FOREWORD

The anecdotal form of humor is largely, I think, a native institution. Americans did not invent or discover the short humorous story, it is true. Indeed, some short stories still are making their rounds which were old when the Pyramids were young. Probably the piper who piped before Moses rounded out his act with one of the standard jokes of the period—a joke which, dressed in new clothes, is doing duty somewhere to-day. The mother-in-law joke could not have originated with Adam, because Adam had no mother-in-law, but I have not the slightest doubt that Cain began using it shortly after his marriage. And beyond peradventure Father Noah wiled away many a dragging half hour in the Ark by telling Shem, Ham and Japhet one of the ones which begin: “It seems there were two Irishmen named Pat and Mike. And Pat said to Mike, ‘Faith, an’ be jabers!—’ ”

So it would not do for us to lay claim to sole responsibility for the short humorous story. But I am quite certain that we, more than any other people, have made it a part of our daily life, using it to point morals, to express situations, to help us solve puzzles. To these extents, at least, it is a national institution with us.

Americans like to tell short stories and like to laugh at them. We are by inheritance a race of story-tellers. There are short stories which sum up the characteristics of white Americans or black Americans, Jews or Gentiles, city folk or country folk more completely than could ponderous essays or scholarly expositions. It is of record that Abraham Lincoln, in the darkest days of the Union, cured more than one crisis with some homely anecdote, some aptly barbed retort.

After-dinner speakers and professional jokesmiths of the stage or the printed page are not responsible for the spread of good stories to the extent with which they generally are credited. That honor properly belongs to telegraph operators and notably to telegraph operators serving on “leased” wires in newspaper offices. Late at night when the flood tides of news matter have slackened off, the operator, say, in New York, tells his friend in Buffalo a good one he heard that afternoon. The Buffalo man passes it along to Kansas City. The Kansas City man conveys it by dot-and-dash to a pal in Denver and next morning folks are grinning over it in the streets of San Francisco.

I always have loved short funny stories. I prefer them to be new, but an old one, properly told, is often better than a new one badly presented. For the contents of this book I have sought to choose those short stories which made the greatest appeal to me. Some of them I heard years ago; others no longer ago than yesterday.

For the book I claim two distinctions, namely, as follows:

There is only one mother-in-law story in it.

There is not a single story in it in which a colored character is referred to as “Rastus.”

I. S. C.

CONTENTS [Topically Arranged]

A

Actors [1]64, 178, 179

Aeronautic 153, 187

After-dinner Speakers 16, 130, 142, 355

Agricultural 66, 84, 119, 348, 360

Alcoholic 1, 11, 18, 33, 36, 64, 65, 68, 89, 150, 157, 203, 212, 232, 242, 263, 319, 342

Americans Abroad 10, 24, 94, 215, 219

Animal Friends 5, 15, 25, 71, 117, 167, 216, 232, 233, 248, 291, 293, 344

Arctic 120, 221

Art 8, 168

Army (A. E. F. mostly) 21, 30, 34, 39, 62, 69, 71, 73, 97, 156, 161, 162, 163, 354, 359

Automobiling 105, 303

These figures refer to the numbers of the stories and not to the pages in the book.

B

Banking 44, 52, 113, 218

Baseball 32, 184, 228, 278, 357

Bathing 66, 127

Bridal Couples 92, 200, 205, 320

Bunco Steerers 110, 273

Business 8, 35, 44, 136, 165, 277, 341

C

Canadian 180

Carrier-pigeons 71

Census 40

Children 95, 128, 129, 223, 231, 240, 290, 293, 324, 347, 352

Chinese 40, 99

Circuses 19, 123, 171, 209, 336, 366

Clergymen 33, 45, 49, 56, 94, 103, 116, 158, 187

Cockney 199, 201

Cowboy 22, 51, 349

Cricket 164

Criticism 362

D

Dancing 9

Dentists 301, 303, 306, 312

Dining 53, 65, 77, 128, 160, 192, 261, 304, 313

Doctors 98, 146, 226, 285, 314, 361

Dogs 190

Dwarfs 262, 325

E

Educational 57, 268, 276, 346

English 16, 24, 46, 130, 142, 184, 235, 249, 321, 337, 345

F

Feminine 9

Feuds 3, 101, 138, 143

Finance 70, 241, 250, 296

Fishing 111, 175

Football 78

Fortune Telling 158

French 30, 196, 225, 280

Frugality 35, 42, 108, 147, 265, 300, 309

G

Ghosts 86, 351

Golf 182, 237, 270, 317

H

Hangings 14, 17, 54, 56, 295, 316

Health 131

Hebrew 8, 12, 44, 52, 113, 132, 197, 213, 237, 244, 245, 255, 276, 304, 305, 308-310, 335, 365

