hundred dollars." "Nein!" said Platzenburger, emphatically. "I vill have my one tousand dollar or notings! Dot house could not be built again for even a tousand." "Oh, yes, it could," said the insurance man. "It was an old house. It doesn't cost so much to build houses nowadays. A six-hundred-dollar new house would be a lot bigger and better than the old one." Some months later, when the insurance man was out for a day's shooting, he rode up again to the farmer's place. "Just thought I'd stop while I was up here," he said, "to see if you wanted to take out a little insurance." [Illustration] "I got notings to insure," said Platz, "notings but my vife." "Well, then," said the insurance man cheerfully, "insure her." "Nein!" said the farmer, with determination. "If she die, you come out here and say, 'I not give you one tousand dollar. I get you a bigger und a better vife for six hunded.' No, sir, I dakes no more insurance oud!" You must excuse me if I have to call a temporary halt upon these proceedings and indulge in a little vociferous sneeze, for a cold in the head is no respecter of persons. This is the sneeze, sung in a sad, sobbing minor: [Illustration] I've got a cold with snuffles in; What kind of a cold have you? I've got the kind that makes me sin By craving fizzes made of gin And other stuff with bad booze in-- What kind of a cold have you? I've got the kind that makes one hoarse; What kind of a cold have you? To speak requires my utmost force; My voice is rough, and harsh, and coarse, And strains its laryngital source-- What kind of a cold have you?