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14 THE ATLANTIAN Per Gent Interest Paid on Savings Deposits This bank alTords every desirable facility for the prompt and satisfactory transaction of business accounts and ev ery advantage an 1 accommodation that is in keeping with modern and conserv ative banking. Our New Home, 15 H. A'abama Street CAPITAL $500,000 The Guarantee Trust & Banking Co. ATLANTA FRENCH PROFANITY. The late Herman KnicKerbocker Vlele, author of Heartbreak Hill and The Inn of the Silver Moon, once gave an amusing account of his efforts to acquire French profanity. When things went wrong he was without a natural outlet for his feelings, and ac cordingly set to work to find out what Frenchmen say when they are mad. His first experiment was at a res taurant, when at a neighboring table he overheard a dispute between a waiter and a guest. The guest had ordered red wine and the waiter had brought a large bottle of white wine. "I do not want it,” said the guest. “I am sorry,” said the waiter, “but monsieur must drink it, for, unfortu nately the cork is drawn.” “This,” said the Frenchman, bring ing his hand with violence to the ta ble,, "is very extraordinary! C’est bien extraordinaire.’ No more and the waiter quailed before it. The traveler made a note of the expression and used it when very much provoked, but he waited several days for another lesson. This came on the top of an omni bus, when a stout gentleman insisted upon wedging himself between a slen der passenger and his wife. The slen der one bore this in silence until a more vigorous wiggle on the part of the intruder, knocked off his hat. Then, goaded past endurance, he ex claimed: "Monsieur is not polite!” The stout man climbed down, abashed by the merited rebuke and the trav eler made another note. This was not encouraging, but Mr. Viele did not give up hope till one day he was nearly run down by a cab, and having no cussword at hand, he raised his cane and gave the offender a smart rap on his shoulders. It was a rash act that might have brought trouble, but apprehension faded before the Joy of promised knowledge. The cabman lashed his horse, and turning across his shoulder to make a face, called back angrily: "Soiled pig!” To a young girl who asked whether he liked books for Christmas presents, Mark Twain said that depended on the book. “If it has a leather back it is really valuable to me for a razor strop. If it is a concise work, such as the French write, it Is useful to put under the short leg of a table. An old-fashioned book with a clasp can’t be beat as a missile to hurl at a dog, and a large books like a geography is as good as a piece of tin to nail over a broken pane of glass.” Now we know why Mark offers us his books under so many varieties of backs—he adjusts them to every need of the fam ily. "You certainly were in fine condi tion when you came home last night.” “Why, what did I do?” "What did you do? Why, you put [your umbrella to bed, and then you stood in the sink all night.” WHEN LACKAYE WAS LACKING. Wilton Lackaye, says the Designer, tells the following story of his early efforts: “Lawrence Barrett had engaged me to play, another,’ one of his friends, in ‘Francesco da Rimini.’ I was en gaged to play at $25 a week and pro vide my own costumes. That seemed easy enough, but after we had been out six weeks Mr. Barrett began put ting on the other plays of his repor- toire, and I had to play several parts in each, and that meant as many changes of costume. I bought what I could and borrowed the others. It was about this time that he played ‘Julius Caesar.’ I appeared in four roles and got on very well by borrow ing, till the last act. Then all the other members were on the stage and needed their costumes as Roman sol diers. I did the best I could. I put a pair of ragged pink tights and an old white tunic that Otis Skinner had JNO. J. WOODSIDE. Prominent Real Estate Dealer, Renting and Storage. outgrown and discarded—he was about a head shorter than I am. I knew I was as tall as I am now and weighed 120 pounds. But I was not prepared for what Mr. Barrett said to me. “When the curtain fell he beckoned to me. I approached. ‘What do you think you are impersonating?’ he ask ed. “ ‘I am trying to impersonate a camp follower, one who skulks after the army and robs the dead,’ I answered. “Mr. Barrett took another long sur vey of my unattractive person before he replied: ‘You looked like a sore finger.’ ” “The misunderstanding betweer capital and labor is the cause of it.’ “What is the difference between capital and labor?” “Well, if you borrowed $25 from me that would be capital—for you. Anti if I tried to get it back that would be labor.” FOX QUICKER THAN THE PUGILIST LIST. From the Philadelphia Press. No wild animal ever made a more successful fight for freedom against greater odds than did a big red fox recently captured on the Chester Brook Farm, in Chester Valley, and imprisoned in an ice-house at the King of Prussia Inn. The fox was caught while Philadelphia Jack O’Brien, Jack Moran and Jack Ward were using the inn as training quar ters for coming pugilistic encounters. One afternoon the three prize fight ers, none of whom had ever seen a wild fox, thought they would take a look at the prisoner. The small door which leads into the dark cave of the ice house was carefully opened, but before a space of more than a few inches had been made, and while the eyes of the visitors were still unaccustomed to the darkness inside, the fox made a break for liberty. All three men jumped for him at once as he came through the crack of the door, but Reynard was quicker even than Philadelphia Jack. The fox dashed like a red flash through the tangle of legs, bit one hand out stretched to stop him, and raced away for his home on the Chester Brook Farm, leaving the three pugilists gaz ing blankly after him and leaving the Chester Valley Hunt Club to find an other fox for their next “drop” hunt. ANOTHER INTERNATIONAL CRISIS. While patrolling his beat in the small hours of a recent morning, says The Pittsburg Gazette-Times, an offi cer beheld a suspicious looking little figure shuffling along in the shadows, bearing a bundle. “Looka here,” said the officer, halt ing the wanderer; “where are yez goin’?” “Me go home,” was the short re ply. “Where did yez come from?” “Nort ’ighland,” grunted the little chap. "North iv Ireland? Indade, an’ yez did not,” declared the officer, “What is yer name?” “Tara Makata.” Just at that moment a well-dressed couple arrived on the scene. “Why, it is our Japanese servant!" exclaimed the woman. “He is carry ing home our fancy dress costumes,” she explained. “He is all right, offi cer." “Oh, he’s all right,” said the officer, releasing him reluctantly. “Well, thin, what th’ divvle does he mane be tellln’ me he’s from th’ north iv Ireland an’ his name is Terry McCarty?” “Where are you living now?” “Out in Williamsburg. Come out and see me some time.” “I’d like to. How do you get out there?” “You take the boat to Boston and walk back three blocks.”