Volume 102 — DEATH IN THE POP.
Reading edition
Rather alarmed by reading in paper about "explosive buttons." Seems that combs, collars, cuffs, buttons and things made to imitate ivory and tortoiseshell are really highly combustible. Lady in West of England had her dress ignited by sudden explosion of a "fancy" button! In consequence, advise my wife "to use that new hairbrush I gave her very gingerly, or she'll be blown up." She wants to know "why I didn't find that out before buying it." Difficult to find suitable reply. Result—nobody blown up so far, except myself.
Combing my few remaining locks. No harm in comb, I suppose, as maker assured me it was "only made of celluloid." Comb suddenly driven a couple of inches into my head, with loud report! In bed for three weeks. Write to maker, who says, "Didn't I know celluloid was mixture of camphor and gun-cotton?" No, I didn't.
Playing billiards, when sufficiently recovered. Just executing fiftieth spot-stroke in succession, when—an explosion! Cue driven out of my hand, and half-way down marker's throat. Turns out that ball was a mixture of Turkish Delight and nitroglycerine, and objected to my hitting it. Marker brings action, and gets damages out of me.
Little later. New fancy waistcoat. Buttons like pearl. Rub one, to give extra polish—Bang!—explosion. Where am I? In the middle of next week, on which date I write this.
CON. BY A WELSHER.—Why has Wales more Clerks than England?—Because it has a Penman more.
ENCOUNTER.
(An Effort in the Spasmodic-Obscure, after the American Original quoted by Mr. James Payn in "Our Note-Book.")
Two Spooks, swirled fast along the Vast, Meeting each other "at the double," Collided, squirmed, then howled aghast, Each to the other, "What's your trouble?" "Alas!" one whined, "Rymed Rot I read, Affected to admire, and quote it!" The other wailed, with shame-bowed head, "My case is even worse,—I wrote it!"