They Were Two of a Kind.

They Were Two of a Kind.

There was a fire in the Jones house on Cass avenue the other day, says The Free Press of Detroit, and Mr. Jones ran out and turned in an alarm.

“Now, becalm,” he said to the excited members of his family; “do things systematically and nothing will be lost. Maria, where are the keys ?”

“I don’t know anything about your keys, Mr. Jones. I have enough to do to attend to my own things. Where’s my other parasol ?”

“Parasol? Good Heavens ! Talking of a parasol at such a time as this. Where are my keys ? Why don’t the fire department come ? Whew ! I shall be strangled by the smoke.”

The engines arrived, and the fire—which was a pitiful little affair—was put out and quiet was restored to the Jones homestead. Then Maria asked :

” Did you find the keys, fephtha?”

” I did. There is nothing like having a place for everythingjtad everything in its place. These keys represent five trunks that are stored in the attic filled with valuables.”

” And you saved the keys ?”

” Certainly. They were easier to handle than the trunks ”

“ Well,” said Mrs. Jones, drawing a long breath, ” for coolheaded calculation that does beat all. What good would the keys have been had the trunks been burned?”

“ Maria,” said Jones humbly, “ I nevtr thought of that. I I’m afraid I lost my head.”

And he said not a word about the two parasols which she rescued from the flames.

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