The stenographer sat down on a chair
and leaned back. Ife waited in some
trepidation, but the old man was skill
ful and gave him a good shave.
It was necessary for the young man
to talk, so when the barber was on his
throat he said: "Good many murders
around here, ain't there?"
"Well, suh," the barber said, "we
don't call them murders. Howsomever,
there is some killin's, if that is what
you mean."
"Oh, well," said the young man, "I
suppose one name's as good as another.
When was the last killing?"
"A man was shot out here in the
square last week."
"Who shot him?"
The barber brought the razor up on
the young man's Adam's apple. "I did,"
he said.
DOG REMEMBERED ERRAND
Had to Have a Paper for His Master
and Committed Highway
Robbery.
A new and true addition to the
endless string of dog stories is told
by a correspondent in a country vil
lage on the continent.
The village innkeeper had trained
his dog to go every day at a certain
hour and fetch his master's paper
from the office where it was printed.
One day on his way home the dog
met an old enemy; the two engaged
in a fight, and the newspaper came
to grief. When his foe had slunk
away the victor, with an anxious look
in his eyes, stood over the tatters.
