The ocean liner was rolling like a chip, but as usual in such instances one passenger was aggressively, disgustingly healthy.
“Sick, eh?” he remarked to a pale-green person who was leaning on the rail.
The pale-green person regarded the healthy one with all the scorn he could muster. “Sick nothing!” he snorted weakly. “I’m just hanging over the front of the boat to see how the captain cranks it!”
A young married couple who lived near a famous golf-course were entertaining an elderly aunt from the depths of the country.
“Well, Aunt Mary, how did you spend this afternoon?” asked the hostess on the first day.
“Oh, I enjoyed myself very much,” replied Auntie with a beaming smile, “I went for a walk across the fields. There seemed to be a great many people about, and some of them shouted to me in a most eccentric manner, but I just took no notice. And, by the way,” she went on, “I found such a number of curious little round white things. I brought them home to ask you what they are.”
A colored man entered the general store of a small Ohio town and complained to the storekeeper that a ham that he had purchased there a few days before had proved not to be good.
“The ham is all right, Joe,” insisted the storekeeper.
“No, it ain’t, boss,” insisted the other. “Dat ham’s sure bad.”
“How can that be,” continued the storekeeper, “when it was cured only last week?”
Joe reflected solemnly a moment, and then suggested:
“Maybe it’s done had a relapse.”
A celebrated author thus sketched out his daily programme to an interviewer: Rise at 11; breakfast at 12; attention to mail; a few afternoon calls; a ride in the park; dinner; the theatre, and then to bed.
“But when do you do your literary work?” he was asked.
“Why, the next day, of course,” was the reply.
At a parade of a company of newly-called-up men the drill instructor’s face turned scarlet with rage as he slated a new recruit for his awkwardness.
“Now, Rafferty,” he roared, “you’ll spoil the line with those feet. Draw them back at once, man, and get them in line.”
Rafferty’s dignity was hurt.
“Plaze, sargint,” he said, “they’re not mine; they’re Micky Doolan’s in the rear rank!”
The manager of a big Australian sheep-ranch engaged a discharged sailor to do farm work. He was put in charge of a large flock of sheep.
“Now, all you’ve got to do,” explained the manager, “is to keep them on the run.”
A run is a large stretch of bushland enclosed by a fence, and sheep have many ingenious methods of escaping from their own to neighboring runs and so getting mixed up with other flocks.