Papurau Newydd Cymru

Chwiliwch 15 miliwn o erthyglau papurau newydd Cymru

The Rhondda Leader

Nid yw statws neu berchnogaeth hawlfraint yr adnodd hwn yn hysbys.
Cuddio Rhestr Erthyglau

2 erthygl ar y dudalen hon

YANKEE HUMOUR.

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Dyfynnu
Rhannu

YANKEE HUMOUR. A MORTAL INSULT. Mrs. Dimpleton: "I want you to get another doctor right off." Dimpleton: "What's the matter with this one?" Mra. Dimpleton: "What do you suppose he laid about baby? He told me I must treat him like a human being! "-Harper's Bazaar. AN ISSUE OF VERACITY. The head of the household was late getting home. He was very late. It was long past mid- night. Indeed, the little clock on the hall mantel had just struck three o'clock when he came walking in. He had been out with the boys, and his wife reproached him. "Why, it's early yet. It's not late." Just then the bedroom clock sounded one, two, three. The wife looked at him with a grim rebuke. He caught her eye and jerked out this reply: £ "Well, now,if you want to believe that dollar- and-a-half clock before your dear husband, I have nothing to say." BOARDING-HOUSE PLEASANTRY. "Will someone please chase the cow down this way," said the funny boarder, who wanted some milk for his oatmeal. "Here, Jane," said the landlady in a tone that was meant to be crushing, "take the cow down there where the calf is bawling." A TRUE HOST. "The coolest man I ever saw," said a New York fireman, "I met at a fire in a dwelling- house on Fifth-avenue. We found him in- an upstair front rooiti, dressing to go out. The fire by this time was surging up through the house at a great rate. "'Halloa, there!' we hollered at him when we looked in at the door, the house is a-fire Would it disturb you if I should remain while you are putting it out P I he said, lifting the comb from his hair and looking round at us. He had on a white evening waistcoat, and his dress-coat lay across a chair. "Seeing us staring at him, he (iroppd his comb into his hair again and went on combing. But, as a matter of fact, he was about ready. He put 4own the comb, put on his coat and hat, and picked up his overcoat. Now I'm ready, gentlemen, I he said. "We started, but the stairway had now been closed up by fire. We turned to the windows. The boys had got a ladder up to the front of the house. Now then,' we said to him, when we came to the window, "I After you, gantlemon, I he said, standing back. And rm blessed if we didn't have to go down the ladder first." THEY WERE SAFE. A punctilious Southern lady was married to a happy-go-lucky Carolinian with a notorious dis- regard for all matters of dress. He was going off on a trip, and his wife packed in his satchel six shirts, exacting a promise that he would wear a fresh one every day. He returned home in due course, and the good housewife proceeded to unpack the bag. Lo, not one of the shirts was there! What's the matter, John ?" she asked in great perturbation. Where are all the shirts I gave you ? John protested that he had followed orders and put on a clean one every day, but what happened to them he did not know. He retired downstairs to think out the problem. Ten minutes later an excited face was thrust into the-room, and a happy voice rang out: "I've found 'em, my dear; I've found 'era The whole six shirts are safe! I've got 'em all gn Kamat City Indtptndtnt. KEEPING A CLEAR HE D. "Oh-h-h-h-h!" came in a prolonged scream from Mrs. Tremoirs's lips. Mr. Tremoirs looked quickly up from his paper, and was immediately propelled into a jump clear across the room by eeeing the lamp on the table beside him flaming fiercely towards the ceiling. "Throw it out of the window, Stella. Quick!" commanded Mr. Tremoirs, with rare presence of mind. Mrs. Tremoirs made a couple of ineffectual dives for the lamp, but retreated baffled and wringing her hands. "Now, don't get panic-struck, Stella," advised Mr. Tremoirs, from where he had ensconced him- self behind a large leather chair. "Throw it out immediately, or it will explode the first thing you know." "I'm—I'm afraid of it," confessed Mrs. Tremoirs, reluctantly. "Pshaw!" snorted Mr. Tromoirs, shrinking closer under cover as the lamp "named higher. "Isn't