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Typo: A Monthly Newspaper and Literary Review, Volume 3

The Quoin-Drawer

page 95

The Quoin-Drawer.

The Diamond Full-Point.

It was away back in the sixties I think, when the incident I am about to relate took place. There was a venerable comp, much given to snuff and beer, and who was not very prompt in his payments to his landlady—may his sins be forgiven him—and when pressed one day for the settlement of his just debt, the old fellow put on a woful look and told a pathetic tale of how he had accidentally broken a diamond full-point in the office. « You see, » the old rogue said, « I have to make this good, and as it is of great value, it takes nearly the whole of my earnings every week to meet the payments. » The old fellow worked his case so well, I am told, that he even persuaded the landlady to lend him a trifle to meet the claim. The old sinner was proud of his ingenuity, and could not keep the story to himself; and the tradition thereof still lingers in the office.

Quad.

An Expert.

This quoin is from the drawer of the American Craftsman:

—It was a game of « shoe-peg » which the tourist encountered while traversing the State of Ohio in search of work and adventure. He found it in one of those country towns where the hotel, post-office, and store, are frequently under one roof, and the Solomon of the village is depended upon to inaugurate something new. As the tourist brushed the dust of the highway from his travelling costume the game of shoe-peg was in full blast and betting ran high. To play the game each player was furnished with a handful of pegs, surreptitiously obtained from the village cobbler, and the one who picked up the greatest number in a given time was declared the winner. The new arrival gazed at the game and then at the stakes, and asked permission to take a hand. He was furnished with a supply of pegs and a tin box, and, when he had put up the required ante, time was called. The tourist easily won at a thousand-an-hour speed and took the pot. Again and again he beat the champion shoe-peg players. The philosopher became suspicious and quietly left the room to investigate. At the counter he learned that the stranger had inquired if there was a printing-office in the village. This was enough. The game was still in progress, with stakes piled high on a pork-barrel, when the philosopher quickly returned and shouted: « Don't play any longer with that fellow; he's a blooming printer! » Slowly and sadly each patriarch arose from a mackerel-keg and adjourned to the, bar; quickly and gladly the itinerant compositor arose from his nail-keg and rode to the next town.

Too Much Simplicity.

Mention of the name of Mahoney in your May number by your contributor « T.L.M. » brings to my recollection a little incident that occurred in the Timaru Herald office a few years ago to a compositor hailing from the « Ould Sod, » and rejoicing in the ownership of a similar appellation. The individual had a « take » of telegrams, and was slowly threading his way through it, many a time leaning against his frame and gazing intently on the copy trying to decipher the words that failed to come quickly to his comprehension. At last he got to the end of the take, and, lo! the sub-editor in his carelessness had forgotten to erase the signature of the correspondent who had sent the message. After scratching his head for a time the individual suddenly struck a line for the overseer, and in childlike simplicity said:— « Please sir, shall I put the signature in caps or lower-case? » Mr Turner, a rugged, gruff old gentleman, but as honest as the day, and as true as steel, looked at him, and then quietly drew his pencil through the signature, and returned the copy. Then it suddenly seemed to strike the Irishman that he had made a fool of himself, and a look of sickly paleness crept over his countenance as he walked back to his frame. His simplicity was too much for the Herald, however, and he had very soon to fold his tent like the Arab, and quietly steal away.

Quad.