Silly Syclopedia — 02 - B and C
[Illustration: "B--A Skin Game."
] Beauty is only a skin game after all.
Bad beginners make bad finishers.
Birds of a feather flock together on the theatre hats.
Be sure you're ahead--then go right.
* * * * * ### B: The second letter of the alphabet.
It is called a vocal labial consonant, which, no doubt, serves it right.
### * * * * * BAA.
To make a noise like a sheep.
BOW-WOW.
To make a noise like a dog.
BIFF.
To make a noise like a boxing glove.
[Illustration] BAGGAGE.
Two shirts, some underwear, one suit of clothes, six collars and a hair brush which you lost somewhere between here and Chicago.
BAD ACTOR.
A man who is egged on by ambition and egged off by the audience.
BADINAGE.
Light or playful discourse.
For example.
"Why does a chicken cross the street?
Because the butcher."
[Illustration] BAR.
A place where men go to get a thirst so that they can go there again to quench their thirst.
BEETHOVEN'S SONATA.
An excuse some women use for beating the face off a piano.
BIGAMIST.
A man that adds one and has two to carry.
BLONDE.
An abbreviation of peroxide of hydrogen.
BREEZE.
A condition in the atmosphere which generally arises on a cold day, to make it colder and stays away on a hot day to make it warmer.
It is supposed to inhabit the windows, but when you look for it on a Summer night all you can see is the "gent" next door chaperoning the growler.
BUNDLE.
A load of preserves.
From the Norwegian _bun_, meaning high tide.
"Yesterday he annexed a _bundle_ and this morning he sits on the front steps singing soft lullabies to a hold-over."
(Shakespeare, page 18. ) [Illustration: "C--Coogan thinking about home."
] Charity begins at home and ruins its health by staying there too much.
Children who are wayward grow up to be the people who fall by the wayside.
Coogan says there is no place like home--and he congratulates the other places.
Consistency is a jewel, but it isn't fashionable to wear it.
* * * * * ### C: The third letter of the alphabet.
It is also used in music, especially by _prima donnas_ who try to reach it and fall flat.
### * * * * * CAB.
A machine invented for the purpose of going somewhere, but which seldom gets there.
An inland tugboat.
[Illustration] CAD.
A shine with an extra polish on.
CALAMITY.
A loud-mouthed individual who insists upon telling stale jokes.
CASH.
The stuff we work for, work other people for and are worked for.
Synonyms: Bones, Cash, Coin, Dough, Ducats, Long-green, Mazuma, and 1,000 others.
CHARITY.
Something which begins at home and stays at home every day except Sunday, when it goes to church to talk about itself.
CINCH.
When a man starts out with a bundle of money and a bundle of booze it's a cinch that he drops the money first.
COLD FEET.
A punishment for those that stand around and wait for dead men's shoes.
COMPLIMENTS.
Things which some people fish for hard enough to catch a sea-serpent.
CONFIDENCE MAN.
The noblest work of fraud.
CONCLUSION.
Something a woman jumps at in the same manner in which she jumps off a street car--which is backwards.
CONSCIENCE.
The alarm clock on a man's mind which is seldom wound up.
CONSISTENCY.
A jewel which isn't appreciated as a Christmas present.
CONTENTMENT.
A large, open-faced gentleman telling his friends how he self-made himself.
COPPER-FASTENED CINCH.
A good-looking widow who has made up her mind to marry again.
COURTSHIP.
Love's excursion boat just before it strikes the rough sea of matrimony.
CROOK.
A man who says nobody is straight.
[Illustration] COOK.
Something which makes up her mind to stay in the kitchen and then loses her mind.
A product of modern society who has for her motto "Dimuendo contralto dumdum," which means, "She who cooks and runs away will live to cook another day."
CROW.
A bird politicians would eat after election if they were not so busy drinking.
[Illustration] CZAR.
An illustration of the old proverb, "Uneasy lies the King when falls the Ace."
* * * * * The following letter written by the Czar to Tolstoi probably illustrates better than any other document the pleasant and health-giving conditions under which the Czar lives and reigns:-- In The Cellar, To-day.