Horse-racing 141, 327

Hotels 11, 227, 330

Hunting 5, 337, 345

I

Indian 122

Irish 2, 49, 107, 118, 188, 247, 251, 258, 267, 294, 297, 339

J

Jails 63, 170, 278, 328

Japanese 149, 239

Journalistic 41, 195, 281

Judicial 38, 90, 91, 115

K

Ku Klux 305, 353

L

Lawyers 7, 28, 31, 58, 63

Laziness 350

Legacies 2, 274

Liars 6, 60

Literature 280, 284

Lunacy 268

M

Mathematical 323

Matrimonial 29, 81, 92, 106, 124, 135, 205, 229, 238, 302

Mental Healing 256, 285

Mining 333

Miscellaneous 75, 82, 109, 131, 172, 185, 186, 189, 191, 193, 202, 208, 211, 214, 227, 230, 234, 236, 243, 248, 257, 259, 260, 277, 284, 286, 296, 298, 307, 315, 329, 331, 343, 346, 348, 356

Mortuary 107-132, 254, 256, 266, 288, 308, 322

Movies 13

Mules 173, 287, 332

Music 197, 282

N

Negro 5, 14, 17, 25, 34, 37, 38, 39, 42, 43, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 61, 67, 69, 72, 73, 74, 76, 77, 81, 83, 85, 86, 88, 90, 92, 93, 97, 100, 104, 111, 144, 146, 148, 192, 198, 205, 217, 278, 283, 289, 292, 299, 326, 363

O

Oratory 28, 220, 364

P

Politics 67, 169, 204 217

Prophecy 47, 49, 58, 80, 104, 145, 149, 158, 162, 172, 207, 222, 235

Pugilistic 41, 139, 253, 272, 338

R

Railroading 174, 210

Revivals 80, 206, 358

Rogues 48, 110, 133, 273, 279, 334

Royalty 152, 311

S

Science 181

Scotch 27, 35, 103, 108, 112, 116, 147, 224, 265, 300

Secret Orders 74, 318

Southern 3, 15, 20, 23, 26, 28, 29, 58, 60, 79, 84, 127, 137, 140, 154, 155, 159, 206, 252, 275

Spiritualism 59

Sports 102, 166, 183

Sunday Schools 167, 240, 269

Swedish 134, 340

T

Theatrical 12, 114, 126, 151, 246, 271

Traveling 4, 47, 55, 93, 96, 157, 221, 222, 310

V

Vaudeville 176, 177, 194

W

Weather 87, 121, 145, 199, 287

Western 4, 22, 50, 51, 264, 279, 291, 349

Y

Yankee 6, 19, 125, 135, 145, 160, 207, 341, 360

A LAUGH A DAY

KEEPS THE

DOCTOR AWAY

§ 1 The Untraveled Stranger

Back in those sinful days which ended in January, 1919—that is, officially they ended then—a group of congenial spirits were gathered one Saturday night in a local life-saving station on the principal corner of a small Kentucky town, engaged in the quaint old pastime of pickling themselves.

In the midst of these proceedings the swinging doors were thrust asunder and there entered one of those self-sufficient, self-important persons who crave to tell their private affairs to others, and who, in those times, preferably chose as a proper recipient for their confidences, a barkeeper—as I believe the functionary was called.

The newcomer wedged his way into the congenial group of patrons, and apropos of nothing which up until then had been said or done, introduced himself to the notice of the company by stating in a loud clear voice:

“The doctor wants me to take a trip. I haven’t been feelin’ the best in the world and my wife got worried—you know how women are—and to-night she sent for the doctor. And he came over, a little while ago, and he asked me a lot of foolish questions and took my temperature and five dollars and then he says to me that I should rest up for a spell and travel ’round. He says I ought to go out to California and see the sights. Ain’t I been to California? I have—more’n half a dozen times. Ain’t I seen every sight there is in the whole state of California? I have. As a matter of fact, I don’t mind tellin’ you fellers that I’ve been everywhere and I’ve seen practically everything there is.”

At this a gentleman who was far overtaken in stimulant, slid the entire length of the bar, using his left elbow for a rudder. Anchoring himself alongside the stranger he hooked a practiced and accomplished instep on the brass rail to hold him upright and he focused a watery, wavering, bloodshot eye upon the countenance of the other and to him in husky tones he said:

“Excus’h me, but could I ash you a ques’shun?”

“Sure, you could ask me a question,” said the stranger. “Go ahead.”

“The ques’shun,” said the alcoholic one, “ ’s as follows: Have you ever had delirium tremens?”

“Certainly not,” snorted the indignant stranger.

“Well, you big piker!” said the inebriate, “then you ain’t never been nowheres—and you ain’t never seen nothin’.”

