Once upon a Time there was a Bad boy whose Name was Reginald and there was a Good boy whose
Name was James. Reginald would go Fishing when his Mamma told him Not to, and he Cut off the
Cat's Tail with the Bread Knife one Day, and then told Mamma the Baby had Driven it in with
the Rolling Pin, which was a Lie. James was always Obedient, and when his Mamma told him not
to Help an old Blind Man across the street or Go into a Dark Room where the Boogies were, he
always Did What She said. That is why they Called him Good James. Well, by and by, along Came
Christmas. Mamma said, You have been so Bad, my son Reginald, you will not Get any Presents
from Santa Claus this Year; but you, my son James, will get Oodles of Presents, because you
have Been Good. Will you Believe it, Children, that Bad boy Reginald said he didn't Care a
Darn and he Kicked three Feet of Veneering off the Piano just for Meanness. Poor James was
so sorry for Reginald that he cried for Half an Hour after he Went to Bed that Night. Reginald
lay wide Awake until he saw James was Asleep and then he Said if these people think they can
Fool me, they are Mistaken. Just then Santa Claus came down the Chimney. He had Lots of Pretty
Toys in a Sack on his Back. Reginald shut his Eyes and Pretended to be Asleep. Then Santa Claus
Said, Reginald is Bad and I will not Put any nice Things in his Stocking. But as for you, James,
I will Fill your Stocking Plum full of Toys, because You are Good. So Santa Claus went to Work
and Put, Oh! heaps and Heaps of Goodies in James' stocking, but not a Sign of a Thing in Reginald's
stocking. And then he Laughed to himself and Said I guess Reginald will be Sorry to-morrow
because he Was so Bad. As he said this he Crawled up the chimney and rode off in his Sleigh.
Now you can Bet your Boots Reginald was no Spring Chicken. He just Got right Straight out of
Bed and changed all those Toys and Truck from James' stocking into his own. Santa Claus will
Have to Sit up all Night, said He, when he Expects to get away with my Baggage. The next morning
James got out of Bed and when He had Said his Prayers he Limped over to his Stocking, licking
his chops and Carrying his Head as High as a Bull going through a Brush Fence. But when he
found there was Nothing in his stocking and that Reginald's Stocking was as Full as Papa Is
when he comes home Late from the Office, he Sat down on the Floor and began to Wonder why on
Earth he had Been such a Good boy. Reginald spent a Happy Christmas and James was very Miserable.
After all, Children, it Pays to be Bad, so Long as you Combine Intellect with Crime.

THE OLD SETTLER

His Reasons for Thinking there is Natural Gas in Deep Rock Gulley

BY ED. MOTT

"I see by the papers, Squire," said the Old Settler, "that they're a-finding signs o' coal
ile an' nat'ral gas like sixty here an' thar in deestric's not so terrible fur from here, an'
th't konsekently land they usety beg folks to come an' take offen their hands at any price
at all is wuth a dollar now, jist for a peep over the stun wall at it. The minute a feller
finds signs o' ile or nat'ral gas on his plantation he needn't lug home his supplies in a quart
jug no more, but kin roll 'em in by the bar'l, fer signs o' them kind is wuth more an inch
th'n a sartin-per-sure grass an' 'tater farm is wuth an acre."

"Guess yer huggin' the truth pooty clus fer wunst, Major," replied the Squire, "but th' hain't
none o' them signs ez likely to strike anywhar in our bailiwick ez lightnin' is to kill a crow
roostin' on the North Pole. Thuz one thing I've alluz wanted to see," continued the Squire,
"but natur' has ben agin me an' I hain't never seen it, an' that thing is the h'istin' of a
balloon. Th' can't be no balloons h'isted nowhar, I'm told, 'nless thuz gas to h'ist it with.
I s'pose if we'd ha' had gas here, a good many fellers with balloons 'd ha' kim 'round this
way an' showed us a balloon raisin' ev'ry now an' then. Them must be lucky deestric's that's
got gas, an' I'd like to hev somebody strike it 'round here some'rs, jist fer the sake o' havin'
the chance to see a balloon h'istin' 'fore I turn my toes up. But that's 'bout ez liable to
happen ez it is fer to go out an' find a silver dollar rollin' up hill an' my name gouged in it."

