IN MERRIER MOOD

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 137, 11 June 1932, Page 2 (Supplement)

IN MERRIER MOOD

e J Prize for Best Story r I For the best anecdote sent in each week y '' B a P rize of Five Shillings ie awarded. | 11 1 The p r i ze this week goes to Miss J. ; s § \if Fox, 39, Grey Street, Hamilton East, 5 I ' " HARD WORK." | In mi iimiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiimimnimiiiimniiiiiiiimimuiH uiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiumiMiiieiMßmnmmiimiiiweiia

5 1 HARD WORK. | l Molly hud been to church for the first ' lime and on her return home her mother , asked her if she liked.it. '' "Yes," said the little girl, "but there was 0110 thing 1 didn't think at all fair. , ' "What was that, dear?" asked her ' mother. 3 "Well," eaid Molly. "One man did f all the work, and he did work hard some- " times, but another man came round and 8 got all the money." ' HOME MADE. 3 Police: How did you come to get that ' jar of honey. 1 Tramp: Well, I own I keep no bees, . but what's to stop a chap (squeezing it • out of the flowers himself? FOR A RAINY DAY. ' "I observe that you do a great many ; favours for that influential citizen." ' "Those aren't favours," answered \ Senator Sorghum; "those are invest- ' uiciite." SHORT MEASURE. 1 Admirer: It's a most extraordinary - thing, but every dance I've had with you has been very short. Flapper: Yes, I suppose so. You see, the louder of the band happens to be my fiance. TRUSTING. Friend: Your husband is simply crazy about you, isn't he? Young Bride: Yee. He raves about me in his sleep, but he's bo absentminded that he always calls me by the wrong name. STUDENT OF CONCENTRATION." Irate Parent: Didn't I see you kiss my daughter, sir? Nervy Youth: How should I know? Do you think I'd be gawking around when I was doing a thing like that? GIVE 'EM A BLANKET. A man was complaining of the lack of warmth in the boardinghouse in which he was staying. "In the daytime it is bad enough," he said, "but at night I frequently wake up and hear my teeth chattering on the dressing table. MUDDLED. The shy young curate was trying to describe his holidays. "Did you manage to get any fishing?" asked his hostess. "Oh, yes," he answered. "Quite a lot; mostly perch and chub, though they were not very large. Which do you prefer, Mre. Vernon—cherch or pub?" CUTTING. Nerve Specialist: You must give up your cocktails and night clubs, and you must stop smoking. Lady: But I don't do any of those things. Nerve Specialist: And I will give you a letter to my friend, Sir Julius Bronson. He will prescribe for your lose of memory. PAGE HENRY VIII. The movie actor who had been divorced four times proposed again. "Why, I rather like you, John," said the young woman, "but, you see, I've heard so many things about you—" "My dear," interrupted the inuchmarried actor, "you really must not believe these old wives' tales." THE LOGICAL CONCLUSION. "Oh, mother, look at those little tiny CIWK." cried a child, gazing out of a raiiway carriage window. "Those are Highland cattle, dear." replied the mother; "they are always small." "Are' they the they get the con(lensed milk from?" was the child's next query. A LIKENESS. The new asylum superintendent was walking around the grounds. One of the inmates asked him who he was. "Oh, I am the new superintendent." "What have they done with that other bloke who used to look after us?" "Oh, he's left, and I am here now to look after yon chaps. - ' "Oh, thank God for that, for you looks like one of we." THE REASON WHY. The club bore had buttonholed the reading room's only other occupant. "Yes," he said in very serious tones, "iu these hard times every man should make his will. Have you made your will, sir?" "No!" snapped buck the bored member. The bore shook his head gravely. "And why haven't you'.'" he asked. "I have no wife, no children, no job, and no money," said the ether.

I Relief. "I liear you and Joan are a happy married couple." "Yes, the judge has just promised to give us a divorce." Opening Up the Big Game. "What's your husband working on now?" the chemist's wife wae asked. "Anti-freeze solution that can be put into bank assets," replied the wife. What Price Crimson? President of Boxing Club: Now there is the question of colours. Any suggestions? Member: I suggest black and blue. Epitaph. Jlcrc lies a man who saved h!s all For days when the rain and snow should fall; He knew no pleasure, shared no game— And died before the blizzard cam*. Forced. "What is the name of that selection your daughter sang?" asked the musialoving guest. "That wasn't a selection," replied the father. "It was forced on us." Waiting. "Do you know, John," remarked Mrs. Jaggs, as her husband stumbled upstairs, "that I've been awake for hours waiting for you to come home from the club." "If that isn't like a woman!" growled Jaggs. "And I've been at the club for hours waiting for you to go to sleep." Prosy. "My husband is merely a manufacturer of waste-baskets," sighed the woman with aspirations. "It seems such a prosy occupation." "On the contrary, there is really much poetry in waste-baskets/ , replied the unappreciated bard. Sympathy. The vicar had called on the widow to offer his condolence. "That you have the sympathy of all the village should be some comfort to you," ho murmured, "and you know to whom to turn for consolation." "Yes," she said between sobs, "but I don't think he'll marry me with three children." Bolted. The two ladies met, as ladies will, when out marketing. "And 'ow's your poor 'usband, Mrs. Blown?" asked one, after a while, "I did 'ear as 'owe was at death's door." "Oh, 'e's all right," replied Mrs. B. "Death must 'ave known the old 'umbug as well as I do—and kept the door bolted." What's in a Man? Dr. T. E. Lavvson's prescription for a man hae aroused some interest. Take: Enough water to fill a ten-gallon barrel. Enough fat for seven bars of soap. Carbon for 9000 lead pencils. Phosphorus to make 2200 matchheads. Magnesium for one dose of salts. Iron to make one medium-sized nail. Sufficient lime to whitewash a chicken coop. Sulphur enough to rid one dog of /leas— and you get an Einstein or a village idiot, according as you arrange the ingrediente. A pugilist,'no doubt, will require a little more water, and a jockey a little less fat—but that is the stuff of humanity. Item No. 3 seems to indicate that man was predestined to authorship.