I procured a year's file of
Pearson's Weekly, of Tit Bits and of Life, and scores of stray copies of
Puck, Judge and Answers.
From these I cut hundreds of short humorous paragraphs, which I kept in
a box in my cabin. Whenever I was summoned to attend upon J. P. I put a
handful of these clippings in my pocket. I am afraid I should make
enemies if I were to tell of the thousands of stories I had to read in
order to get the hundreds which came within range even of my modest
hopes; but I may say that line for line I got more available stories
from the "Newspaper Waifs" on the editorial page of the New York Evening
Post than from any other source.
Even after I had labored long and heroically in the vineyard of
professional humor, grape juice, and not wine, was the commoner product
of my efforts.
It was no unusual experience that after I had told J. P. one of the best
tales in my collection he would say: "Well, go on, go on, come to the
point. For God's sake, isn't there any end to this story?"
On October 25, 1911, we put into the harbor of Charlestown, S. C. There
was the usual business of collecting mail, newspapers, and so on, for J.
P., after five days at sea, was eager to pick up the thread of current
happenings.
On the following day Mr.
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