THE LIME-KILN CLUB.

THE LIME-KILN CLUB.

MISCELLANY.

“If Clarence de Melville Bungs am present wid us to-night I should like to spoke to him,” said Brother Gardner as the meeting opened.

Brother Bungs was on the back row with a looking-glass in his hands and a new brand of hair-oil on his hair. He rose up with a scrape and a bow, made a great spread of a blue silk handkerchief, and finally stood before the President’s desk.

“Brudder Bungs,” resumed the old man, ” I reckon you am de purtiest member of de Lime-Kiln Club. You puts ile on yer ha’r, wax on yer moustache, an’ de perfume on yer clothes reminds me of de wild roses of Varginny. Yes, you am de purtiest an’ sweetest one ob de lot.”

“ Yes, sah,” replied the brother, while his face betrayed the fact that he was tickled half to death.

“ But—by de way, Brudder Bungs, what am your present bizness?”

“ I’se out of a job jist now, sah.”

“ When you work how much do you aitn ?”

“ As high as seben dollars a week, sah.”

“Jist so. Am dat suit of clothes all paid fur?”

“No, sah.”

“An’ you am how many weeks behind on yer board ?”

“ Not ober six, sah.”

“ An’ you owe dis lodge $3 dues?”

“Yes, sah.”

“ An’ you owe members here as much as $20 for borrowed money ?”

“ I’ze borrowed some, sah.”

“ Brudder Bungs, I’ze had some ’sperience wid purty men, an’ I neber seed one yet who wasn’t a fraud on de word manhood. When a man sots out to be purty all de hoss sense leaves his head. No man kin labor and be purty too. He darfo’ lets work alone. He beats his board, his tailor, his shoemaker, an’ all his friends. He looks killin’ an’ smells like a cologne factory, but he doan’ pay up. Ebery smile beats somebody outer twenty-five cents, an’ ebery giggle costs somebody half a dollar. I’ze had my eye on you fur some time.”

“ Yes, sah.”

“ Six months ago you had steady work, good pay, respectable clothes an’ was outer debt. You sot out to be purty, an’ to-day you wouldn’t sell fur ’nuff to pay yer debts. You smell awful nice, but you owe a $26 board bill. Your ha’r curls beautifully, but de tailor am whistling fur his money fur dat suit. Your form am elegant, but you has borrowed money until no one will lend you anoder cent. You smile like a buttercup an’ raise yer hat like a Chesterfield, but yer butes ain’t paid fur !”

“ I’ze gwine to squar’ up, sah.”

“ Maybe you is, Brudder Bungs, but it am too late so fur as dis club am consarned. Secretary !”

“Yes, sah.”

“ Scratch de name of Brudder Clarence de Melville Bungs off de roll 1”

“ She’s dun scratched, sah.”

“Janitor !”

“ Yes, sah.”

“ Escort dis pussun to de alley doah 1 He am too purty to remain heah wid us. He am gwine out owin’ us fur dues, an’—wall, neber mind.”

There was no need to post the janitor. Every one could picture him as he cleared a space to swing his right leg, and if anybody doubted that Clarence de Melville Bungs was “lifted” into the alley he had only to listen to the labored breathing of the janitor as he returned to his seat.— Detroit Free Press.

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