Humour. TWO REAL KIND LANDLORDS.
" Just at the close of the great Cotton Exposition at Atlanta, Ga.," said he, " I happened one day to be dining with a friend at Markham House, when that man came in. The day was wet and disagreeable, and ho woro a huge ulster overcoat, the' skirls of which nearly reached his heels. He left the overcoat in the cloak-room and came into the dining hall attired as neatly as you see him now. I happened to be standing near the door when ho finished liis dinner, and saw him endeavour to pass the clerk, who, on account of the crowded condition of tho house, had been placed there to tako up tickets or cash. The clerk was too quick for him, and, after a good deal of talk, the man admitted that ho had no money, and the clerk, who was in no charitable mood, suggested that some portion of his fine apparel would staiid good for the price of his dinner. ' All right, 1 said the man,' you may have my pants, if you won't take my word that I will pay you to-morrow.' The offer was accepted at once, and a few minutes later the man with tho big ulster left the cloak-room with his overcoat buttoned closely about him, and his pants apparently rolled up a few inches to keep them out of the mud." " You may call this much chapter one, for learned the balance of the'story in a confidential way on my next visit to Atlanta. One afternoon, perhaps about the same date as the abovo incident, a man answering the description of -the one you see down there, entered the other hotel, the Kimball House, and registered in the usual way. He informed the clerk that he was not feeling well, did not want any supper, and would bo glad to have a 100 m at once. Quito early the next morning the electric alarm connected with tho room to which the stranger had been assigned seemed to bo unduly agitated. A boy was at once sent up, and returned, saying that the man up there was raising the devil about somebody robbing him, and wanted to see the proprietor immediately. Some thief had stolen his pants and all the money he had about him. The boy hunted up Mty. Scoville as soon as possible, and it took that gentleman a good half hour to cahn down his guest, and persuade him to accept a new pair of pants and say nothing about it. ' Keep quiet, my dear sir, only keep quiet,' begged Mr. Scoville; ' my houso is full of people, most of them having money and valuables about them, and if tliis were to get out, it would empty the place in a day.' After a time, the new pants arrived, and, as Scoville came down staiis with the man before breakfast, they first walked into the office, where #83 50c, the amount claimed to have been in the stolen pants, was counted out and placed in the latter's hand,' with the request, many times repeated, 'Don't say anything about this, for Heaven's sake.' " " About ten o'clock the same morning, as it was afterwards learned, tho gentleman who had dined at the Markham House on tho day previous, came into the office of that hotel, and, with a withering glance at the clerk, handed him $1, and called for a bundle that he had left there. The clerk meekly received the money, delivered the bundle, containing one pair of pants, and the stranger went straight to the depot, where he bought a ticket, and dep&rted for a distant city. " Quite naturally, Mr. Scoville used every effort to discover the thief who had robbed one of his guests, and, having no success, he, after a time, related the story confidentially id Mi. Huff, of tho Markham House, hoping for a little.advice. Hurt' had been a little ashamed of himself for refusing to trust a man who so promptly parted with Ms apparel, and who so promptly paid up next day. But ScoviUe's story set him to thinking, and, in comparing notes, they came to the conclusion that the man you saw down there was a sharper. They also concluded to say nothing about it, but such things don't keep worth a cent, you know." — Louisville Courier-Journal. [
He was a wild Western cowboy, who was, offered a calf that' didn't belong to anybody in, particular,' if, He, would ridd a wild bull without saddle and bridle. He jumped from » his horse; looked to his 'spurs, and leaped ' upon^the'lbull with his face to the animal's tail,'setting-his spurs deep into the flanks of tHe infuriated ''.-beast. The bull flung his * head to the ground, but the'rider held on to the tail and^kept'his' seat.' With'another roar, the* JbuU'irusned' off" and> put' tnpon > the prairie.*,' The race,continued forVjnile'and a\ ■• jhalfi/ihe^-wholeijcrowd .foUpAving-" orT^iheir horses. *''3!ne?J)ull plunged'now and then Hintij>,. 'the sage .brush witlT the, idea riddin*g^hun-,fr' self ,ot .His' burdeii', ,bif|it;^a^ of jno v^ use^and^, 1 c the,sharp rowels'kept ;pl:icUmghun'f9n.c * 1 "At**^ ;<feMwtshev^ound^
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Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1622, 25 November 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)
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849Humour. TWO REAL KIND LANDLORDS. Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1622, 25 November 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)
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