The Republican

a great joker,
How the Editor of an Arkansas Newspaper Failed to Acquire Renown as a Humorous Writer.

Hack Knober, editor of the Weekly Ker Slosh, a humorous paper, itches for a prominent place among the jesters of America. His marked paragraphs having failed to produce a sensation, and his long articles having been declared to be as dismal as the screak of a wooden hinge, he decided upon making some new attempt.

"I notice," he mused, one evening, "that the best humorists in the past were practical jokers. John Phoenix and Artemus Ward made their greatest hits in that way. Now, if I get up a joke on some feller who travels around—some drummer who would go around and tell it—I would soon have a national reputation."

Hack was soon afforded an opportunity of enforcing this determination. One night at the village hotel, he noticed a nervous fellow who traveled for a shoe house.

"There's my man," mused Hack. "I'll have him standing on his head to-night. How do you do?" addressing the drummer.

"So, so. What sort of a place is this you've got here? Just now, while standing out there, a dog came up and it was all I could do to keep him off me."

"Must have been a mad dog," replied Hack. "Good many of them in the neighborhood."

"Well, that lets me out. I shall leave here in the morning."

Hack inquired the number of the drummer's room, and, late in the evening, slipped in and got under the bed. The drummer came in after a while and sat down on the edge of the bed. Hack growled like a dog.

"I hope," said the drummer aloud, "that I won't have another fit to-night. I'd better throw this pistol away, for I might kill somebody. No, blamed if I don't keep it. I wouldn't mind killing a few such fellows as live in this town. That fool editor ought to die."

Hack did not growl.

"He ought to go this night. I feel that thing coming on me. Believe I'll sleep under the bed. Then, if any one should come in to kill me, they couldn't find me."

The sharp corners of Hack's bones began to thump the floor.

"Believe I'll shoot under there a couple of times."

"For God's sake, hold on, Mister!" exclaimed Hack, crawling out, "I wasn't doing anything—I—"

He made a break for the door.

"Who is that awful fellow?" asked Hack, when he reached the office.

"Why, don't you know him?"

"No."

"He's going to be your rival here in business. Has bought the News. Saw him laughing just before he went up. Said he was going to have some fun. Said one of the boys was trying to play a joke on him. Said that he heard that you were a great practical joker. Don't be in a hurry. Told me that when he got a chance he was going to write you up. Well, good night."

The weekly Ker Slosh has suspended. Hack works at a steamboat landing. Arkansaw Traveler.