that just like a woman, no earthly good in an emergency ? Do as I tell you, Stella. Throw it out this instant." "Why — why don't you do it yourself ? faltered Mrs. Tremoirs, stung into audacity by his reflection on herself and her sex. "What ? Me?" cried Mr. Tremoirs, in the extremity of a-'tonishment at such a suggestion. "There! There! Now's your chance, Stella. See, it's nearly out now. Quick! Quick he continued rapidly, as the flame sank to nearly its normal level. Mrs. Tremoirs made a desperate dash, seized the lamp, and flung it forth into the garden. "By Jove, it's lucky I was here!" observed Mr. Tremoirs, with heartfelt thankfulness, a minute or two later, while they stood at the window watching the expiring struggles of the oil to appear brilliant. "I don't see what you women do when there isn't a man around to keep a clear bead in an accident." And to the everlasting credit of Mrs. Tremoirs be it recorded that she didn't even sayt Ahem 1*—Lift. COST OF CITY LOTS. The amazement of the bucolic mind at the extraordinary prices paid for a cify lot, in cities as populous as Chicago or New York, is brought out by this yarn, told in the Chicago Times-Herald: Tom Nicholls, the artist, was talking to an old negro down in Georgia a few days ago, whom he had told that he lived in Chicago. Whar is dis yer Chercargo ?" the ancient darky asked. "Ees dat b'yant de sea ?" "No, it's up north above here, fourteen or fifteen hundred miles." 11 Ucb, oo! Dat's too fur fur me. Kin you ride all de way on de kyars ? "Oh yes, and much further." "I s'pose you got a big fahm up dar in dat Chercargo, what you call hit ? "No, I don't own a foot of ground there." "Wharfo dis ? Costs too much." 'Bout how much, suh P" "Well, if you just wanted a place to put a home, you could probably get it for two hundred and fifty or three hundred and fifty dollars a foot." The old fellow leant over and looked incredu- lously into the artist's face. "Huh?" he asked. "Is yo' talkin' sense to me, white man ? "Certainly, and if you wanted a place to put a store or something like that, it would cost four or five thousand dollars a foot front." The negro was paralysed. He could not even Comprehend the cost of a foot of Chicago. "Listen at dis, ole 'oman," he said to the dusky mammy who was broiling a young chicken and fixing the artist a savoury meal, "listen it dis! Dar s nigeahs gone fum Georgy to Cher- cargo. Dem niggahs gwinter come hack h*ah if dey s got sense ernuff to grease or gim'et. Whar dey gwinter git groun* erauff to raise wot'er- tnillyuns, much lessen place fur taters en cabbages en mustud greens en goobahs ? 'Scuse me, sub, is you makin' a meal f UNREWARDED. "You don't catch me ever doing anything for Any girl again as long as I live," said the young inan with the polka-dot band on his hat. "Miss Peach went to Cape May last Thursday, and when 1 heard she was going I had to break in and ask if I might come up and carry her hag to the train. She said I might, and you couldn't have held me. I was up at hpr house before the doors were open, and there she was with a bag the size of a trunk, all knobby and lumpy on the outside, from the things she'd jammed into It. You know how a woman packs-puts five Saratogas full of thines into one small steamer traoki 114 geti the tlaUor to lit on th, lid so lt ii snu' wen, tnat's the way Miss reach's bag was packed, and it weighed a ton at that. I picked it up ai ly-it had a crate of um- brellas and parasols, and a box of candy and a basket of fruit, and a rug, and a jacket, and a bandbox, and a bundle of magazines and a few other trifles—and we set off. When we got to the station I lugged the things into the waiting- room and sat down with the bag on my knees. Pretty soon I looked down, and there was a. stream of something black running out of it and soaking into my new grey trousers. Did that girl say she was sorrry ? Did she say she waj a tiorn fool for packing things like that in a basr ? Did she tell me I was an angel of light ? No, she didn't. She just looked at me haughtily. "Oh, Mr. Skaggs," says she, "there you've gone and spilt all my shoe polish. How awfully careless of you 1"

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