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Newspapers

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A kind old gentleman seeing a small boy who was carrying a lot of
newspapers under his arm said: "Don't all those papers make you tired,
my boy?"

"Naw, I don't read 'em," replied the lad.


VOX POPULI--"Do you think you've boosted your circulation by giving a
year's subscription for the biggest potato raised in the county?"

THE EDITOR--"Mebbe not; but I got four barrels of samples."


COLONEL HIGHFLYER--"What are your rates per column?"

EDITOR OF "SWELL SOCIETY"--"For insertion or suppression?"--_Life_.


EDITOR--"You wish a position as a proofreader?"

APPLICANT--"Yes, sir."

"Do you understand the requirements of that responsible position?"

"Perfectly, sir. Whenever you make any mistakes in the paper, just blame
'em on me, and I'll never say a word."


A prominent Montana newspaper man was making the round of the insane
asylum of that state in an official capacity as an inspector. One of the
inmates mistook him for a recent arrival.

"What made you go crazy?"

"I was trying to make money out of the newspaper business," replied the
editor, to humor the demented one.

"Rats, you're not crazy; you're just a plain darn fool," was the
lunatic's comment.


"Did you write this report on my lecture, 'The Curse of Whiskey'?"

"Yes, madam."

"Then kindly explain what you mean by saying, 'The lecturer was
evidently full of her subject!'"


We clip the following for the benefit of those who doubt the power of
the press:

"Owing to the overcrowded condition of our columns, a number of births
and deaths are unavoidably postponed this week."


"Binks has sued us for libel," announced the assistant editor of the
sensational paper.

The managing editor's face brightened.

"Tell him," he said, "that if he will put up a strong fight we'll
cheerfully pay the damages and charge them up to the advertising
account."


Booth Tarkington says that in no state have the newspapers more
"journalistic enterprise" than in his native Indiana. While stopping at
a little Hoosier hotel in the course of a hunting trip Mr. Tarkington
lost one of his dogs.

"Have you a newspaper in town?" he asked of the landlord.

"Right across the way, there, back of the shoemaker's," the landlord
told him. "The _Daily News_--best little paper of its size in the
state."

The editor, the printer, and the printer's devil were all busy doing
justice to Mr. Tarkington with an "in-our-midst" paragraph when the
novelist arrived.

"I've just lost a dog," Tarkington explained after he had introduced
himself, "and I'd like to have you insert this ad for me: 'Fifty dollars
reward for the return of a pointer dog answering to the name of Rex.
Disappeared from the yard of the Mansion House Monday night.'"

"Why, we are just going to press, sir," the editor said, "but we'll be
only too glad to hold the edition for your ad."

Mr. Tarkington returned to the hotel. After a few minutes he decided,
however, that it might be well to add, "No questions asked" to his
advertisement, and returned to the _Daily News_ office.

The place was deserted, save for the skinny little freckle-faced devil,
who sat perched on a high stool, gazing wistfully out of the window.

"Where is everybody?" Tarkington asked.

"Gawn to hunt for th' dawg," replied the boy.


"You are the greatest inventor in the world," exclaimed a newspaper man
to Alexander Graham Bell.

"Oh, no, my friend, I'm not," said Professor Bell. "I've never been a
reporter."


Not long ago a city editor in Ottumwa, Iowa, was told over the telephone
that a prominent citizen had just died suddenly. He called a reporter
and told him to rush out and get the "story." Twenty minutes later the
reporter returned, sat down at his desk, and began to rattle off copy on
his typewriter.

"Well, what about it?" asked the city editor.

"Oh, nothing much," replied the reporter, without looking up. "He was
walking along the street when he suddenly clasped his hands to his heart
and said, 'I'm going to die!' Then he leaned up against a fence and made
good."


Enraged over something the local newspaper had printed about him, a
subscriber burst into the editor's office in search of the responsible
reporter. "Who are you?" he demanded, glaring at the editor, who was
also the main stockholder.

"I'm the newspaper," was the calm reply.

"And who are you?" he next inquired, turning his resentful gaze on the
chocolate-colored office-devil clearing out the waste basket.

"Me?" rejoined the darky, grinning from ear to ear. "Ah guess ah's de
cul'ud supplement."


Four hostile newspapers are more to be feared than a thousand
bayonets.--_Napoleon I_.


Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever lays one down without a
feeling of disappointment.--_Charles Lamb_.





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