The Point of the Joke

The People’s Friend, December 18, 1905

Mr Wangle rose to address the gathering amidst such a hubbub of gabbling and question-shouting that, to begin with, he had considerable difficulty in making himself heard. To end with, he couldn’t make himself heard at all. What he said brought on such a babel of cacophony that a megaphone would have been outclassed.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he shouted, as politely as it was possible to bawl, “you have all heard what Mr Maudle said—”
“What did he say?” sounded a raucous voice above the others.
“And I shall not attempt to repeat—”
“Much better not,” yelled somebody with infinite consideration.
“But I may add that if there be any who are dissatisfied—”
“We all are,” howled a particularly unanimous relative at the back.
“With Mr Maudle’s plain statement of fact”—
“What did ye call it, guv’nor?” screeched an unfortunate wretch, clearly hard of hearing.
“I can produce the necessary documentary evidence for their inspection. Further, lest there be any doubt as to Jeffrey Snooker’s sanity—
“We ain’t got no doubts,” screamed one of the ladies, reassuringly. “We’re jolly well certain he died as he was born, stark mad.”
“I am empowered, as Mr Maudle’s solicitor, to read the following document. It was prepared by Jeffrey Snooker himself, and is therefore well worth listening to.”
There was a temporary hush, as curious ears subdued scurrilous tongues, and Mr Wangle began to read the Act of Snooker the first and only.
“Know all men by these presents (which, if found, please accept as mementoes of myself), that, being sound in limb and brain, the fact is hereby attested, signed, sealed, stamped and trodden on. Being also convinced that a troublesome pack of fool relatives like mine are certain to question my sanity, and to dispute my will (if they can scrape up the law costs among them, which I doubt), I have caused the undernoted certificates to be sworn to, and in some cases at:—

• Jeffrey Snooker is as sane as I am.(Signed) U. K. Sawbonne, M.D. (The best doctor in Howling Gulch.)
• Jeff Snooker is ten times saner than Sawbonne, and far better looking. (Signed) James L. Crashaw. M.D. (N.B.— The only doctor in Howling Gulch.)
• I hereby swear to my own sanity. (Signed) Jeff. Snooker (who ought to know better than both of the above put together).
• This is to certify Jeff. Snooker is quite sane, and, if used the right way, quite harmless. (Signed) Shuckford Blaine, Mayor.
• You bet J. Snooker is sane. We’re all that here. Sanity’s our favourite epidemic. (Signed) Martin Y. Ponder, Sheriff.
• Jeff. Snooker’s far too sane. He did me out of a good thing last week. (Signed, under compulsion) Sam Jollicks, mining agent.

Readers will be interested to learn that our popular fellow-townsman, Jeffrey Snooker, Esq., took our gold medal for local sanity sixteen years since with the highest possible marks—viz., 150 per cent. Nobody can get it back from him anyhow. (Signed) Wyman Rolles, Editor, ‘Howling Gulch Partizan.’
“And I do hereby express the fervent wish that my relatives may worry themselves over the money I shan’t leave them, as they used to worry me about things. I’d like a law suit best, Timothy Maudle amongst them—”
It was at this stage that the uproar swamped the further development of Mr Snooker’s affectionate message. Pandemonium reigned supreme. All the virulent abuse the guests could think up extempore was hurled at Maudle and Wangle broadcast. It seemed impossible to reach Snooker himself, but they tried hard all the same, and the nasty things they said about him had such a high muzzle-velocity that there was no telling how far they went.
In the midst of this riot Mr Smilax Weir, the missing executor, entered, took his chair, and stood on it.
“Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho,” he laughed loudly and unrestrainedly.
“It’s Jeff Snooker himself.” “He’s come back from the grave again.” “He’s got as many lives as a cat.” Thus groaned several in the audience, and some fainted.