State street, isn't it?"

DICKEY--"Yes; why?"

EDITH--"That's what I told papa. He made such a funny mistake about
you yesterday. He said he'd been looking you up in Bradstreet."

FIRST MERCHANT (as reported in the New York "Trade Record")--"How's
business?"

SECOND MERCHANT--"Picking up a little. One of our men got a $5,000
order yesterday."

"Go away. I don't believe that."

"Honest he did--I'll show you the cancellation."

BUSINESS ENTERPRISE

The story of the rival boot-makers, which appeared recently, is
matched by a correspondent of an English paper with another story,
equally old but equally worth repeating. It concerns two rival
sausage-makers. Again, they lived on opposite sides of a certain
street, and, one day, one of them placed over his shop the legend:

"We sell sausages to the gentry and nobility of the country."

The next day, over the way, appeared the sign:

"We sell sausages to the gentry and nobility of the whole country."

Not to be outdone, the rival put up what he evidently regarded as a
final statement, namely:

"We sell sausages to the King."

Next day there appeared over the door of the first sausage-maker the
simple expression of loyalty:

"God save the King."

"Biddy," remarked the newly wed Irishman, "go down and feed the pigs."

"Faith and I will not," replied the bride.

"Don't be after contradicting me, Biddy," retorted the husband.
"Haven't I just endowed you with all my worldly goods, and if you can
not feed your own property, then it's ashamed of you I am."

This was a new point of view, so off Biddy went.

Presently she returned.

"Have you fed the pigs, Biddy?" demanded her husband, sternly.

"Faith, and I have not," she answered. "I have done a great deal
better. As they were my property I have sold them, and shall not be
bothered with them again."

A business man advertised for an office boy. The next morning there
were some fifty boys in line. He was about to begin examining the
applicants when his stenographer handed him a card on which was
scribbled:

"Don't do anything until you see me. I'm the last kid in line, but I'm
telling you I'm there with the goods."

In one of the back streets in Philadelphia is a little jewelry store
which is making progress--witness this incident:

"What's the price of nickel alarm clocks?"

"Dwenty-fife cends."

"What! Why, how's that? Last week you told my son they were a dollar."

"Yaw, dat is