THE TALE OF A TUMBLE.
The boy stood on bis sister's neck. And kicked her in the bead. But it happened at a skating rink, So nothing much was said. How beautiful and bright she stood — But only for a minute. She sat down on that ice so bard, She almost went right through it. He tried to stop, but all in vain; He tried a figure eight; . He tried to do two things at once, Which is fatal when you skate. But little things like this occur Quite often on the ice. He struggled to his feet once more And helped her to arise. They crossed their hands and started off. And then she crossed her feet. She landed on her off-side ear, While he just took a seat. The crowd rolled on without a glance* They did not even smile. They were too busy, trying bard To cultivate some style. Once more he stood the girl erect, And held her like a vice; But her feet went faster than her head — Once more they hit the ice. This time the girl did not get up, And neither did the fellow. He'd sprained his gluteous maximus: She'd fractured her patella. But twice a day, or so they say. Wherever skating's taught, Some skater breaks an arm or leg, Or something of that sort.
A whistle blew, a man rushed forth, Equipped with splints and brandy; While someone fetched the stretchers Which are always kept quite handy. In fifteen minutes by the clock The girl, oh, where was she? Safe with the boy in hospital, Where nurses poured out tea. Meanwhile the crowd went skating on; They didn't even blink. For casualties are common things At any skatine rink.
STREET SELLERS IN JERUSALEM.
Crowds of women and girls with produce from the countryside pass in and out of the city gates. With their bine gowns and white veils they are a picturesque feature in every lane and byway, as well as the main thoroughtares (says Frank Hart in "The Quiver"). Like the other traders, they accept uncomplainingly the little comedy of being moved on from time to time, because often enough it is only to settle down as soon as possible in the same spot. I've seen a girl, on being told to move away, pick up her heavy, flat, round basket, hoist it on to her head with charming grace, and most winning obedience, turn on her heel sufficiently to let the policeman get submerged in the throng, and then sit down exactly where she sat before, the whole action of the play, as they say in the theatre, taking place within two minutes!
"There, you'a missed him," said the tenderfoot. "I cert'ny am surprised Flow is it you didn't hit that rabbit. Uncle Bill?" "It was this way," uncle explained "You see that rabbit, he was running zig-zag. I aimed at him when he was In zig, an' fore I could shut my shootin' eye, dat rabbit had shifted into zag. Dem critters is gettin' more eddicated every day/' "I wiah you would tell me," said the agent, who had been a long time on Mr. Snaggs' trail, "what is your ob Jection to having your life insured?" "Well, I don't mind telling you," replied Snaggs. "The idea of being more valuable dead than alive is distasteful to rae,"
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Bibliographic details
Cromwell Argus, Volume LXI, Issue 3168, 22 June 1931, Page 8
Word Count
561THE TALE OF A TUMBLE. Cromwell Argus, Volume LXI, Issue 3168, 22 June 1931, Page 8
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