"Don't ye be so consarned sure o' that, Squire," said the Old Settler mysteriously, and with
a knowing shake of his head. "I've been a-thinkin' a leetle sence readin' 'bout them signs
o' gas, b'gosh! I hain't been only thinkin', but I've been a-recollectin', an' the chances
is th't me an' you'll see wonders yet afore we paddle over Jurdan. I'm a-gointer tell ye fer
w'y, but I hadn't orter, Squire, an' if it wa'n't fer makin' ye 'shamed o' yerself, an' showin'
th't truth squashed in the mud is bound to git up agin if ye give her time, I wouldn't do it.
Ye mowt remember th't jist ten years ago this month I kim in from a leetle b'ar hunt. I didn't
bring in no b'ar, but I fotched back an up-an'-up account o' how I had shot one, on' how th'
were sumpin' fearful an' queer an' amazin' in the p'formances o' that b'ar arter bein' shot.
Mebby ye 'member me a-tellin' ye that story, Squire, an' you a-tellin' me right in my teeth
th't ye know'd th't some o' yer friends had took to lyin', but th't ye didn't think any of
'em had it so bad ez that. But I hain't a-holdin' no gredge, an' now I'll tell ye sumpin' that'll
s'prise ye.

"Ez I tol' ye at the time, Squire, I got the tip ten year ago this month, th't unless somebody
went up to Steve Groner's hill place an' poured a pound or two o' lead inter a big b'ar th't
had squatted on tha' farm, th't Steve wouldn't hev no live-stock left to pervide pork an' beef
fer his winterin' over, even if he managed to keep hisself an' fam'ly theirselfs from linin'
the b'ar's innards. I shouldered my gun an' went up to Steve's to hev some fun with bruin,
an' to save Steve's stock, an' resky him an' his folks from the rampagin' b'ar.

"'He's a rip-snorter,' Steve says to me, w'en I got thar. 'He don't think nuthin' o' luggin'
off a cow,' he says, 'an' ye don't wanter hev yer weather eye shet w'en you an' him comes together,'
he says.

"'B'ars,' I says to Steve, 'b'ars is nuts fer me, an' the bigger an' sassier they be,' I says,
'the more I inj'y 'em,' I says, an' with that I clim' inter the woods to show bruin th't th'
wa'n't room enough here below fer me an' him both. Tain't necessary fer me to tell o' the half-dozen
or more lively skrimmages me an' that b'ar had ez we follered an' chased one another round
an' round them woods--how he'd hide ahind some big tree or stumps, an' ez I went by, climb
on to me with all four o' his feet an' yank an' bite an' claw an' dig meat an' clothes offen
me till I slung him off an' made him skin away to save his bacon; an' how I'd lay the same
way fer him, an' w'en he come sneakin' 'long arter me agin, pitch arter him like a mad painter,
an' swat an' pound an' choke an' rassel him till his tongue hung out, till I were sorry for
him, an' let him git away inter the brush agin to recooperate fer the next round. 'Tain't wuth
w'ile fer me to say anything 'bout them little skrimmages 'cept the last un, an' that un wa'n't
a skrimmage but sumpin' that'd 'a' skeert some folks dead in their tracks.

"Arter havin' a half-dozen or so o' rassels with this big b'ar, jist fer fun, I made up my
mind, ez 'twere gettin' late, an' ez Steve Groner's folks was mebby feelin' anxious to hear
which was gointer run the farm, them or the b'ar, th't the next heat with bruin would be for
keeps. I guess the ol' feller had made up his mind the same way, fer w'en I run agin him the
las' time, he were riz up on his hind legs right on the edge o' Deep Rock Gulley, and were
waitin' fer me with his jaws wide open. I unslung my gun, an' takin' aim at one o' the b'ar's
forepaws, thought I'd wing him an' make him come away from the edge o' the gulley 'fore I tackled
him. The ball hit the paw, an' the b'ar throw'd 'em both up. But he throw'd 'em up too fur,
an' he fell over back'rd, an' went head foremost inter the gulley. Deep Rock Gulley ain't an
inch less'n fifty foot from top to bottom, an' the walls is ez steep ez the side of a house.
I went up to the edge an' looked over. Ther' were the b'ar layin' on his face at the bottom,
whar them queer cracks is in the ground, an' he were a-howlin' like a hurricane and kickin'
like a mule. Ther' he laid, and he wa'n't able to rise up. Th' wa'n't no way o' gettin' down
to him 'cept by tumblin' down ez he had, an' if ever anybody were poppin' mad I were, ez I
see my meat a-layin' at the bottom o' that gulley, an' the crows a-getherin' to hev a picnic
with it. The more I kept my eyes on that b'ar the madder I got, an' I were jist about to roll
and tumble an' slide down the side o' that gulley ruther than go back home an' say th't I'd
let the crows steal a b'ar away from me, w'en I see a funny change comin' over the b'ar. He
didn't howl so much, and his kicks wa'n't so vicious. Then his hind parts began to lift themse'fs
up offen the ground in a cur'ous sort o' way, and swung an' bobbed in the air. They kep' raisin'
higher an' higher, till the b'ar were act'ally standin' on his head, an' swayin' to and fro
ez if a wind were blowin' him an' he couldn't help it. The sight was so oncommon out o' the
reg'lar way b'ars has o' actin' that it seemed skeery, an' I felt ez if I'd ruther be home
diggin' my 'taters. But I kep' on gazin' at the b'ar a-circusin' at the bottom o' the gulley,
an 't wa'n't long 'fore the hull big carcase begun to raise right up offen the ground an' come
a-floatin' up outen the gulley, fer all the world ez if 't wa'n't more'n a feather. The b'ar
come up'ards tail foremost, an' I noticed th't he looked consid'able puffed out like, makin'
him seem lik' a bar'l sailin' in the air. Ez the b'ar kim a-floatin' out o' the dep's I could
feel my eyes begin to bulge, an' my knees to shake like a jumpin' jack's. But I couldn't move
no more'n a stun wall kin, an' thar I stood on the edge o' the gulley, starin' at the b'ar
ez it sailed on up to'rd me. The b'ar were making a desper't effort to git itself back to its
nat'ral p'sition on all fours, but th' wa'n't no use, an' up he sailed, tail foremost, an'
lookin' ez if he were gointer bust the next minute, he were swelled out so. Ez the b'ar bobbed
up and passed by me I could ha' reached out an' grabbed him by the paw, an' I think he wanted
me to, the way he acted, but I couldn't ha' made a move to stop him, not if he'd ha' ben my
gran'mother. The b'ar sailed on above me, an' th' were a look in his eyes th't I won't never
fergit. It was a skeert look, an' a look that seemed to say th't it were all my fault, an'
th't I'd be sorry fer it some time. The b'ar squirmed an' struggled agin comin' to setch an'
onheerdon end, but up'ard he went, tail foremost, to'ard the clouds.

