“That American flag makes me sick. It looks just like a piece of checkerberry candy.”
Senator Lodge, who was standing near by, overheard the remark, and turning to the young lady, said:
“Yes, miss, it does. And it makes everyone sick who tries to lick it.”
WHAT HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN
Being well equipped physically, Michael Murphy had no difficulty in holding his job as village sexton, until the first interment, when he was asked to sign the certificate. “Oi can’t write,” said Mike, and was discharged.
Out of a job, Mike turned to contracting and in time became wealthy and a figure in his community. When he applied to the leading bank for a loan of fifty thousand dollars, he was assured that he could get it—and was asked to sign the necessary notes. Again he was obliged to reply: “Oi can’t write.”
The banker was astounded. “And you have accumulated all this wealth and position without knowing how to write!” he exclaimed. “What would you have been to-day if you could write?”
Mike paused a moment, and answered:
“Oi would have been a sexton.”
Two Irishmen were working on the roof of a building one day when one made a mis-step and fell to the ground; the other leaned over and called: “Are ye dead or alive, Mike?”
“I’m alive,” said Mike, feebly.
“Sure, yer such a liar I don’t know whether to believe ye or not.”
“Well, then, I must be dead,” said Mike, “for ye would never dare to call me a liar if I were alive.”
They were a very saving old couple, and as a result they had a beautifully furnished house. One day the old woman missed her husband. “Joseph, where are you?” she called out.
“I’m resting in the parlor,” came the reply.
“What, on the sofy?” cried the old woman, horrified.
“No, on the floor.”
“Not on that grand carpet!” came in tones of anguish.
“No; I’ve rolled it up!”
HOW COULD HE KNOW?
The youth seated himself in the dentist’s chair. He wore a wonderful striped shirt and a more wonderful checked suit and had the vacant stare of “nobody home” that goes with both.
The dentist looked at his assistant. “I am afraid to give him gas,” he said.
“Why?” asked the assistant.
“Well,” said the dentist, “how can I tell when he’s unconscious?”
In a rural court the old squire had made a ruling so unfair that three young lawyers at once protested against such a miscarriage of justice. The squire immediately fined each of the lawyers five dollars for contempt of court.