SOME GOOD STORIES.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4307, 16 March 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

SOME GOOD STORIES.

YOIJTHFUL HUMOI!K. Scraps of hoy humour are often as welcome and refreshing as a glass of water to a wrecked mariner. The current number of the “Vicarage road Roys’ School (Blumstead) Journal” has several delightful specimens of “illogical logic,” as a wag described the twisted outcome of lads’ thoughts. Standard IV. had been reading I. Samuel, xxiv., 14, where David exclaims, ‘After whom is the Ring of Israel come out ? After whom doth thou pursue? After a dead dog, after a flea.’ Teacher; ‘What did David mean, by comparing himself to a flea?’ Roy; ‘Please, sir, Saul couldn’t catch him!’ In one of the junior classes the teacher was giving a, geography lesson, and asked in what way they could get from one island to another in the absence ef a connecting bridge. Up went a score of hands, signifving readiness to answer the question. ‘Swim over,’ said one; ‘Wade across,’ suggested a. second ; ‘Go over in a balloon,’ remarked a third; but the climax was reached by the next boy’s novel idea -‘Drown yourself, and you will be washed over,’ excitedly exclaimed he. THE BISHOP AND THE FOOTMAN Bishop Brindle was dining at Sir Evelyn Wood’s, .and was relating with great gusto the following tale —well known, doubtless, to many of ray readers, but it may ho repeated to give point to the adventure which followed ; —“A little boy was going out to u party, and his mother impressed upon him that he was upon no account to touch trifle —that dyspeptic delight of youth. ‘But, mother,’ objected the small hoy, ‘if they bring me some?’ ‘You must say, “No thank you.”’ ‘And if they bring it to me again?’ ‘You must still say, “No thank you.” But they won’t do that; it would be rude.’ “The small boy went to the party, and in due course returned, somewhat subdued in manner. ‘Well,’ said his mother, T hope you were a good boy, and remembered what I told you?’ ‘Yes, mother, but they was awful rude to me.’ ‘Why, what did they do ?’ ‘They brought mo trifle threa times.’ ‘Very rude, indeed, darling, and of course you said, “No thank you?”’ T said, “Xo thank you,” twice, but I didn’t know what to say next time.’ ‘And what did you say ?' •I said just like napa does at dinner when he’s ci’oss, “Take this dtinied thing away.”'

Scarcely were the last words uttered with some dramatic energy, out of the Bishop’s mouth, when a passing footman, with a hasty “I beg your pardon, sir,” swooped down on his half-finished plate, and boro it swiftly away, to the amusement of the other guests, and his lordship’s utter bewilderment. THE MAIN HATCH. Many years ago when sailors were in the habit of chewing much more than at the present day, two tars were sitting in the gallery of an old country church, paying very great attention to'the service. During thd sermon one of them hoard a distinct sound of snoring coming up from tho body of the church, and, looking down, he saw a fat old farmer fast asleep, his head thrown well hack and his mentli wide open. Tho temptation was too much for Jack, who; making up a quid of tobacco, shut ono eye, and, glancing along an imaginary plumb line, dropped it into the old man's mouth, causing the old fellow to close it with a snap and jump to his feet, spluttering and spitting with a face almest purple. Confusion reigned supremo, and Jack’s chum innocently asked : “What’s up, Jack? Man overboard?” “No,” said Jack, exploding with suppressed laughter, ‘T dropped a bit of 'baccy plumb down the main hatchway, and into his old grog tub. SAW A GHOST. “Tummas!” cried the butler, rousing the stable boy in the middle of the night, “master’s taken ill. Run lor the doctor.” Tiraimas hastily dressed and ran to the doctor’s house, where he rang the bell. “Who’s there?” roared a voice, full in Tummas’s car. Tummas spun round and saw —nothing! A chill of fear seized him, and lie rang again frantically. “Who’s there, I say?” bellowed the mysterious voice again close by his side. Tummas yelled in terror -and pounded on tho door with both fists, then faced round fearfully. “Well, what do"you want?” thundered the dreadful voice’ from behind him. Tummas whirled round. There in the doorway stood a tall, white figure. With a shriek Tummas fled back homo.

