table and all around. Enough of the fruit is saved for supper, and the old
man goes up the back stairs to tie his thumb up in a rag, and change his
pants.

All come to the table smiling, as though nothing had happened,
and the house-wife don't allow any of the family to have any sauce for
fear they will get broken glass into their stomachs, but the "company" is
provided for generously, and all would be well only for a remark of a
little boy who, when asked if he will have some more of the sauce, says he
"don't want no strawberries pickled in kerosene." The smiling little
hostess steals a smell of the sauce while they are discussing politics,
and believes she does smell kerosene, and she looks at the old man kind of
spunky, when he glances at the rag on his thumb and asks if there is no
liniment in the house.

The preserving of fruit in glass jars is broken up in that house, and four
dozen jars are down cellar to lay upon the lady's mind till she gets a
chance to send some of them to a charity picnic. The glass jar fruit can
business is played out unless a scheme can be invented to get the top off.


HE WOULDN'T HAVE HIS FATHER CALLED NAMES.

A man died in Oshkosh who was over eighty years of age. After the funeral
the minister who conducted the services, said to the son of the deceased,
"your father was an octogenarian." The young man colored up, doubled up
his fist, and said to the minister that he would like to have him repeat
that remark. The minister said, "I say your father was an old
octogenarian." He had not more than got the word out of his mouth before
the young man struck him on the nose, knocked him down, kicked him in the