The goods, coming into competition with each other, owing to the different parts of the world wherein they were manufactured, produced trouble.
The trouble produced international jealousies.
The international jealousies produced war.
Then the war proceeded to destroy the women and babies, because it was through woman in the beginning that war became possible.
A happily married woman, who had enjoyed thirty-three years of wedlock, and who was the grandmother of four beautiful little children, had an amusing old colored woman for a cook.
One day when a box of especially beautiful flowers was left for the mistress the cook happened to be present, and she said: “Yo’ husband send you all the pretty flowers you gits, Missy?”
“Certainly, my husband, mammy,” proudly answered the lady.
“Glory!” exclaimed the cook, “he suttenly am holdin’ out well.”
The folks in the southern part of Arkansas are not noted for their speed.
A man and his wife were sitting on their porch when a funeral procession passed the house. The man was comfortably seated in a chair that was tilted back against the house, and was whittling a piece of wood. As the procession passed, he said:
“I reckon ol’ man Williams has got about the biggest funeral that’s ever been held around hyer, Caroline.”
“A purty good-sized one, is it, Bud?” queried the wife, making no effort to move.
“Certainly is!” Bud answered.
“I surely would like to see it,” said the woman. “What a pity I ain’t facin’ that way!”
THE OBVIOUS PLACE
What is known in a certain town as “A Shop Carnival” was being held, and little girls represented the various shops. One, dressed in a white muslin frock gaily strung with garlands of bonbons, advertised the local sweet shop.
When the festival began she fairly glistened with attractive confectionery, but as time wore on her decorations grew less. Finally, at the end of the last act, not a bonbon was to be seen.
“Why, Dora,” cried the stage manager, “where in the world are all your decorations? Have you lost them?”
“Oh, no,” replied Dora; “they’re perfectly safe. I’m wearing them inside.”
In war times Cupid is not only active but overworked, and people who have never loved before do not wait upon ceremony. In the spring of 1918, a certain rector, just before the service, was called to the vestibule to meet a couple who wanted to be married. He explained that there wasn’t time for the ceremony then. “But,” said he, “if you will be seated I will give you an opportunity at the end of the service for you to come forward, and I will then perform the ceremony.”