"I stood thar par'lyzed w'ile the b'ar went up'ard. The crows that had been settlin' round
in the trees, 'spectin' to hev a bully meal, went to flyin' an' scootin' around the onfortnit
b'ar, an' yelled till I were durn nigh deef. It wa'n't until the b'ar had floated up nigh onto
a hundred yards in the air, an' begun to look like a flyin' cub, that my senses kim back to
me. Quick ez a flash I rammed a load inter my rifle, wrappin' the ball with a big piece o'
dry linen, not havin' time to tear it to the right size. Then I took aim an' let her go. Fast
ez the ball went, I could see that the linen round it had been sot on fire by the powder. The
ball overtook the b'ar and bored a hole in his side. Then the funniest thing of all happened.
A streak o' fire a yard long shot out o' the b'ar's side where the bullet had gone in, an'
ez long ez that poor bewitched b'ar were in sight--fer o' course I thort at the time th't the
b'ar were bewitched--I could see that streak o' fire sailin' along in the sky till it went
out at last like a shootin' star. I never knowed w'at become o' the b'ar, an' the hull thing
were a startlin' myst'ry to me, but I kim home, Squire, an' tol' ye the story, jest ez I've
tol' ye now, an' ye were so durn polite th't ye said I were a liar. But sence, I've been a-thinkin'
an' recollectin'. Squire, I don't hold no gredge. The myst'ry's plain ez day, now. We don't
want no better signs o' gas th'n th't, do we, Squire?"

"Than what?" said the Squire.

"Than what!" exclaimed the Old Settler. "Than that b'ar, o' course! That's w'at ailed him.
It's plain enough th't thuz nat'ral gas on the Groner place, an' th't it leaks outen the ground
in Deep Rock Gulley. Wen that b'ar tumbled to the bottom that day, he fell on his face. He
were hurt so th't he couldn't get up. O' course the gas didn't shut itself off, but kep' on
a-leakin' an' shot up inter the b'ar's mouth and down his throat. The onfortnit b'ar couldn't
help hisself, an' bimby he were filled with gas like a balloon, till he had to float, an' away
he sailed, up an' up an' up. Wen I fired at the b'ar, ez he was floatin' to'ard the clouds,
the linen on the bullet carried fire with it, an' w'en the bullet tapped the b'ar's side the
burnin' linen sot it on fire, showin' th't th' can't be no doubt 'bout it bein' gas th't the
b'ar swallered in Deep Rock Gulley. So ye see, Squire, I wa'n't no liar, an' the chances is
all in favor o' your seein' a balloon h'isted from gas right in yer own bailiwick afore ye
turn up yer toes."

The Squire gazed at the Old Settler in silent amazement for a minute or more. Then he threw
up his hands and said:

"Wal--I'll--be--durned!"

VERRE DEFINITE

BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY

    It' verre long, long tam', ma frien',
      I'm leeve on Bourbonnais,
    I'm keep de gen'rale merchandise,
      I'm prom'nent man, dey say;
    I'm sell mos' every t'ing dere ees,
      From sulky plow to sock,
    I don' care w'at you ask me for,
      You'll fin' it in my stock.

