proprietor.

This gentleman complained that the rats gave them considerable trouble, and that he would pay considerable to be rid of the gnawing rodents.

"I can tell you an infallible cure, sir," said Hobbyhead.

"I should be deeply obliged to you," returned the landlord.

"Well, then, once a week make out your bill and charge the rats as you've charged me, and I'll be hanged if the rats ever come to your house again," said Hobbyhead.

Would you believe it, that landlord was hurt.

Some people never can take a joke.

Recently I came across a young fellow employed on a daily paper, and whom I have known some time.

As a usual thing he was a happy-go-lucky, cheerful chap, and I was surprised to see the dejected look on his face.

Remember, too, he had been only recently married, and to a charming girl, at that.

I immediately experienced some curiosity to know what had upset him.

"Hello, old chap!" I said. "You look glum. Nothing happened, eh? Not fired?"

"No; job's all right. I'm worried—that all," he replied.

"What's the trouble?"

"Well, I'll tell you. Fact is, I've got a seal-skin wife and a muskrat salary."

Then I laughed.

"Don't let that worry you, old man! Most of us fellows are in the same predicament. It's the same old story, so common—a champagne appetite and a lager beer pocketbook. Get used to it in time, so cheer up. Let's liquidate."

Perhaps you may never have suspected that I was one of the heroes who stormed San Juan Hill.

Only for me and Teddy there might have been a different story to tell of that great day.

I seldom mention the fact, being constitutionally bashful.

And, besides, it pleases me to see all the glory go to the man who leads such a strenuous life.

But, honest Injun, I was there where the Spanish Mausers were cracking merrily, and I wouldn't like to tell you how much foreign lead I took that day.

Perhaps you may remember that at one time matters got so hot that there was considerable consternation among our bold boys in blue.

One fellow, who was evidently getting his baptism in fire, had stood it for a time, though his knees must have been knocking together some.

It became necessary to retreat temporarily, while the bullets sang around like mad hornets; but once started for the rear this fellow's legs actually ran away with him.

He plunged along like a rhinoceros, utterly regardless.

An officer bellowed after him.

"Here, you, what are you running for?"

I saw the scared New Englander turn his head and throw over his shoulder:

"Because I can't fly, you darned fool!"

Hello, there, what was that—actually a mosquito trying to nip me, the bloodsucker!

Come to think of it, skeeters are about the slickest nuisances we've got.

Have you ever thought what sly coons they are, and how they maneuvre to get their suction pump at work, just as if they had learned army tactics?

Say, ever been down in Jacksonville when the mercury's so high you can't breathe and the skeeters are humming their monotonous anthem? This is the song they sing: