Davis, of the armory board. He knows the wurrud that fits thim clocks when they all got together."
Captain Davis was held up by Mike, who explained what he wanted.
"An' I'll buy a perfecto cigar-r-r if ye'll give me the wurrud that fits thim clocks."
"I guess you mean the clocks have at last been synchronized," said the captain, politely.
"That's it—that's it—that's the wurrud!" shouted Mike. "Thim clocks has been syn—syn—syn"—
Mike paused and the joy died out of his eyes.
"Say, captain," said he, "phwat the divil is the rest of it?"
"Synchronized," repeated the captain.
"Yes, that's it, whativer it is," said Mike.
The adventures of a trained elephant that escaped in
the streets of New York furnished a reporter on the
Sun with an opportunity for a humorous animal story
that he took every advantage of, as is seen in the following
result:
An East Indian elephant weighing a couple of tons or so
and bearing the Anglo-Saxon name of Nellie, moved into the
tenement house at 336 East Thirty-fourth street early yesterday
morning carrying her trunk with her. At or about the
same hour most of the other tenants of the house moved out.
Shortly afterward the tenants of the house at 338 followed
suit, and it was only a few moments later that the tenants in
340 emulated the example of their neighbors in 336 and 338.
Andrew Diehl, the owner of the tenement, did not welcome Nellie with any enthusiasm. He said later that he did not cater to elephants, and anyhow all the flats in his house were occupied. He seemed a bit peevish about the whole affair, apparently having conceived the idea that if it got around the neighborhood that he made a practice of entertaining elephants unawares it might prejudice his house in the eyes of prospective tenants.