Dear Tolsey:--My hands tremble a little in the armor-plated gloves, so you must excuse bad spelling.
They have just handed me a small bunch of asbestos writing paper, and the fountain pen has been sterilized to remove the poison, so I will write you.
Great Scottovitch!
you can never enjoy the feeling of anxiety which gallops over me when I wake in the morning and wonder will the hard-boiled eggs explode before I eat my breakfast.
At six o'clock this morning I was awakened by a scratching noise on the iron quilt which covers my repose.
A cold perspiration broke out on my forehead.
I buried my head in the hardwood pillows and waited the end.
Just then M. Stepupski, the Minister of the Department of Bum Shells, walked in through the secret tunnel in the wall.
I threw the aluminum blanket off my face and cried: "What is it?
What is it?"
"Pardonoviski, Your Majesty," said M. Stepupski, "it is the cat!
Whether it is a trained cat carrying a deadly bombshell in the forward turret, I don't know, but we will investigationiski at once."
My minister coaxed the cat away and five minutes later a loud explosion confirmed M. Stepupski's theory that the cat's bosom contained something more than nine lives.
It also confirmed M. Stepupski, because he has been strangely absent ever since together with a stained-glass window and a lot of new furniture.
Take my advice, Tolstoi, and don't be a royalty.
I say this as one friend to another and not because I have to wear copper-fastened pajamas.
I don't mind the copper-fastened pajamas so much, but to wear asphalt neckties and barb-wire suspenders is something which aggravates the spirit.
At 8 A. M.
this morning M. Cornmealski, the Minister of the Department of Armored Breakfasts, reported that he had discovered something suspicious in the dish of peeled prunes.
We examined the prunes carefully and found them stuffed with free tickets to ride on the Brooklyn Elevated Railroad.
We burned the tickets hastily and saved our lives again.
M.
Cornmealski reports that up to date 219 different breakfast foods have been received at the palace kitchen.
He says they range all the way from consolidated shavings to perforated sawdust, with here and there some compressed knot-holes.
In a mad moment yesterday I took the Yale lock off my appetite and ordered up one of those breakfast food samples, but just as I had the spoonful at my lips I remembered the prayer of my youth: "Woodman, spare that tree!"
and once more my life was saved.
Ten minutes ago M. Blackandblueski, the Minister of the Department of Witch Hazel, rushed into my bulkhead compartment.
"Oxcooski, Your Majesty," said the Minister, "but this morning the cookski was burning a few links of sausage for breakfast.
Well, Your Majesty, about two minutes afterwards the cookski and the stove and one side of the palace left in a hurry and went away in a northwesterly direction.
We don't expect them back, because the sausage was stuffed with rapid transit material, Your Majesty!"
Thus it goes all day.
Don't you think it is pretty hard lines when I have to make them wash the water on both sides before putting it in the teapot?
Now I must stop because I hear the humming of the harpoons on the outside.
My officers are talking about me again.
Farewellski!
* * * * * CUSTOMS INSPECTOR.
An individual who gets a salary for believing that everybody on the steamboat is a smuggler.
* * * * * In order to study briefly the Custom House system as applied to returning travellers let us witness the arrival from abroad of the Secretary of the Treasury.
Some years before the Secretary went into politics deep enough to stay there and make expenses he took a slight trip to Europe.
Two weeks later he was on his way home to his beloved land on the good ship "Kaiser Wilhelm, the Grocer."
The Stars and Stripes seemed to wave a welcome to him as he approached the hospitable shores of Fire Island.
"It is good, so good to breathe once more the air of Liberty!"
said the Secretary, and ten minutes later the "Kaiser Wilhelm, the Grocer" was at her dock.
"Ah!
how happy I am to be once more where Freedom reigns!"
said the Secretary as he walked proudly down the gangway plank.
"Wait!"
The speaker was a short-set man with a thick face and a wide voice.
The Secretary paled his cheeks.
"Who are you?"
"I am an American citizen; leave me pass!"
exclaimed the Secretary.
"So am I," said the man with a thick face; "and nothing passes me.
