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"You must have hit your funny-bone, or something," hinted Miss Pipkin as she poured a cup of the reheated coffee. "Now, don't get mad, Clemmie. I was just fooling. Mack understands me purty well, and he'll tell you that I didn't mean nothing by what I said." "Josiah Pott! You're that disrespectful that I've a good mind to scold you." "What's up now, Clemmie?" "The very idea!
He "hardened" the funny-bone of either arm against the punching bag to the tune of jeering laughter from the rest of the squad. That was Coach Luce's way of dealing with the too-funny amateur humorist. Fred, meantime, had selected his own catcher, and had whispered some words of instruction to him. "Now, come on, Ripley," ordered Mr. Luce, swinging his bat over an imaginary plate.
"Order!" rapped out the coach, sharply. "This is training work. You'll find the minstrel show, if that's what you want, at the opera house next Thursday night." "How well the coach keeps track of minstrel shows!" called another gibing voice. "That was you, Parkinson!" called Mr. Luce, with mock severity. "Run over and harden your funny-bone on the punching bag. Run along with you, now!"
The noise this made was not the worst part of the business. I was tightly wedged amongst the odds and ends, and the money-bag being sharply crushed against the match-box, which was by this time well warmed, the matches exploded in a body, and whilst I was putting as heroic a face as I could on the pain I was enduring in my right funny-bone, Fred cried, "Your jacket's smoking. You're on fire!"
The bits jingled and the saddles creaked under our legs I remember how it sounded as we started off. We'd had a strenuous week, but we were a strong lot and ready for anything. We were going to get it, too." The General chuckled suddenly, as if something had hit his funny-bone.
Turning to the steps of a chemist's shop to get a prescription made up for his Nataly's doctoring of her domestics, he was arrested by a rap on his elbow; and no one was near; and there could not be a doubt of the blow a sharp hard stroke, sparing the funny-bone, but ringing.
"And now," said the little man, "to work! And you have plenty of work before you, so trip on, to the first haycock." "I shan't!" said Amelia. "On with you!" repeated the dwarf. "I won't!" said Amelia. But the little man, who was behind her, pinched her funny-bone with his lean fingers, and, as everybody knows, that is agony; so Amelia ran on, and tried to get away.
When I again ventured to glance in his direction he was patiently and politely listening to a white-goateed, game-legged U.C.V. refight the Civil War with so fiery a zest that he presently caught another veteran a resounding crack on the funny-bone with the gold-headed stick he was flourishing.
But when she went too fast, the dwarf trod on her heels with his long-pointed shoe, and if she did not go fast enough, he pinched her funny-bone. So for once in her life she was obliged to do as she was told.
"Now I think it is quite possible that up to this point you may have attributed my unhappy experience to nothing more nor less than a bad dream, but your dream theory can no longer hold good, for, on coming in such sudden contact with the floor, I gave my funny-bone a knock, which, I can assure you, made me thoroughly awake, and the first thing I noticed on recovering my scattered senses was the smell.
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