FIFTY-FIFTY.

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXIV, Issue 3327, 13 August 1934, Page 2

FIFTY-FIFTY.

The master of ceremonies, after a flowery speech at a banquet, said: “Gentlemen, the toast is ‘The Ladies,’ bless them; and, after all, they are the sweets of life!” A handsome bachelor rose to support the toast. “Gentlemen,” he said, “the ladies are the sweets of life. One half of them are acid drops and the other half humbugs.” Enid: “Would you believe it? I asked John whether he would rather have me or a million pounds—and he said he’d rather have the million pounds!” Edna: “Well, darling, he knew that if he had the money he’d be sure of getting you as well.” Convict (to prison visitor): teen’s my unlucky number.” Prison Visitor: “Nonsense. Mere superstition. Where have you got that notion from?” Convict: “Whenever I meet a judge an’ a jury I’m booked for quod.” Mrs. Skinflint eyed the box of kippers carefully. “What’s your kippers a pair?” she inquired. “Threepence,” answered the fishmonger. “My word, they’re small for that price,” commented the lady. “Well, yer see, Mrs,” was the reply, “they come from Loch Fyne not Loch Ness!” The assistant in a large store had been transferred from the lending library to the perfumery counter. “Do you recommend this perfume?” asked a lady. “Yes, madame,” was the reply. “It is one of the season’s best smellers.”