THE HUMOURIST.

Patea Mail, 9 October 1880, Page 5 (Supplement)

THE HUMOURIST.

THE PALE PACED BOY. AX INCTUEXT OR TRAVEL,

‘We had then arrived at the Newcastle

Railway Station Hotel, Here passengers ; from Sydney intending to go on by the 7 ; o’clock train may obtain that all-important necessity, a substantial breakfast, before they start. There were not a great many to breakfast that morning; and as I walked into the room I was at once attracted by the interestingly-delicate appearance of a lad, apparently about fourteen years of ago, who had just taken his seat at the table. Poor boy, he looked the very picture of weakness and debility ; and with a view of seeing him supplied with whatever should be most likely to tempt his appetite, I took a chair next him, and inquired tenderly what he would take. If chops and steaks were too heavy for his stomach, I would try and get him anything he fancied. He thought he would try a sausage ; and being supplied with a couple, he ate with such evident relish that I rejoiced to think my benevolent interestjin the pale-facedjshild had already had a beneficial effect. He finished the sausages, and desiring to encourage his returning appetite, I ventured to suggest an egg. But he thought he would take a piece of steak first. He was evidently overrating his abilities, but I wished to humour him, and passed his plate up, ‘He demolished the steak, and asked the waitress to pass the bread and bring him another cup of tea. I began to fear that he was presuming too much upon the false strength which, often marks the first stage of recovery from a severe disease, and asked him what had been the nature of his illness. He didn’t seem to understand at first, but presently his sickly look of interrogation developed into a large-sized smile, and he replied : 1 ‘ Ah, yes ; you would think I’d been laid up. Mother says I don’t eat well. But I’ll come on presently. 'Would you pass this up for one of those cutlets, please ?’ ’ ‘ I said no more, but passed his plate ; and when ho had got through the cutlet, 1 sarcastically inquired if he was ready for the eggs yet. He thanked me sweetly, and 1 placed the stand before him. Most of the company had finished by this time, aud loft the table. I had finished too, but began to be interested, aud thought I would stop aud see it out. I called for more bread, and placed it close to his hand, with a plate of toast on the other side. The marmalade aud butter dishes I also stood adjacent. The lad disposed of three eggs, and finding there were no more left, said it was strange they put so few on the table. He then commenced on the marmalade, and having gone through one supply, was in the act of asking for more when I concluded to give him best. , I left him eating, and for all I known he may be at it yet. Whenever I meet a pale-faced boy at meals now I sit at the other end of the table. ’ —Fkan k Lk.mox,

THE ITITEEN MANIA: OR, MAD NESS MADE EASY.

5.110 p.m.— ‘ You see, my dear,’ said Brown to his wife on his return from the City, ‘I have bought you one of these American Eifteen puzzles. A childish thing, simplicity itself. You see it’s done this way—No— That’s not right—Wait a bit.’ 5.45 p.m.—‘ Now I’ve got it. Yes. Niue, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen—confound it—thirteen, fifteen, fourteen. I’ll soon put that straight. ’ (J.O. p.m. —‘Oh, don’t bother. Nine, eleven, ten, twelve down, eight right, three up—Oh, be quiet— can’t you see I’m busy.’ (i.oO. p.m.—‘Hang dinner ! Keep it back a minute till I’ve finished this confounded thing—l see it now—You’ve got to reduce it to a principle. ’ (>.45 p.m. —‘Well, then, let it get cold—go and eat it by yourself. I’m not going to be beaten by a silly child’s toy like this. ’ 7.0. p.m.—lt’s one of those horrid Yankee swindles. It can’t be done—Bless it!— Eat ?—No—bring me some brandy and water. There !—No it isn’t—Eifteen, fourteen, thirteen. ’

7.30. p.m, ‘Of all the infernal foolish things 1 ever saw—-Can’t you keep quiet, you children ! —flow can 1 think with you making that uproar—eleven, twelve, thirteen —flurra ! —Oh, hang it!—fifteen, fourteen again—Send those brats to bed.’ 8.0. p.m.— * You have only got to find out the scheme of the thing. Hold on—l see it now—do it backwards. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen—that’s all right; twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight—what an ass I was not to think of that before—seven, six, five, four—it’s mere child’s play—eh?—Oh, ah—Confound it —two, one, three. ’

9.0. p.m.—‘Hang it all; Mrs. 8., can’t you leave me alone ? Isn’t it enough to have this confounded thing to plague me without you bothering? There’s a precious deal more in it than you suppose. It wants a sharp mathematical head I can tell you. Bring me some more brandy and water. ’ 10.0. p.m.—‘Dash it! Fourteen, thirteen, fifteen. ’

10.30. p.in.—‘Blowit! Fifteen, thirteen, fourteen.’ 10.45.— * Hang it! Thirteen, fifteen, fourteen.’ 11.0. p.m.— ‘ ***** fttf 11.30. p.m.— ‘ Let you try?— There isn’t a woman in England that could master the confounded thing—What’s the good of your trying—The only way’s to work it out by Algebra—lt’s not worth the trouble. It’s the most idiotic, babyish, infernal humbug that ever was invented. It’s one of thos! beastly American impositions—it’s—Ha e Wait a bit! —-Now I have got it—Dash it all —fourteen, thirteen, fifteen again. You try.’

11.35. p.m.— ‘ What!! ! ! Done it! !! Not you —you cheated, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen ! How did you do it ? You took it from me just as I got it right—l don’t believe you did it fairly—Bet you a sovereign you can’t do it again—Can’t think how ymu can waste your time on such a babyish trick —Don’t believe now you did it.’ 12. o.—(Midnight. In bed.) ‘Fourteen, thirteen, fifteen. It’s impossible.—‘Judy T .’