§ 2 The Prudent Mr. Finnerty

The lawyer picked his way to the edge of the excavation and called down for Michael Finnerty.

“Who’s wantin’ me?” inquired a deep voice.

“I am,” said the lawyer. “Mr. Finnerty, did you come from Castlebar, County Mayo?”

“I did.”

“And was your mother named Mary and your father named Owen?”

“They was.”

“Then Mr. Finnerty,” said the lawyer, “it is my duty to inform you that your Aunt Kate has died in the old country, leaving you an estate of twenty thousand dollars in cash. Please come up.”

There was a pause and a commotion down below.

“Mr. Finnerty,” called the lawyer, craning his neck over the trench, “I’m waiting for you!”

“In wan minute,” said Mr. Finnerty. “I just stopped to lick the foreman!”

For six months Mr. Finnerty, in a high hat and with patent leather shoes on his feet, lived a life of elegant ease, trying to cure himself of a great thirst. Then he went back to his old job. It was there that the lawyer found him the second time.

“Mr. Finnerty,” he said, “I’ve more news for you. It is your Uncle Terence who’s dead now in the old country; and he has left you his entire property.”

“I don’t think I can take it,” said Mr. Finnerty, leaning wearily on his pick. “I’m not as strong as I wance was; and I’m doubtin’ if I could go through all that again and live!”

§ 3 Enough for Wilkins

From the lowlands a special judge was sent up to the Kentucky mountains to try some murder cases growing out of a desperate and bloody feud. He took with him as his official stenographer a young man from Louisville, who dressed smartly and, in strong contrast to the silent mountaineers, did considerable talking. For convenience let us call him Wilkins.

On his first Sunday morning in the mountain hamlet Wilkins felt the need of a shave. He had no razor and there was no regular barber in the town; but he learned from the hotel-keeper that there was an old cobbler living a few doors away who sometimes shaved transients.

In a tiny shop Wilkins found an elderly native with straggly chin whiskers and a gentle blue eye. The old chap got out an ancient razor and was soon scraping away on the patron’s jowls. Wilkins felt the desire for conversation stealing over him.

“This is a mighty lawless country up here, ain’t it?” he began.

“I don’t know,” said the old chap mildly. “Things is purty quiet jist at present.”

He paused to put a keener edge on his blade.

“Well,” said Wilkins, “you won’t deny, I suppose, that you have a lot of murders in this town?”

“We don’t gin’rally speak of ’em as murders,” said the old man in a tone of gentle reproof. “Up here we jest calls ’em killin’s.”

“I’d call ’em murders, all right,” said Wilkins briskly. “If shooting a man down in cold blood from ambush isn’t murder, then I don’t know a murder when I see one, that’s all. When was the last man killed, as you call it, here in this town?”

“Why, last week,” said the patriarch.

“Whereabouts was he killed?” continued Wilkins.

“Right out yonder in the street in front of this here shop,” stated the old man, with the air of one desiring to turn the conversation. “Razor hurt you much?”

“The razor’s all right,” said Wilkins snappily. “What I want to know are the facts about the killing of this last man. Who killed him?”

The cobbler let the edge of the razor linger right over the Adam’s apple of the stranger for a moment.

“I done so,” he said gently.

There was where the conversation seemed to begin to languish.

§ 4 Why the Major Didn’t Suit

On a voyage of one of the Cunard liners from New York to Liverpool a Major H. Reynolds of London was registered on the passenger list. The purser, running over the names, assigned to the same stateroom as fellow travelers, this Major Reynolds and a husky stockman from the Panhandle of Texas.

A little later the cattleman, ignoring the purser, hunted up the skipper.

“Look here, cap,” he demanded, “what kind of a joker is this here head clerk of yours? I can’t travel in the same stateroom with that there Major Reynolds. I can’t and I won’t! So far as that goes, neither one of us likes the idea.”

“What complaint have you?” asked the skipper. “Do you object to an army officer for a traveling companion?”

“Not generally,” stated the Texan—“only this happens to be the Salvation Army. That there major’s other name is Henrietta!”

§ 5 Grandfather Laughed at This One

On a Georgia plantation a group of darkies went coon hunting one night. Because of his love for the sport they took with them Uncle Sam, the patriarch of the colored quarters. Uncle Sam was over eighty years old and all kinked up with rheumatism. He hobbled along behind the hunters as they filed off through the woods.

The dogs “treed” in a sweet gum snag on the edge of Pipemaker Swamp, five miles from home; but when the tree fell there rolled out of the top of it, not a raccoon but a full-grown black bear, full of fight and temper.

The pack gave one choral ki-yi of shock and streaked away, yelping as they went; and the two-legged hunters followed, fleeing as fast as their legs would carry them.

