THE LAST “KNOCK.”
I wandered into Jack’s room the other evening again and
had a great time. When I opened the door, the tobacco
smoke rolled past me in a dense cloud while the room itself
reminded one of a London fog in all its denseness.
“More fresh fish to smoke” was the cry that met my
ears and ere I could retreat, the door was closed and I was a
prisoner. After several vain attempts, I discerned innumer
able fortns perched" in every part of the room—each form
adding to the cloudy atmosphere by the use of a poor, vile,
heathenish sort of weed.
“Help yourself” informed a kind voice from the bed.
“ ‘Reddy’s’ birthday—these are on him!”
“I guess these are on us” moaned a troubled voice
away back in a corner. “I bet these specimens cost the
buyer about twenty-five cents per hundred wholesale.”
“Ah! Go on!” broke in a voice, “if you don't like the
company, get out.”
“Can’t—that’s the deficility,” moaned the individual in
the corner as he arose and made one vain attempt after an
other to open a door or a window. Finally after one of his
fruitless excursions, the troubled youth broke out, “Say,
youse lobsters! If you are so air-tight, wont you just please
let me look out through the window pane at the pure, un
adulterated breeze?” After some serious discussions, the
last request was granted.
“Say, I heard a good one to-day on Sam—throw me a
cigar first,” spoke a Senior, with his heels propped high on
the desk, unmindful of the fumes.
After catching a cheroot and missing several, the speak
er began, “Well, you know Sam. He had his intended here
last commencement in company with her aunt and on one of
the days of commencement Sam was detailed to help run