短篇小说

Not the least important of the force of the Weymouth Bank was Uncle Bushrod. Sixty years had Uncle Bushrod given of faithful service to the house of Weymouth as chattel, servitor, and friend.

Suppose you should be walking down Broadway after dinner, with ten minutes allotted to the consummation of your cigar while you are choosing between a diverting tragedy and something serious in the way of vaudeville.

"Next Sunday," said Dennis Carnahan, "I'll be after going down to see the new Coney Island that's risen like a phoenix bird from the ashes of the old resort.

A story with a moral appended is like the bill of a mosquito. It bores you, and then injects a stinging drop to irritate your conscience.

HABIT--a tendency or aptitude acquired by custom or frequent repetition.

The other day I ran across my old friend Ferguson Pogue. Pogue is a conscientious grafter of the highest type.

When I used to sell hardware in the West, I often "made" a little town called Saltillo, in Colorado. I was always certain of securing a small or a large order from Simon Bell, who kept a general store there.

On a summer's day, while the city was rocking with the din and red uproar of patriotism, Billy Casparis told me this story.

John Byrnes, hose-cart driver of Engine Company No. 99, was afflicted with what his comrades called Japanitis.

Down South whenever any one perpetrates some particularly monumental piece of foolishness every- body says: "Send for Jesse Holmes."