Chapter VI.

“Whereinell’s dinner?”

* * * * *

Anatomy Students, Attention

(Terre Haute, Ind., Post)

Gertrude Hoffman, classic dancer, was considering the advisability of muzzling her pet snake today. While she was dancing the “Princess of Rajah” last night, the reptile bit her on the left leg, between the overture and the climax.

* * * * *

“These stockings were all in this world,” she said, “That my poor mother left to me.” The lawyer said, as the will he read: “What a beautiful legacy.”

* * * * *

My Gawd, Dearie!

We see by the public print where Richard G. Badger is the author of a new book on “Nervous Children—Their Prevention and Management.”

* * * * *

Wondairful Climax!

A French officer, a military attaché in Washington, was invited to a golden wedding. Had a fine time and desired to thank his host upon departing.

“Had ze gran’ evening,” quoth he. “Ze Americain is ver’ nice to ze Frenchman. But I would ver’ much like to know what is zees Golden Wedding?”

His host explained in detail that he and his better half had been living together for fifty long years in perfect harmony and accord.

“Wondairful! Wondairful!” exclaimed the Frenchman, patting his hands together excitedly. “And now after fifty years zis wondairful wedding.”

* * * * *

A Twice Told Tale

A teddy bear sat on the ice As cold as cold could be. But soon he up and walked away, “My tale is told,” said he.

* * * * *

There’s a Limit

Said he, “Sweet maiden, ere we part, Believe me, I can see, That you possess a loving heart, A heart that beats for me.” “Great Scott,” the maiden murmured low, Beneath her wide-brimmed hat; “I didn’t realize I was so Decollette as that.”

* * * * *

Prohibition agents rush in where bootleggers fear to tread.

* * * * *

Some Bugler

Two soldiers in a negro regiment, says the Gold Chevron, were boasting about their company buglers.

“G’long wit’ you boy,” said one; “you ain’t got no booglers. We is got the boogler, and when that boy wraps his lips around that horn and blows pay call, it sounds jest like a symphony band playin’.”

“Well, if you like music, that’s all right; but if you is yearnin’ fo’ food, you wants a boogler with a hypnotic note, like we is got. Boy, when Ah hears ole Custard-Mouth Jones discharge his blast Ah looks at mah beans and Ah says:

“Strawberries, behave yo’selves! You is crowdin’ all the whip cream out of mah dish.”

* * * * *

_Ching Wong Long and Ching Fong Luey_ _Started in to eat chop-suey._ _They ate and ate until they died,_ _Did they commit “chop sueycide”?_

* * * * *

More Latin

Boyabus kissabus girlabussorum, Girlabus likabus wanta somorum, Papabus hearabus kissabussorum, Kickabus boyabus outa the doorum, Darkabus nightabus no lightabossorum, Climbabus gatepost, breechibus torum.

* * * * *

Remember, my son, that a giggling girl is apt to become a cackling woman.

* * * * *

Those Dreadful Drummers

Four or five jolly drummers gathered in the smoking compartment of a Pullman car, and soon their conversation drifted to the great problem of the day—women. In the party also was a frock-coated pastor of serious mien.

The salesmen winked at each other as the minister entered, and then, as if to have some harmless pleasure, one after another started telling of the wonderful virtues of the knights of the grip.

“I am often away from home for four weeks at a time,” one salesman commenced, “and I never even look at another woman.”

“And I am so bound up in the charms of my wife that I’m ashamed to tip the check girls,” declared the next one.

“Why, my wife is so good to me that I won’t allow a woman to wait on me in a restaurant,” said another.

Their conversation sounded too much like unadulterated bunk for the good minister to swallow, and he joined the party by offering a silk hat to any salesman present who could truthfully say he had always been faithful to his wife. The pastor won his point and the conversation soon drifted to other subjects.

The next day one of the salesmen arrived home and soon told his wife of the jolly party in the Pullman smoker.

“But, John,” she said, “why didn’t you take him up?” John’s active salesman brain worked quickly.

“Why, Mable, you know I look like hell in a silk hat.”

* * * * *

It Was Ocean Blood

A Whiz Bang gob writes to ye editor and asserts that our story in the April issue about the Scotchman who was hurt while carrying hootch was incorrect, in that the real hero was a sailor. This is the true history of the case, he avers:

The gob was coming down the street with two bottles under his pea-coat, when he saw a fellow shipmate in a fight with three men across the way. He promptly sailed across and waded in. In fifteen minutes or so he heaved to as he felt a warm liquid running down his side. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he groaned, “Oh, Gawsch! I hope I’m stabbed!”

* * * * *

She was a sweet and pretty miss, So dainty and demure, She lived down by the race track And all the horsemen knew her.

* * * * *

“Don’t dress that hen inside the house,” The wife was heard to mutter. “All right,” said he, “I’ll stand outside Upon the curb and gutter.”

* * * * *

The Hope of the Fat

The incorrigible joker stood outside the Great Synagogue, as the Chosen were pouring out, last Shobboz, and declaimed: “There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we may.”

And a fat, greasy-looking little man sidled up to him and wheezed:

“Do you vant to thsee the rabbi, misther?”

* * * * *

You Can’t Fool ’em at Tall

He had been married about six months, during which time he had made the most strenuous endeavors to abandon his former naughty ways and to give up his intemperate bachelor friends and the numerous pretty ladies with whom he had so long been associated. But it happened one day that he fell in with a very dear friend, till in a somewhat dazed condition he eventually fetched up at his “home sweet” ’round about five o’clock on the following morning. Stealthily he crept upstairs to bed and wifie being, as he imagined, asleep, equally stealthily did he start to undress in the cold, gray light of dawn. For a time all went well; then suddenly a voice rose above the stillness:

“Charles, where’s your vest?”

Charles pulled himself together rapidly and endeavored to review the situation.

“My dear,” he replied confidentially, after much mental effort, “upon my soul, I believe I must have left it—in the cab!”

* * * * *

Unlucky months for getting married: Jan., Feb., Mar., Apr., May, June, July, Aug., Sept., Oct., Nov., Dec.

* * * * *

My girl brought me a basket of eggs. As she stepped up the steps, I said, “What beautiful eggs.” And when she reached me she slapped my face.

* * * * *

Only five months to wait for the second October Whiz Bang annual.

* * * * *

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