You have been to Europe, have you not?"
"Do you think I used the 'Kaiser Wilhelm the Grocer' to come from Staten Island?"
asked the Secretary.
The man laughed, loosely.
"Swear!"
he said.
"At you?"
inquired the Secretary.
"Swear you are not a smuggler," said the roan.
"I ought to kick you for such an insult," said the Secretary.
"Business before pleasure," said the man; "swear that you are not a robber."
"I swear," said the Secretary; "inwardly, outwardly, earnestly and pictorially, I swear!"
"By the memory of George Washington you swear that you are not a smugglesome man?"
"I do," said the Secretary.
"Hold up both hands and swear!"
The Secretary did so.
"With both hands behind your back and your eyes fixed on the Declaration of Independence sign this sworn statement," said the man.
The Secretary did so.
"Now that you have sworn I will go through your trunks to see if you are a liar!"
said the man.
"Surely, you should receive one of my best kicks," said the Secretary.
"Formality first, fun later," said the man, upsetting the largest trunk.
"Aha!
what is this?"
"It is a pair of open-work socks," said the Secretary.
"Opened in Europe--yes?
Bad business!
bad business!
I begin to suspect you.
What is this?"
"That is a pipe which I bought in Baden-Baden," said the Secretary.
"I am taking it to my cousin in Springfield, Mass.
, for a souvenir."
"I will help your cousin to stop smoking," said the man, putting the pipe in his pocket.
"Aha!
what is this?"
The Secretary blushed his face.
"What is this?"
"That is my pair of pajamas!"
said the Secretary.
"Pajamas?"
"Put them back, please?"
said the Secretary.
"A man's pajamas are not for the vulgar gaze of the world!"
"Pajamas!"
said the man.
"My pajamas!"
said the Secretary.
"They look like a Chinaman's Sunday trousers--yes?"
The Secretary looked into the pitiless faces of the multitude which was gazing into his trunk, but they handed him nothing save small bunches of laughter.
"Come!"
said the man, "where is the Chink that goes with this wearing apparel?
Did you hear over the wireless system about the labor strikes and try to smuggle in some cheap labor?"
"I assure you that I wear those pajamas myself!"
said the Secretary, interrupting a sob in his throat.
"You wear these pajamas?
When?
Why?
Where?"
"In the secrecy of my boudoir," said the Secretary.
"Aha!"
said the man, "so you have some boudoir, too!
Bad business!
bad business!
I have never heard of a Boudoir Trust, therefore, we do not make such a thing in this country.
My suspicions are getting louder.
What is in this bottle?"
"That is my cough medicine," said the Secretary, giving a sample of the cough.
"It may be wine or cream de mint because your voice sounds nervous."
"I am nervous because the world is still giggling at my pajamas," said the Secretary.
"Back to the pajamas!
Bad business!
bad business!
I will have to dig a tunnel through your neckties to see if you have a _cafe au lait_ or a _cafe chanteuse_ in the trunk.
When a man gets nervous it is always wise to watch him.
Open your mouth!"
The Secretary did so.
"What have you been drinking?"
"A vermouth cocktail," said the Secretary.
"Domestic or imported?"
"Neither; the Captain treated," said the Secretary.
"It looks to me much like foreign spirits," said the man.
"Do you wish to open me further and see?"
inquired the Secretary.
Then the man waded into the Secretary's other trunks, two-stepped over his negligee shirts, waltzed through his waist-coats and did a polka amidst the ruins of his dress suit.
"What is the verdict?"
said the Secretary after the battle was over.
"Not guilty, but you might be," said the man, smiling briefly.
As the Secretary walked out the Stars and Stripes seemed to bow politely at him and whisper with a voice slightly sarcastic: "You for the seat away back!"
"Some day," said the Secretary, "I will jump into politics so far that my trunk will always be a dark secret to the Custom Housers!"
And he did it.
From the life of the Secretary we learn the lesson that there is much Liberty in this country, but, incidentally, there are a couple of bald spots where it is missing.
If you don't believe me come home from Europe some day by way of the Custom House.
