"Look a-yere, Seffy, it's about two inches apast seven--and by the time you git there--say, _nefer_ gif another feller a chance to git there afore you or to leave after you!" Seffy descended at that moment with his hat poised in his left hand. His father dropped his watch and picked it up. Both stood at gaze for a moment. "Sunder, Sef! You as beautiful as the sun, moon and stars--and as stinky as seferal apothecary shops. Yere, take the watch and git along--so's you haf some time wiss you--now git along! You late a'ready. Goshens! You wass behind time when you wass born! Yas, your mammy wass disapp'inted in you right at first. You wass seventy-six hours late! But now you reformed--sank God! I always knowed it wass a cure for it, but I didn't know it wass anysing as nice as Sally." Seffy issued forth to his first conquest--lighted as far as the front gate by the fat lamp held in his father's hand. "A--Sef--Seffy, shall I set up for you tell you git home?" he called into the dark. "No!" shouted Seffy. "Aha--aha--aha! That sounds _right_! Don't you forgit when you bose--well--comfortable--aha--aha! Mebby on one cheer aha--ha-ha. And we'll bose take the fence down to-morrow. Mebby all three!" AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL CONGRESS BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE "'There's none can tell about my birth For I'm as old as the big round earth; Ye young Immortals clear the track, I'm the bearded Joke on the Carpet tack." Thus spoke A Joke With boastful croak; And as he said, Upon his head He stood, and waited for the tread Of thoughtless wight, Who, in the night, Gets up, arrayed in garments white, And indiscreet, With unshod feet, Prowls round for something good to eat. But other Jokes His speech provokes; And old, and bald, and lame, and gray, With loftiest scorn they say him Nay; And bid him hold his unweaned tongue, For they were blind ere he was young. So hot They grew, This complot Crew, They laid a plan To catch a Man; That all the clan Might then trepan His skull with Jokes; they thus began: First Mule, his heel its skill to try, Amid his ribs like lightning laid-- And back recoiled--he well knew why; "Insurance Man," he faintly sayed. Next Stove Pipe rushed, as hot as fire, "Put up!" he cried, in accents bold; With Elbow joint he struck the lyre, And knocked the Weather Prophet cold. But thou, Ice Cream, with hair so gray, Three thousand years before the Flood, Cold, bitter cold, will be the day Thou dost not warm the Jester's blood. "Spoons for the spooney," was her ancient song, That with slow measure dragged its deathless length along. And longer had she sung, but with a frown, Old Pie, impatient, rose And roared, "Behold, I am the Funny Clown! And without me there is no Joke that goes.