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Show HE "SQUOZE' HER HAND. An Ohio merchant tells the following story about himself. Where he lives is a secret, except that it is not a mile and half from the Xenia court house: "When I was about seventeen years old I made a trip to Cleveland in the old-fashioned stage coach, with its spanking four horses. At Mount Vernon, about four o'clock in the afternoon, a pretty girl came on board. She sat on the back seat, next to an elderly, farmer-like looking man. I was on the middle seat immediately in front of her. I soon struck up a pleasant chat with her. She was a charming talker, and almost as brilliant as she was pretty. It looked as if we were mutually pleased. When dark came I concluded there would be no harm in giving her hand a squeeze by way of a feeler. I reached behind and got hold of the hand. I was a little startled at the hardness, but it returned a vice like pressure. I squozed again and it squoze back. A sense of disappointment would steal over me when in my mind I would contrast the seeming toughness of her hand with the tenderness and sweetness of her voice. The contrast did not seem to arterialize my blood quite up to the point of exhilaration. At last she reached her destination and left the coach. After we had started again, that old rooster who sat besider her addressed me thusly. "Young man, do you feel all right? You had a nice time tugging at my old paw for the last five miles; hope you enjoyed it." "The two young ladies on the front seat giggled all the way to the next station, and the gentleman passengers didn't forget to smile when I looked up. I have been more successful since in that line." Country kin-Pumpkin. |
