Part 4
Kindly gentleman to little girl: “My, but your folks must take good care of you.”
Little girl: “Well, they ought to—I’ve got enough of ’em.”
“What do you mean, little girlie?”
“Well, mister, I’ve got three mamas by my first papa and two papas by my last mama.”
“Can that really be so?”
“Yes, sir, and my last papa just told me that I had a little baby brother at home and I’m going home now and tell mama.”
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She flaunts a skirt cut rather high, And quite a length of hose, The city girl is never shy, However, shy of clothes.
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Beware of a Skunk, Dead or Alive
Men, take warning and never go fur-shopping until you are entirely familiar with the vernacular of the fur store. Listen to my tale of woe. My wife requested that I buy a vermin fur piece for a Christmas present. Later, when I asked the pretty blonde fur clerk if she’d show me her vermin, she gave a look that made me feel like a spare tire on a decootieized tin lizzie. Then I asked for some skunk and she called the floor-walker. I asked him if he had charge of the skunk and he promptly asked me out of the store. But the fresh air felt so refreshing and Mrs. Bill still wears her cloth coat of the vintage of pre-war prices.
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Our Monthly Motto
“_Keep your feet on the ground and your mind on Heaven._”
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Especially in Cold Weather
The new housemaid was, in most respects, quite satisfactory, but the mistress had observed that Bridget in her dusting operations, always appeared to miss a beautiful model of Venus. “Bridget,” cried the mistress at last, “why don’t you dust this figure? See”—and she touched it with her fingers—“she is quite covered with dust.” “Bejabers,” replied Bridget, “I hev been t’inking fer a long time, mem, that she should be covered with something.”
* * * * *
A mirage is a marriage that never happens.
* * * * *
Authenticated Military Message
Three soldiers—an American, an Englishman and an Irishman—from a trench watched a German airplane overhead. A piece of paper fluttered down and landed in a shell hole a few feet away.
Thinking it might be of value, the American crawled out after it. It proved to be a crumpled bit torn from a piece of wrapping paper. Thinking to have some fun with his comrades, he returned and said: “It looks as though it has been of value, all right, but I can’t make it out.”
The Englishman said he would try, and after he had investigated he took his cue from the American and admitted that he also was unable to read it.
“Faith,” said the Irishman, “I’ll bet I can dissect it,” and he started for the shell hole. In a few minutes he was back.
“Did you read it?” he was asked.
“Sure and I read it,” he replied, “but all I could make out was that the Germans are badly frightened and their entire rearguard has been wiped out.”
* * * * *
The Irish lad and Yiddish boy were engaged in verbal combat. First one would insist that his father or mother were better than the other’s. Then it was their pet bulldogs and their teachers. Finally the subject came down to respective churches.
“I guess I know that Father Harrity knows more than your Rabbi,” the little Irish boy insisted.
“Shure, he does; vy not?” replied the Jew boy. “You tell him everything.”
_Our Rural Mail Box_
=Skipper Bill=: Accept my best wishes for the season, and may each festive day find you squatted ’round some board arrangement heaped with viands, digestible and otherwise; and may the platitudes, provoked by the year’s munificence and the fact that you’re alive, be salt to the root of the tree of good fellowship. And may the years to come endear you more to the thousands of American “Bohemians,” who recognize you now as a damn good fellow.
Even though the desert remain arid, and we are forced to sip from lips that burn, and betray, for inspiration, we’ll remain in the fight until old Mother Earth calls upon us for our quota of bone and flesh—dust. Yours for the bull-con, E. W. Welty.
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=Ima Cumming=: If, while going through the park at night, you should hear some maiden say, “Sweet, Daddy,” that doesn’t necessarily mean she’s talking to her father.
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=Betty B. Good=: Don’t complain that your confidence has been betrayed. The fault is your own for pouring unsafe talk into a leaky mind.
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=Van Perry=—It seems plausible enough that Mandy acquired her big feet from walking through the squashy, mushy mud of the rich Brazos county soil but I hardly believe she was so lazy as to have ever sat down on the job of cotton picking. Too good to be true.
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=Tiny.=—Can not quite make out the letter. If it was an (o) your father shot himself. If it wasn’t, he didn’t.
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=Henpeck=—If your wife really loved you she’d have married someone else.
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=Lover=—Squeeze them, tease them, anything will please them.
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=Lord Helpus=: You don’t have to be a seasoned veteran to put “pep” in your work.
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=Dolly Dollars=: Yes, we all blow many beautiful bubbles of iridescent hue, and of course, some of ’em are just bound to bust.
* * * * *
Said mother to father:
“It’s time that girl of ours was married.”
“Oh, what’s the rush? Let her wait till the right man comes along.”
“Why should she? I didn’t.”
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It ’Appened in Hingland
Both the vicar and his curate were extremely devout churchmen, and so when Lent came round they naturally decided that each must deny himself something, and thus set a proper example to the flock.
Unfortunately, however, the curate could not make up his mind as to what he should forego. He therefore consulted the vicar on the point and asked what his worthy superior had decided to do without.
