" The smiling little
hostess steals a smell of the sauce while they are discussing politics,
and believes she does smell kerosene, and she looks at the old man kind of
spunky, when he glances at the rag on his thumb and asks if there is no
liniment in the house.
The preserving of fruit in glass jars is broken up in that house, and four
dozen jars are down cellar to lay upon the lady's mind till she gets a
chance to send some of them to a charity picnic. The glass jar fruit can
business is played out unless a scheme can be invented to get the top off.
HE WOULDN'T HAVE HIS FATHER CALLED NAMES.
A man died in Oshkosh who was over eighty years of age. After the funeral
the minister who conducted the services, said to the son of the deceased,
"your father was an octogenarian." The young man colored up, doubled up
his fist, and said to the minister that he would like to have him repeat
that remark. The minister said, "I say your father was an old
octogenarian." He had not more than got the word out of his mouth before
the young man struck him on the nose, knocked him down, kicked him in the
ear, and when pulled off by a policeman, he said no holyghoster could call
his dead father names, not around him. The minister said he couldn't have
been more surprised if some one had paid a year's pew rent, than he was
when that young man's fist hit him.
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