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Blunders





    A good Samaritan, passing an apartment house in the small hours of the morning, noticed a man leaning limply against the doorway.

    "What's the matter?" he asked, "Drunk?"

    "Yep."

    "Do you live in this house?"

    "Yep."

    "Do you want me to help you upstairs?"

    "Yep."

    With much difficulty he half dragged, half carried the drooping figure up the stairway to the second floor.

    "What floor do you live on?" he asked. "Is this it?"

    "Yep."

    Rather than face an irate wife who might, perhaps, take him for a companion more at fault than her spouse, he opened the first door he came to and pushed the limp figure in.

    The good Samaritan groped his way downstairs again. As he was passing through the vestibule he was able to make out the dim outlines of another man, apparently in worse condition than the first one.

    "What's the matter?" he asked. "Are you drunk, too?"

    "Yep," was the feeble reply.

    "Do you live in this house, too?"

    "Yep."

    "Shall I help you upstairs?"

    "Yep."

    The good Samaritan pushed, pulled, and carried him to the second floor, where this man also said he lived. He opened the same door and pushed him in.

    As he reached the front door he discerned the shadow of a third man, evidently worse off than either of the other two. He was about to approach him when the object of his solicitude lurched out into the street and threw himself into the arms of a passing policeman.

    "For Heaven's sake, off'cer," he gasped, "protect me from that man. He's done nothin' all night long but carry me upstairs 'n throw me down th' elevator shaf."



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