Boost the man for whom you labor,
Boost the stranger and the neighbor.
Cease to be a chronic knocker,
Cease to be a progress blocker.
If you'd make your city better
Boost it to the final letter.
Boost, and the world boosts with you,
Knock, and you're on the shelf,
For the world gets sick of the one who'll kick
And wishes he'd kick himself.
Boost, for your own achievements,
Boost for the things sublime,
For the one who is found on the topmost round,
Is the Booster every time.
It takes no more time to boost a man than it does to knock him—and think how much pleasanter for everybody.
BORROWERS
Mr. Tucker had unexpectedly come face to face with Mr. Cutting, from whom he had frequently borrowed money.
"Er—aw—what was the denomination of the bill you loaned me?" he asked nervously.
"Episcopalian, I guess," said Mr. Cutting. "At any rate, it keeps Lent very well."
"There's a friend in the outer office waiting for you, sir."
"Here, James, take this $10 and keep it till I come back."
ED—"Have you forgotten you owe me five dollars?"
NED—"No, not yet. Give me time, and I will."
Jenkins was always trying to borrow money, and his friends had begun to avoid him.
One morning he tackled an acquaintance in the street before the latter had a chance to escape.
"I say, old man," began Jenkins, "I'm in a terrible fix. I want some money badly, and I haven't the slightest idea where on earth I'm going to get it from."
"Glad to hear it, my boy," returned the other promptly. "I was afraid that you might have an idea you could borrow it from me."
One of the shrewd lairds of Lanarkshire had evidently experienced the difficulties of collecting money lent to friends.
"Laird," a neighbor accosted him one morning, "I need twenty poonds. If ye'll be guid enough to tak ma note, ye'll hae yere money back agin in three months frae the day."
"Nae, Donald," replied the laird, "I canna do it."
"But, laird, ye hae often done the like fer yere friends."
"Nae, mon, I canna obleege ye."
"But, laird—"
"Will ye listen to me, Donald? As soon as I took yere note ye'd draw the twenty poonds, would ye no?"
Donald could not deny that he would.
"I ken ye weel, Donald," the laird continued, "and I ken that in three months ye'd nae be ready to pay me ma money. Then, ye ken, we'd quarrel. But if we're to quarrel, Donald, I'd rather do it noo, when I hae ma twenty poonds in ma pocket."
ASKER—"Could you lend me a V?"
TELLIT—"No, I couldn't."
ASKER—"Have you a friend that would lend me a V?"
TELLIT—"No. I have not a friend to spare."
"Has Owens ever paid back that $10 you loaned him a year ago?"
"Oh, yes; he borrowed $25 more from me last week and only took $15."
An Oriental story tells us of a man who was asked to lend a rope to a neighbor. His reply was that he was in need of the rope just then.
"Shall you need it a long time?" asked the neighbor.
"I think I shall," replied the owner, "as I am going to tie up some sand with it."
"Tie up sand!" exclaimed the would-be borrower. "I do not see how you can do that!"
"Oh, you can do almost anything with a rope when you do not want to lend it," was the reply.
MISS PRITTIKID—"But, father, he is a man you can trust."
HER PA—"Gracious, girl; what I want is one I can borrow from."
BOSTON
MR. PENN—"They say the streets in Boston are frightfully crooked."
MR. HUBB—"They are. Why, do you know, when I first went there I could hardly find my way around."
"That must be embarrassing."
"It is. The first week I was there I wanted to get rid of an old cat we had, and my wife got me to take it to the river a mile away."
"And you lost the cat all right?"
"Lost nothing! I never would have found my way home if I hadn't followed the cat!"
Owing to the war a distinguished Boston man, deprived of his summer trip to Europe, went to the Pacific coast instead. Stopping off at Salt Lake City, he strolled about the city and made the acquaintance of a little Mormon girl.
"I'm from Boston," he said to her. "I suppose you do not know where Boston is?"
"Oh, yes, I do," answered the little girl eagerly. "Our Sunday-school has a missionary there."
The motorist was a stranger in Boston's streets. It was evening. A man approached.
"Sir," said he, "your beacon has ceased its functions."
"What?" gasped the astonished driver.
"Your illuminator, I say, is shrouded in unmitigated oblivion."
"I don't quite—"
"The effulgence of your irradiator has evanesced."
"My dear fellow, I—"
"The transversal ether oscillations in your incandenser have been discontinued."
Just
