TOURISTS See Travelers.

TRADE

When they beat their swords into plowshares, the next move is to beat their competitors into foreign markets.

TRADE MARKS

Most of the wrinkles in a business man’s face are trademarks.

TRADE UNIONS

TEACHER—­“If a man gets four dollars for working eight hours a day, what would he get if he worked ten hours a day?”

JOHNNY—­“Ten hours a day?  He’d get a call-down from de union.”

“What are you doin’ of, James?”

“Sharpenin’ a bit o’ pencil.”

“You’ll ’ave the Union after you, me lad.  That’s a carpenter’s job,”

TRAMPS

TRAMP—­“Madam, I was at the front—­”

KIND-HEARTED LADY—­“My poor man.  Another victim of that terrible war. 
Here’s a dollar.  Tell me how you got into these straits.”

TRAMP-"I was going to say that I was at the front door an’ nobody answered, so I came around to the back.  Thankee, mum.”

MRS. SUBBUBS (to tramp)—­“Out of work, are you?  Then you’re just in time.  I’ve a cord of wood to be cut up and I was just going to send for a man to do it.”

TRAMP—­“That so, mum?  Where does he live?  I’ll go and get him.”

BOXCAR HARRY—­“Beg pardon, ma’am, but do you happen to have some pie or cake that you could spare an unfortunate wanderer?”

LADY OF THE HOUSE—­“No, I’m afraid not.  Wouldn’t some bread and butter do?”

BOXCAR HARRY—­“As a general rule it would, ma’am; but, you see, this is my birthday.”

TRAVELERS

A party of tourists were going through a small town, having the time of their lives, laughing and joking.  One of them thought she would have some fun, and called to a little girl standing near, “Are there any shows in town?” To which the little girl answered, “Only the one you people are making.”

The value of travel oftentimes depends upon who travels.

Mrs. Williams, who had recently returned from abroad, was attending an afternoon tea given in her honor.

“And did you actually go to Rome?” asked the hostess.

“I really don’t know, my dear,” replied Mrs. Williams.  “You see, my husband always bought the tickets.”

See also Americans; Destination.

TREES

  I think that I shall never see
  A poem lovely as a tree.

  A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
  Against the earth’s most flowing breast.

  A tree that looks at God all day
  And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

  A tree that may in summer wear
  A nest of robins in her hair;

  Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
  Who intimately lives with rain.