“Well, of all the queer starts, this is the queerest!” growled the doctor, coming out on the doorstep in his nightshirt to look after the fleeing Tummas. Tummas had never heard of a doctor’s night tube. A CHURCH COLLECTION/ The following is from the “Brown Book of Boston” :—“Brudden and sistahs,” sternly said the good old parson Woolmon, after the collection nad been taken up upon a recent Sabbath morning, “before de hat was done parsed round I expounded the request dat the congregation contribute! aecawdin’ to cleir means, and I sho’ expectorated dat yo’ all would chip in magnanimously. But now, upon examinin’ cle collection', I finds that de concocted amount contributed by de whole entire posse of yo’ am only do significant and pusillanimous sum of 03 cents. And at dis junction der ain’t no ’easion for yo’ll to look at Brudder Slewfoot, what done circumambulated da hat raeund, in no' such auspicious manner; for, in de fust place, Brudder Slewfoot ain’t dat kind ob a man, and, in the second place, I dons watched him like a hawke all de time muhself. No, 63 cents was all dat was flung in ; and i dess wants to say dat, in my humble opinion, instead of contributin’ aecawdin’ to yo’ means, yo’ all contributed aecawdin’ to yo’ meanness. De choir will now favour us with their reg’lar melodiousness. THE WOMAN AGAIN. ‘Til tell you a good story, boys,” said tho host, and there was a pause in the conversation; “it’s about a lady, too.’’ Instantly there was a craning of necks. “That story about Mrs Archibald, love?” interrupted his wife. “Yes, my dear, (ho one I told you about the other day. It happened this way. 1 was going down fifth avenue— —” “You Ibid me Broadway, my love.” “Yes, I think it was Broadway, but it doesn’t matter much. At all events I was going down town, when a lady, dressed in a blue blouse—” “I think you’re mistaken, hubby. You certainly said ’pink’ when you told mo the story.’’ “Well, let it go at that—it was either blue or pink—and a white dress—” “No;;sho was dresseu all in bine,•‘don’t »ypn remember?” They host gave hisrwife a lock that.came from a marble, heart. , “She, kept looking at me ——’’ .“No, dear, you did at her.” “Well, confound it,, we . both Joolred i pt each other. Her 'face'seemed faSmiliar to me. She was tripping along, looking as fresh as a peach, when suddenly she slipped on a banana skin and broke her leg.” “No, mi. Herr in aid, her ankle.” "Bless my soul, Mrs 8.. would von like to tell the rest of the story?” “Now, don’t get mad, dear, but do be accurate.”

“Well, she broke her blessed ankle, or twisted it, and I had the satisfaction of carrying her inter the nearest drug store. She smiled a sweet smile, at mo —” “I think you’re mistaken again, darling. You told ran she was unconscious.” “Yes, I knew, hut that was before —I mean afterwards —I mean—Airs 8., you get me rattled. Please don’t interrupt. Stic smiled at me some time, anyway, and seemed to thank me in a mute manner.” “One moment, dear. You cwtainly told me she was voluble in her thanks afterwards.” “Yes, yes. Say, am 1 telling this story or are you? I asked her if I should call an ambulance. She whispered, ‘No, get me a cab.’ 1 got her a hansem—— ’’ “No, don’t you remember, darling?—an automobile.' - “Great Scott! madam- -I-—here, bo vs, lot’s go to the club!’ ’ POLICEAI AN FLYNN’S ADVENTURES. Policeman Barney Flynn holds two records. Ho is tha only man in “th’ foorce” who, having been promoted, has made a special and earnest plea to bo “ray-dooeed to th’ ranks.' That’s one. Then it is recorded of him that he has made a smaller number of arrests in proportion to his years of service than any other man who travels a beat. That’s two. He does not like to make arrests.

“’T is a nuisance,” ho says, “to be dhvaggin’ ye-er man to the station, an’ thin be afther gettin’ into Coort th’ next day to prosy-cute him. Sind him home whin yti canthat’s me wa-ay av doin' it. ’T is easv done, if he have money in his pocket "to pay f’r th’ cab.”- And as Policeman Flynn for many years had a night beat in a district frequented by the gilded youth, andot hers who celebrate “not wisely but too well,” lus opinion has weight.

“I’ll nob go home,” Mice retorted a young man who had received good advice from him.

