Two suburban gardeners were swearing vengeance on cats.
“It appears to me,” one said, “that they seem to pick out your choicest plants to scratch out of the ground.”
“There’s a big tomcat,” the other said, “that fetches my plants out and then sits and actually defies me.”
“Why don’t you hurl a brick at him?” asked the first speaker.
“That’s what makes me mad,” was the reply. “I can’t. He gets on top of my greenhouse to defy me.”
A little boy was on his knees recently one night, and auntie, staying at the house, was present.
“It is a pleasure,” she said to him, afterward, “to hear you saying your prayers so well. You speak so earnestly and seriously, and mean what you say, and care about it.”
“Ah!” he answered, “ah, but, auntie, you should hear me gargle!”
“Germany’s claim that she imports nothing, buys only of herself, and so is growing rich from the war, is a dreadful fallacy.”
The speaker was Herbert C. Hoover, chairman of the American Food Board.
“Germany,” he went on, “is like the young man who wisely thought he’d grow his own garden stuff. This young man had been digging for about an hour when his spade turned up a quarter. Ten minutes later he found another quarter. Then he found a dime. Then he found a quarter again.
“‘By gosh!’ he said, ‘I’ve struck a silver mine,’ and, straightening up, he felt something cold slide down his leg. Another quarter lay at his feet. He grasped the truth: There was a hole in his pocket.”
Out at the front two regiments, returning to the trenches, chanced to meet. There was the usual exchange of wit.
“When’s the bloomin’ war goin’ to end?” asked one north-country lad.
“Dunno,” replied one of the south-shires. “We’ve planted some daffydils in front of our trench.”
“Bloomin’ optimists!” snorted the man from the north. “We’ve planted acorns.”
The way they take air raids in England is illustrated by the following conversation from Punch:
“Just ask Dr. Jones to run round to my place right away. Our cook’s fallen downstairs—broke her leg; the housemaid’s got chicken-pox, and my two boys have been knocked down by a taxi.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but the doctor was blown up in yesterday’s air raid, and he won’t be down for a week.”
HOW MARY LOST A TIP
Soon after a certain judge of the Supreme Court of Rhode Island had been appointed he went down into one of the southern counties to sit for a week. He was well satisfied with himself.
“Mary,” he said to the Irish waitress at the hotel where he was stopping, “you’ve been in this country how long?”