Cobwebs from an Empty Skull by Ambrose Bierce
page 94 of 251 (37%)
page 94 of 251 (37%)
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He is now invited to the latter.
CIV. "Too bad, too bad," said a young Abyssinian to a yawning hippopotamus. "What is 'too bad?'" inquired the quadruped. "What is the matter with you?" "Oh, _I_ never complain," was the reply; "I was only thinking of the niggard economy of Nature in building a great big beast like you and not giving him any mouth." "H'm, h'm! it was still worse," mused the beast, "to construct a great wit like you and give him no seasonable occasion for the display of his cleverness." A moment later there were a cracking of bitten bones, a great gush of animal fluids, the vanishing of two black feet--in short, the fatal poisoning of an indiscreet hippopotamus. The rubbing of a bit of lemon about the beaker's brim is the finishing-touch to a whiskey punch. Much misery may be thus averted. |
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