‘•Ye’ll not?’’ returned Policeman Flynn, i'll a tone of mild astonishment. ‘•No, I won’t; and I’d like to know what you’re going to do about it. You can run mo in if you want to.’’ “R-nm ye in!” repeated Flynn. -f Ono! D’ yo tliink I’m lookin’ I’r a chanst to mako throuble f’r mesilf? I’ll do nawthin’ iv th’ kind.” “Then what will you do?” demanded the obstreperous youth, defiantly. “I’ll jump on ye/ responded Policeman Flynn. “’T is easier dons, an’ it T 1 give wur-rk f’r tIT ambylanee instid iv th’ hurry-up waggon.” As the policeman was an exceedingly active man, who could jump high and come down hard, the argument ended there, and the young man moved on. It will be seen from this that Policeman Flynn’s methods are peculiarly his own—except when they are his wife’s. She has prompted nim in many ways, has given him many valuable suggestions when he stood in need of them, and he is always quite ready to let her have all the credit due her. “F’r a woman,” he is accustomed to say when speaking of her, “she do ba th’ gr-reatest raa-an I iver see. ’T is her that’s more injane-yus thin th’ whole po-lis boord, and manny ’s th’ fine tip she’s given to me, though ’t is a mighty onpleasant way she have iv doin’ it sometimes.” At an5 r rate, Policeman Flynn and his wife, between them, made an excellent record on his beat. It is not the policeman who makes the most arrests who is necessarily of the greatest value, and in this instance order was maintained with less friction and fewer cases on the docket than ever before. '

That is why Policeman Flynn was finally made a sergeant. He had faithfully performed his duty for many years in many parts of the ci*y, and the marks against him were few and far between. He had been a crossing policeman, he had “travelled bait’’ in a residence section of the city, he had had his nerve tested in a really tough district, and wherever tried he had been found equal to all emergencies. But it was on a “Tenderloin beat” that ho had boon most successful. Every large city has its “Tenderloin heats,” and they are the ones that call for the exercise qtjhe most tact and judgment on the part of the night policeman. To this he returned after a brief experience as a sergeant and a few encounters with politicians.

His promotion was held to be deserved, and there was not a. man who knew him who was not pleased -when the announcement was made. But Sergeant Flynn shook his head doubtfully’. -‘Sergeant Flynn!’' ho repeated to hiraseOf. “Listen to that, now! T is not the same ole Barney at all; but th’ good woman says 't is right, an’ I’ll make a pla-ay at it.” Ho did, for one whole week, men he asked to he reduced to the ranks again. “’T is not to me likin’,” he explained. “Im not ma-ade to be betther thin annywan else. I can’t sthand f’r th' say-lutin’ an’ th’ flinflammin’ -an all that. I have no fri’nds anny more. Ivory man I like has to treat me with rav-spict, an’ ’t is no spoort f’r me. Whin I says, ‘Hullo, Patsy, ole b’y!’ to wan iy th’ men, an’ am lookin’ f’r an’ answer in kind, he up and say-lutes me an’ says, ‘Good avenin’, sergeant; I beg I’ave to ray-poort that I jist chased two gazabos down tit alley.’ Oh, ’t is no job f’r me. I niver was made f’r a socpeier-yer man, niver at all, Put me hack on me ol’ job where I can have mo fri’nds again.” “Is that your only complaint, sergeant?’’ asked the chief. “Listen to that, now! Blimp it, will ye? Dhrop it an’ call mo ‘Barney’ or jist plain 'Flynn.’ ■ “Well, is that your only complaint, Flynn ?”

‘‘M-m-m, well,” replied .Sergeant Flynn, drawing his hand thoughtfully across his mouth and chin, “I don’t mind tellin’ yo private an’ confidential, that I’m missing thhu little, pa-aper seegar judes that 5 s been makin’ so much throuble f’r me, an’ th’ fellies that don’t want to go home and all th’ristiv th’ Tenderlino gazabos. I don’t seem to grit used to bein’ without throubles iv some kind. ’T is too easy bein’ a sergeant, an’. I don’t sleep nights f’r flunkin' iv dhrawin’ mo pa-ay without wur-rkin’ f’r it. An’ thin, hechune oursilves, ’t is not me nature to lie watchin’ th’ h ys, an’ sindin’ thim to th’ thrial hoord f’r derry-nck-slmn iv duty. Whin I see wan iv thim talcin’ a little nip on th’ sly it ma-akes mo wish I was bor-rn blind—it does so.” “How would yon like to be the Mayor’s private policeman ?’ ’asked tha chief. “Oho! Privit po-lisimn to 'his nibs!” exclaimed Sergeant Flynn. “ ’T w’u’d be a fine job. What’s th*-char-acter iv th’ wur-rk ?”

“Oli you’d be a sort of doorkeeper, and have the task of keening the applicants for office and for political and ether favours of all sorts in order while they’re waiting to see him. If you’re looking for something to do, there’s a job that will keep you busy.” ' “M-m-m, well,’ returned Sergeant Flvnn, slowly, “’t is a shtep in th’ right direction.” ‘But he left his chief’s office solmenlv shaking his head. • “’T is all right f’r thnn that likes it. he. explained afterward, ‘but til chop houses is ail on me ol’ Tinderline beat.’