Atchoo! Sneezes from a Hilarious Vaudevillian

"Step down; I'm done with you," said the smart lawyer.

Which reminds me of an occasion when an Irish judge was on the bench, and took occasion, in my hearing, to address the jury.

"Gentlemen," he said, seriously, "you have heard the evidence. The indictment says the prisoner was arrested for stealing a pig.

"The offense seems to be becoming a common one. The time has come when it must be put a stop to; otherwise, gentlemen, none of you will be safe."

As I came out of court that day it was only natural that I should run across an old friend, Dr. Case, and hear of more courting. Ah, I thought you'd see it!

"Great news about McGregor – he's to be married again."

I expressed my surprise, for let me tell you I had already enjoyed the pleasure of an acquaintance with three wives of this same gentleman.

"Fourth time – that's going it pretty steep, doctor," I remarked.

"It would appear so. Beats all how the rage for collecting will take hold of a man. Sometimes it's old books or playbills, and sometimes it's postage stamps. In McGregor's case it appears to be wives."

When I looked in on Bob Lightwate the other day, at his office, expecting him to accompany me to the hospital, where a mutual friend had been taken, I found him clipping an item from a newspaper, which he was very careful to place in his note book.

"It tells how a house was robbed, and I want to show it to my wife," he explained.

"What good will that do?" I inquired.

"A whole lot," was the reply. "You see, this house was robbed while a man was at church with his wife."

"B'Gosh!" I exclaimed, excitedly, "you haven't got a duplicate copy of that paper, have you?"

Before we could get away Bob had a caller.

You see he owns a lot of real estate in the suburbs and his tenants pester the life half out of him on account of trivial troubles.

This party was plainly embarrassed, for he kept twirling his hat in his hands.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Sorter?" asked Bob.

"I came to tell you, sir, that our cellar – "

"Well, what about the cellar?"

"It's full of water, sir."

"Is that all? Humph, I don't see that you've any kick coming, Mr. Sorter. You surely didn't expect a cellar full of champagne for ten dollars a month."

The matter was of course satisfactorily adjusted, after Bob had enjoyed his little joke, and we went on our way to the hospital.

Now, a hospital isn't the most cheerful place in the world, and yet now and then there is some gleam of humor breaks out there.

Human nature is a queer combination, and I've known men who would joke even under the surgeon's knife.

When we entered the room where poor Huggins lay, we found that two physicians were beside his cot holding a consultation over him, and that it was suspected he had a severe case of appendicitis concealed about his person.

"I believe," said one of the surgeons, "that we should wait and let him get stronger before cutting into him."

Before the other prospective operator could reply the patient turned his head, and remarked feebly:

"What do you take me for – a cheese?"

I rejoice to tell you that this hero survived the operation, and is about again.

Lightwate has always been a great lover of the weed, and it is a rare thing to find him without a cigar or a pipe in his mouth.

When taken to task he never fails to joke about the matter, and turn the tables on a fellow.

I remember of asking him plainly once why he smoked so much, and he immediately replied:

"I suppose because I'm too green to burn."

While Bob and myself were on the way back to his office we saw a commotion ahead, and pretty soon a wild-looking citizen rushed up to a policeman who stood on the curb, and shouted:

"Officer, officer, I've been robbed, and yonder goes the wretch who snatched my watch!"

The vigilant guardian of the peace waved him majestically aside, as he answered:

"Don't bother me with such very trifling affairs when I'm timing an automobile."

Bob said things had come to a pretty pass when a man's time-piece might be stolen with impunity because of the necessity for securing the time-pace of a machine.

Our walk took us along the Bowery, and as I was passing, a man seemed to be busily engaged in shoving some bank-bills, together with a straw-colored ticket into his pocket. I was surprised to hear him give way to sentiment and exclaim:

"Alone at last!"

Just then Bob, with a grin, called my attention to the three golden balls over the door of the shop from which he had evidently just emerged, and I tumbled to the game.

On the corner of Grand Street I was halted for a minute by an Irishman whom I knew as a steady fellow, a machinist by trade, and with a buxom better-half who ruled his home like a queen.

"Sure it's a bit av advice I'd be after beggin' sorr. I'm puzzled to know phwat to do wid a case loike that," he said, mysteriously.

"Tell me the circumstances, Mike."

"Will, it's jist this way, yer honor, the walkin' diligate has ordhered me to sthroike, and me ould woman tills me to ka-ape on wur-rkin', an' for me loife I don't know phwat to do."

It was a hard case, and I felt sorry for Mike, but under the circumstances any advice I might give would have been wasted, for to tell you the truth, knowing Mrs. Casey as I did, I realized that he was between the devil and the deep sea.

I've often wondered how he made out.

My having been a theatrical man off and on for years, it is nothing out of the way for me to spend some of my spare time lounging about agencies where they give out the prizes.

There is one such on Broadway, and it chanced that in taking up quarters near the Criterion they were given the telephone number of a fish market that had moved away.