“I shall abstain from tobacco,” said the vicar, in answer to the curate’s question, “and I can but suggest that you should either do the same or refrain from taking alcohol.”
“But, vicar,” protested the curate, “you surely know that I am a non-smoker and a teetotaler.”
“Ah! I had forgotten that,” replied the vicar; “in that case the only thing left for you is to put your wife from you for six weeks and live as a celibate.”
This, the curate agreed, would indeed be self-denial; however, he promptly proceeded to put the plan into action.
Already he had got about half-way through this trying period, when one morning he was awakened by a gentle tap on his door.
“Yes; what is it?” he demanded, wondering why on earth he should be aroused at such an unearthly time.
“John, dear,” came his wife’s plaintive voice from the other side, “the vicar’s in his garden, and—and he’s smoking!”
* * * * *
No Cheap Skates Wanted
The world’s Stingiest Man shuffled off finally and departed heavenwards. He was challenged at the pearly gates by St. Peter.
“What deeds of good did you do on earth?” queried Peter.
“I once gave a plugged penny to a poor beggar woman,” the stingy man replied.
The Recording Angel, assisted by Mother Eve, then glanced over the loose-leaf filing system to verify the claim.
“Is that all he has to his credit?” St. Peter asked.
“Yes, ’tis all—’tis all,” replied the angel.
“Well then, give him back his plugged penny and tell him to go to hell.”
* * * * *
Thrift Lesson No. 1
“Do you know,” said the Englishman, “I gave my wife a ten-pound note for a birthday present, and she managed to save a sovereign out of it towards our summer holiday. Not bad, eh?”
“I dinna think it’s so verra guid,” replied the other. “I reckon ma wife’s mair thrifty.”
“How’s that?”
“Weel, she gives the bairns a bawbee to do wi’oot their supper, and when they’re in bed and asleep, gangs and taks it frae them. Then, in the mornin’ they have no breakfast for losing it. That’s thrift.”
* * * * *
This will be a heluva country if it ever goes dry.
* * * * *
Sprinkle Some Sunshine
By F. A. ROBERTSON
We never can tell, and we never will know, When it will rain, sunshine or snow; We never can tell, from the cradle to the grave, Whether we are rich or only a slave;
Whether we’ll ride in automobiles, Work in the shop or plow in the fields; Perhaps go to bed in vigor and wealth And awake in the morning broken in health.
So don’t let pride your judgment beguile, Give all a shake and a pleasant smile; Always be polite, courteous and kind, And thus scatter blessings over mankind.
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Good Old Crow
(With apologies to “Old Black Joe.”)
Gone are the days of the booze so full and free, And gone are the friends that always drank with me; Gone from this drought to a wetter land I know, I hear their happy voices toasting, Good Old Crow.
I’m going, I’m going To a place that’s not so slow. I hear the Cubans gaily toasting Good Old Crow.
Why should I stay when my throat is full of pain, Soon will go our smokes, so why should I remain? Dreaming of days of the once sweet long ago, While my friends are sadly calling, Poor Old Joe.
—E. N. Hosier.
* * * * *
During the war a boy from Wiggin, Nova Scotia, who was stationed in Palestine, wrote to his mother as follows:
Dear Mother: I am in Palestine where Christ was born and wish to Christ I was in Wiggin where I was born.
Your affectionate son.
* * * * *
The other day a returned soldier asked me for a job and as I always like to favor the “vets” I gave him the place. I told him that his duties on the farm would be to get up at 5 in the morning, milk the cows, feed the teams, clean out the barn, haul hay, plow the fields, shock the corn, chore around—
“And is there any clay on your farm?” asked the young man.
“Why, what has that to do with it?” I answered him.
“Oh, I thought maybe I could put in my spare time making bricks.”
* * * * *
Mary Ann—The landlord’s here to boost the rent again!
Hubby—That means you have no fur coat this year, my dear!
Wife—Oh, I don’t know. I may be able to find a friend like the woman in the story, “The Tale of a Fur Coat,” and you bet I’ll not pawn it!
* * * * *
Full many a race is lost Ere even a step is run, And many a coward fails Ere even his work’s begun, Think big, and your deeds will grow, Think small, and you’ll fall behind, Think that you can, and you will, It’s all in the state of mind.
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Real photographs of the famous California Bathing Girls.
Just the thing for your den.
Size 3½×5½.
Positively the best on the market.
Assortment of 6 for 25 cents or 25 for $1.00.
Send money order or stamps.
Foreign money not accepted unless exchange is included.
Egbert Brothers, Dept. W. B., 303 Buena Vista Street, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
_Wholesale agents wanted everywhere in the U. S. Write for wholesale terms._
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_Pull the Shades Down, Mary Ann_
Pull the shades down, Mary Ann, Pull the shades down, Mary Ann, Last night in the pale moon light, I saw you, I saw you; You were combing your golden hair, It was hanging over a chair; If you want to keep a secret From your future man, Pull the shades down, Mary Ann.
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