When they came to a moonlit place in the woods they discovered that Uncle Sam was missing; but they did not go back to look for him—they did not even check up.

“Pore ole Unc’ Sam!” bemoaned one of the fugitives, between pants. “His ole laigs must ’a’ give out on him ’foh he went ten jumps. I reckin dat bear’s feastin’ on his bones right dis minute.”

“Dat’s so! Dat’s so!” gasped one of the others. “Pore Unc’ Sam!”

When they reached the safety of the cotton patches they limped to Uncle Sam’s cottage to break the news to the widow. There was a light in the window; and when they rapped at the door, and it opened, the sight of him who faced them across the threshold made them gasp.

“Foh de Lawd!” exclaimed one. “How you git heah?”

“Me?” said Uncle Sam calmly, “oh, I come ’long home wid de dawgs.”

§ 6 The Day Denver Was Surprised

Swifty, the High Diver, was imported to give his performance as a crowning feature on the last day of the annual fair and races in a certain small county-seat of interior Vermont.

Those who remember the late Swifty may recall that it was his custom, clad in silken tights, to ascend to the top of a slender ladder which reared nearly ninety feet aloft and after poising himself there for a moment to leap forth headlong into air, describing a graceful curve in his downward flight, then with a great splatter and splash to strike in a tank of water but little larger and wider and deeper than the average well-filled family bathtub, and immediately thereafter to emerge from it, in his glittering spangles, amid the plaudits of the admiring multitude. That is to say, he did this until the sad and tragic afternoon when, just as Swifty jumped, some quaint practical joker moved the tank.

But on this particular occasion no mishap marred the splendor of the feat. Naturally enough that night, when the community loafers assembled at their favorite general store, the achievement of the afternoon was the main topic of the evening.

The official liar held in as long as he could; and when he no longer could contain himself, he spoke up and said:

“Wall, I hain’t denyin’ but what that there Swifty is consid’able of a diver—but I had a cousin onc’t that could a-beat him.”

The official skeptic gave a scornful grunt.

“Ah, hah!” he exclaimed, “I rather thought you’d be sayin’ somethin’ of that general nature before the evenin’ was over. Who, for instance, was this yere cousin of yourn?”

“Wall, for instance,” said the liar, modestly, “he wan’t no one in especial and perticular, exceptin’ the champeen diver of the world—that’s all.”

“And what did he ever do to justify his right to that there title?” demanded the skeptic.

“Wall,” said the liar, “he done consid’able many things in the divin’ line, which was his speciality. I remember onc’t he made a bet of a hundred dollars, cash, that he could dive from Liverpool, England, to Noo York City.”

The skeptic gave a groan of resignation.

“I suppose,” he said, “that you’re goin’ to ask us to believe he won that there bet.”

“No I hain’t,” stated the liar. “I hain’t a-goin’ to lie to you. That wuz the one bet in his hull life my cousin ever lost. He miscalculated and come up in Denver, Colorado!”

§ 7 And Worth the Money, Too!

A noted lawyer down in Texas, who labored under the defects of having a high temper and of being deaf, was trying a case in a courtroom presided over by a younger man, for whom the older practitioner had a poor opinion.

Presently in an argument over a motion there was a clash between the lawyer and the judge. The judge ordered the lawyer to sit down, and as the lawyer, being deaf, didn’t hear him and went on talking, the judge fined him $10.

The lawyer leaned toward the clerk and cupped his hand behind his ear.

“What did he say?” he inquired.

“He fined you $10,” explained the clerk.

“For what?”

“For contempt of this court,” said the clerk.

The lawyer shot a poisonous look toward the bench and reached a hand into his pocket.

“I’ll pay it now,” he said. “It’s a just debt!”

§ 8 The Spirit of Seventy-six, with Improvements

A New York East Sider met a friend on Third Avenue and told him he had quit the buttonhole-making trade.

“I’m in the art business now,” he said, proudly—“such a fine business, too! Lots of money in it!”

“What do you mean—art business?” demanded his friend.

“Well,” explained the East Sider, “I go by auction sales, and I buy pictures cheap; then I sell ’em high. Yesterday I bought a picture for twenty-five dollars and to-day I sold it for fifty.”

“What was the subject?”

“It wasn’t no subject at all,” said the art collector—“it was a picture.”

“Sure, I know,” said the other. “But every picture has got to be a subject or it ain’t a regular picture, you understand. Was this here picture a marine, or a landscape, or a still life, or a portrait—or what?”

“How should I know?” said the puzzled ex-buttonholer. “To me a picture is a picture! This here picture now didn’t have no name. It was a picture of three fellers. One feller had a fife and one feller had a drum and one feller had a headache!”