On the journey back at the station he gave the gateman his marriage certificate in mistake for his return railway ticket.
The official studied it carefully, and then said: “Yes, my boy, you’ve got a ticket for a long, wearisome journey, but not on this road.”
A TRUE OPTIMIST
It was Christmas Eve in camp, and very cold at that. There was a certain amount of confusion owing to the Christmas festivities and leave, and so forth, and one man was unable to find any of his outer garments. He wandered about, asking all his mates if they knew where they were.
“Has any one seen my b-b-blanket?” he demanded, and was told that no one had.
“Has any one seen my t-t-trousers?”
The unfortunate Tommy scratched his head for a moment.
“Well, I’m jolly g-g-glad I have got a nice w-w-warm pair of sus-sus-suspenders.”
TIT FOR TAT
The young couple were dawdling over a late breakfast after a night at an ultra smart party.
“Was it you I kissed in the conservatory last night?” hubby inquired.
She looked at him reminiscently: “About what time was it?”
TOO GOOD TO BE WASTED
A lady of great beauty and attractiveness, who was an ardent admirer of Ireland, once crowned her praise of it at a party by saying:
“I think I was meant for an Irishwoman.”
“Madam,” rejoined a witty son of Erin, who happened to be present, “thousands would back me in saying you were meant for an Irishman.”
The pale-faced passenger looked out of the car window with exceeding interest. Finally he turned to his seat mate.
“You likely think I never rode in the cars before,” he said, “but the fact is, pardner, I just got out of prison this mornin’ and it does me good to look around. It is goin’ to be mighty tough, though, facin’ my old-time friends. I s’pose, though, you ain’t got much idea how a man feels in a case like that.”
“Perhaps I have a better idea of your feelings than you think,” said the other gentleman, with a sad smile. “I am just getting home from Congress.”
Lysander, a farm hand, was recounting his troubles to a neighbor. Among other things he said that the wife of the farmer who employed him was “too close for any use.” “This very mornin’,” said he, “she asked me: ‘Lysander, do you know how many pancakes you have et this mornin’?’ I said, ’No, ma’am; I ain’t had no occasion to count ’em,’ ‘Well,’ says she, ‘that last one was the twenty-sixth.’ And it made me so mad I jest got up from the table and went to work without my breakfast!”