"But the most stupendous calculation of all, sir, is in
regard to the distance from the earth to the sun.
Positively, sir, a cannon-ball--er--fired at the sun..."

"Fired at the sun," nodded the other, approvingly, as if
he had often seen it done.

"And travelling at the rate of...of..."

"Of three cents a mile," hinted the listener.

"No, no, you misunderstand me,--but travelling at a fearful
rate, simply fearful, sir, would take a hundred million--no,
a hundred billion--in short would take a scandalously long
time in getting there--"

At this point I could stand no more. I interrupted--"Provided
it were fired from Philadelphia," I said, and passed into the
smoking-car.




Men Who have Shaved Me

A barber is by nature and inclination a sport. He can
tell you at what exact hour the ball game of the day is
to begin, can foretell its issue without losing a stroke
of the razor, and can explain the points of inferiority