Forest City press. (Forest City, Potter County, D.T. [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1912-02-22
LITTLE STORIES OF LIFE
STATER00M SlX-BY WILLIAM ALBERT LEWIS.
COPYRIGHT BY SHORT STORY PUB. co.

gospel was called into an Indiana court
room as witness in a will case.
Your occupation? ?" asked the lawyer,
after the witness had stated his name.
oh, I'm a supply" the witness said,
"A what::'
"A supply. 1 fill in at different pull.
pits when the regular mans away"
Have you any other occupationo"
Yes, sir. I'm substitute driver OF a
huckster wagon"
When did you last see the late
Thomas Smith:'
"On the 18th of December.''
Looking about as Well as usual, wal
he?"
"A little paler."
Where was it you saw him?'
oh, it was at his funeral"
Walter Teagle, the precocious young
man who at 33 years of age has been
made vice president of the Standard
the big kerosene corporation with tho
task of hiring u new st%enographer for
q MINOR place In the Standard offices.
Ieagle had acquired some of the Stand
ard spirit of conservation of waste. and
he agreed heartily when he was told
that $40 a month was enough for the
task that the new stenographer would
be required to perform.
The applicants included all kinds.
Most of them, for one reason or an
other, would not do. AT last appeared
AN ill-favored but energetic looking
young creature Who sized up as a pos
Sibility.
How much money would YOU want?"
inquired Teagle.
Well" she replied, "I believe 1 could
make myself mighty useful for SIS a
month"
useful for s75 a month";" repeated
Teagle. thinking of the $40 limitation.
Anybody that gets SIS a month on
this Job will have to be not only use
full, but wonderfully ornamental as
| we'll"
Michael r. Conry, Tammany con.
gresham from e York. is IA double
of Charlie Murphy, of that city. The
other day a tall, dark stranger APP
preached Conry in a Washington hotel
lobby and greeted him with:
"Hullo, Mr.. Murphy
But I'm not Mr.. Murphy.'' declared
Conry.
Quit your kiddin'," said the strang-
er, "haven't l seen our pictures?'
"Oh, KNOW" explained Conry, with
much patience, and politeness. we're
frequently taken for each other, but
nevertheless l am not he. Obviously
no one would know better than do
whether l am or am not Mr.. Murphy,
so really think o are making a
mistake 10 argu the point. / am Con-
gresham Conry. But ven If l were
Mcrphy-which, as 1 say, I'm not
what possible object could / have in in
sfsting that I'm Conry? What have
you got to say to that?'
We'll" remarked the stranger, with
a yawn. II knew blamed well that you
Weren't Murphy. for l know Charlie
we'll. But you sure are a ringer for
him, and l thought I'd just take a min
ute of our time to find out who in
thunder you were."
Senator John w. Kern. of Indiana,
recently gave a fairly satisfactory ex-
PLANTATION of his whiskers.
lit is Il mooted question:" said Kern.
what comprises personality. Some
say that the eye is the window of the
soul. Yet a man who has lost his eyes
may have just as much personality as
any one. It's the same if a man loses
Il leg or an ear. He is still the same
man. But with whiskers it is different.
A man who has worn whiskers all his
life and then suddenly ceases to do so
is not the same q He may be just
as good a man, but he is a different
man-Just as ii he We're to change the
shape of his nose or the color of his
eyes. Therefore no san who has worn
Wh1Ske1S as long as 1 have should part
with them entirely if he would retain
his self respect. He may trim away the
edges, but if he goes too far he treads
upon sacred ground. He is tampering
with the wondrous works IF nature and
he might as well begin to use rouge and
perfumery.'
Victor Murdoch, the Kansas insur-
gent, has a line of talk as fiery as his
hair, M When he goes on a lecture
tour he pulls applause out Of his audi
ences as easily as a magician pulls q
rabbit out of a 81 derby.
hi is the tale of the friendly tip
that showed Vic" the way to becom-
ing an orator:
Some years ago when he first began
to make public speeches, young Muir
dock grew discouraged. No matter how
many good stories he told, or how
many appeals to patriotism he sprung,
his audience was as cold and unre-
sponsive as a dead whitefish. Applause
was as scarce as the MONDAY sun in
Pittsburgh. vic wondered why. He
analysed his speeches in manuscript
and they seemed mighty good, regard
less of the way audiences took them.
He asked his father to go over one of
his speeches and see what allied it, and
his father agreed that it was good.
The mystery of the non-applauding au-
dience became greater than ever, and
Vic began to wonder if he was being
plotted against. One night after adj