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Show A PHILOSOPHIC FIEND. "I abould like to sell you a gimlet," said a careworn looking man aa he walked into an office the other day. "We have no use for one," replied the caehier. "But you should always look into the misty future," went od the fiend demurely; "next winter you will want holo3 in your boot heels, ao you can get your skates on." "You may want to screw some boards together some time. The old-fashioned old-fashioned method ol driving the screws iu with a hammer is pernici ous, as it deteriorates the tenacity of the fangs of the screw, as it were." "Nothing to-day, air." "Thia gimlet acta as a corkscrew." "1 don't want it." "It also may be used aa a tack hammer, a cigar-holder and a toothbrush." tooth-brush." "I don't waoi it." j "It baa an eraser, a pen, on Inkstand, Ink-stand, a table for computing compound com-pound interest, and a lunch-box at- j tachment." "I cnu't help it; I don't want it." "I know you don't; you're one of those men that don't buy a gimlet un-lesB un-lesB it baa a restaurant and a trip through Europe and an Italian opera company attached. You're the kind of a man who wouldn't live Dear an electric light to eave a gaa bill." Aud the peddler waited out with bis mental plumage on the perpendicular. perpen-dicular. New York Star. |