    Las' w'ek dere was de petite fille
      Of ma frien', Gosse, he com'
    Into ma shop to get stocking,
      She want to buy her som';
    She was herself not verre ol',
      Near twelve year, I suppose;
    She com' to me an' say, "M'sieu,
      I wan' to buy som' hose."

    I always mak' de custom rule,
      No matter who it ees,
    To be polite an' eloquent
      In transack of ma beez;
    I say to her, "For who you wan'
      Dese stockings to be wear?"
    She say she need wan pair herself,
      Also for small brudd?re.

    She say her brudd?re's eight years ol'
      An' coming almos' nine,
    An' I am twelve, mos' near t'irteen,
      Dat size will do for mine:
    An' modder she will tak' beeg pair,
      She weigh 'bout half a ton,
    She wan' de size of forty year
      Going on forty-one.

THE TALKING HORSE

BY JOHN T. McINTYRE

Upon a fence across the way was posted a "twenty-four sheet block stand," and along the top,
in big red letters, it read:

"H. Wellington Sheldon Presents"

Then followed the names of a half dozen famous operatic stars.

Bat Scranton sat regarding it silently for a long time; but after he had placed himself behind
his third big cigar he joined in the talk.

"In fifteen years dubbing about this great and glorious," said he, "I never run across a smoother
piece of goods than old Cap. Sheldon. To see him, now, in his plug hat, frock coat and white
English whiskers, you'd spot him as the main squeeze in a prosperous bank. He's doing the Frohman
stunt, too," and Bat nodded toward the poster, "and he handles it with exceeding grace. When
I see him after the curtain falls upon a bunch of Verdi or Wagner stuff, come out and bow his
thanks to a house full of the town's swellest, and throw out a little spiel with an aristocratic
accent, I always think of the time when I first met him.

"Were any of you ever in Langtry, Ohio? Well, never take a chance on it if there is anywhere
else to go. It's a tank town with a community of seven hundred of the tightest wads that ever
sunk a dollar into the toe of a sock. There was a fair going on in the place, and I blew in
there one September day; my turn just then was taking orders for crayon portraits of rural
gentlemen with horny hands and plenty of chin fringe. I figure it out that about sixty per
cent. of the parlors in the middle west are adorned with one or more of these works of art,
but Langtry, Ohio, would not listen to the proposition for a moment; as soon as they discovered
that I wasn't giving the stuff away they sort of lost interest in me and mine; so I began to
study the time-table and kick off the preliminary dust of the burg, preparatory to seeking
a new base of operations.

"As I made my way to the station I caught my first glimpse of Cap. Sheldon. He had a satchel
hanging from around his neck and was winsomely wrapping ten dollar notes up with small cylinders
of soap and offering to sell them at one dollar a throw.

"'How are they going,' says I.

"'Not at all,' says he. 'There's nothing to it that I can see. The breed and seed of Solomon
himself must have camped down in this section; they are the wisest lot I ever saw herd together.
Instead of chewing straws and leaning over fences after the customary and natural manner of
ruminates, they pike around with a calm, cold-blooded sagacity that is truly awesome. It's
me to pull out as soon as I can draw expenses.'

"The next time Cap. dawned upon my vision was a year afterward, down in Georgia. He was doing
the ballyho oration in front of a side wall circus in a mellifluous style that was just dragging
the tar heels up to the entrance.

"'It's a little better than the Ohio gag,' says he, 'but I've seen better, at that. I had a
good paying faro outfit in Cincinnati since I met you, but the police got sore because I wouldn't
cut the takings in what they considered the right place, so they closed me up.'

"During the next five years I met Cap. in every section of the country, and handling various
propositions. In San Francisco I caught him in the act of selling toy balloons on a street
corner; in Chicago he was disposing of old line life insurance with considerable effect; at
a county fair, somewhere in Iowa, I ran across him as he gracefully manipulated the shells.

"But Cap. did not break permanently into the show business until he coupled up with the McClintock
in Milwaukee. Mac was an Irish Presbyterian, and was proud of it; he came out of the Black
North and was the most acute harp, mentally, that I had ever had anything to do with. The Chosen
People are not noted for commercial density; but a Jew could enter Mac's presence attired in
the height of fashion and leave it with only his shoe strings and a hazy recollection as to
how the thing was done.

"Now, when a team like Cap. and Mac took to pulling together, there just naturally had to be
something doing. They began with a small show under canvas, and their main card was a twenty-foot
boa-constrictor, which they billed as 'Mighty Mardo.' Then they had a boy with three legs,
one of which they neglected to state was made of wood; also a blushing damsel with excess embonpoint
to the extent of four hundred pounds. With this outfit they campaigned for one season; in the
fall they bought a museum in St. Louis and settled themselves as impresarios.