Wit and Humour

Evening Post, Volume CXXXI, Issue 3, 4 January 1941, Page 11

Wit and Humour

Lucky is the bride who marries the best man at her wedding. -

HOME'LIFE OF A PLAYWRIGHT.

An American playwright noticed] her coloured maid pause in her cleaning of the apartment to pick up the manuscript of a new and very unsold play. The girl read for a minute and then- broke ■ into hilarious laughter. Naturally much pleased, the playwright asked what had. struck her as so funny. "No passage at all, missy, no passage at all," replied the domestic. "It just don't take much to make me laugh." Employer (to newly-hired typist): Now, I hope you thoroughly understand the importance of punctuation? Stenographer: Oh", yes, indeed. I always get- to" work on time. . ■ j^ ALMOST. " Charlie was the most bashful lad in the village. Naturally thre family were astonished whe* he told them one evening he was going courting. After spending over an hour getting ready, he set out. Half an hour later he returned, looking very pleased with himself. . "You're back soon," said his mother. "How did you get on?" "All right," replied Charlie, with a grin.: "Did you see her?" "Ay, I did an' all. An' if Oi 'adn't ducked down be'ind the 'edge, she'd 'aye seen Oi, too." THE BITTER END. j A party was paying a visit to the docks and for one of their number the endless row of buckets in a dredger seemed to have a great fascination. While the others went off to enjoy themselves this man kept his gaze fixed firmly on the dredger. Several hours later his friends found him at the same spot. When they told him the train would leave without him if he did not hurry, he exclaimed, "I don't care; I've counted 11,963, and I mean to- see the last bucket if I stay all night 1" ■ . . : - TRUE TO'SCALE. . The patient suffering from poor health had just been examined by his doctor. . . • ' • "Tell me," the medical man said, "what was the .most you ever weighed?" . . "Thirteen stone six, doctor," the man replied. •'■""■. "Yes? And what was the least?" "Seven and three-quarter pounds!" NOT SO BAD. A stranded British actor went into a sordid hash.house in New York for a cheap meal,. In the waiter he was horrified to recognise a colleague who had played with him in London. "Goodness!!' he gasped. "You a waiter in this place!" . . "Yes, but I don't.eat here," replied the other with some dignity. AWAY FROM IT ALL. "So you're an actor," remarked the first man. '"■„,, "Yes," replied the other: "and you?" "I'm a banker. And, would you believe that I haven't been in a theatre for five years?" "Well, it's longer than that since I was in a bank."

OTHER .WAY ROUND.

"Has this man got an account here?" asked the caller at the bank in the wild and woolly West.

"Why, yes," said the manager. "Then why did you return his cheque to me marked 'No funds'?" "Oh," replied the manager, "that doesn't mean this man has no funds. It means the bank has no funds."

;■'. less. . ... Mistress (hearing crash in kitchen): More dishes, Mary? Mary: No, Ma'am, less.

DIG THEM UP!

Farmer: Do you guarantee these clover seeds to grow?"

Clerk: Absolutely. If these seeds don't grow just bring them back and we'll refund your money any day.

TOO GOOD TO WASTE,

With wild despair in his eyes and a quiver in his voice, the rejected suitor made his last plea. "Is this absolutely final?" he sighed. "You won't marry me?"

"Quite final," the girl of his heart replied coldly. "Shall I return your letters?"

Then the worm turned.

"Please do," he retorted. "There are some good bits in them that I'd like to use again."

BETTER BIT,

Donovan came to town for ■ Christmas and' called ■on his friend Hahlon. Hanlon had made, "money and welcomed the opportunity of showing off.

The first night he took his friend to a fashionable .l.otel, and told the waiter to bring a couple of cocktails. Donovan looked puzzled, then decided it was time to intervene.

"If it's all the same to ye, waiter," he said, "I'd rather be havin' a wing."

RAILROADED

Father had his little daughter on his knee.

"What are you going to do when you grow up?" he asked her.

"I'm going to marry an engineer," replied the child.

"And what kind?" he asked, civil engineer?"

"Oh," replied the little girl, "it doesn't matter what kind. I'll soon make him civil."

KNEW THE ANSWER,

The speaker was working up to the conclusion of his rather tedious ■speech; it only remained to wipe out the heckler who had made his evening a misery throughout. "A man," , he. cried, glaring at the interrupter, "a man who gives in when he is wrong. is a wise man. If I were wrong I would not hesitate to yield. But what, my friends, of the man who gives in when he knows he is right? What kind of a man is he?" "A married man," said a quiet voice from the back of the crowd.

ACROBAT,

Mistress: What's wrong, Mary? You look worried. Maid: It's that there baker, mum. 'E's been an' gone an' never cornel A former telegraph messenger is said to be shaping well as a bowler. Will he be known for his slow deliveries? "There is an opening," says a manufacturer, "for a new summer drink." —Yes, just above the chin. ONE OF THEM? "Mr. Jenkins always has the most peculiar collection of guests at his house parties," said the auditor. "How do you know?" inquired the bland bookkeeper. "Well, I'll be going now. Don't trouble to see me to the door." "No trouble at all. It's a pleasure." BEING SPECIFIC. Mrs. Modern (calling to husband upstairs): Will you bring down my hat, dear? Husband: Well, I don't know the difference between your hat and your handbag. Which is which? Mrs. Modern: The one without any money in is my hat, darling. NOT WHAT SHE MEANT. It was the day of the country golf championship, held at the Biffem Golf Club and John Jones was starting his first round. Now, without doubt, Jones was a good golfer, but on occasions like this he became terribly nervous, and today was no exception, especially as rather a large crowd had assembled to watch the players drive off. Mrs. Jones stood among the spectators, and she was filled with pride as Jones took his stance at the first tee. After a little flourish he swung his club and missed. Dead silence reigned. Another swing and he missed again. For the third time he tried, but again he missed.* This tinfe the crowd broke into a burst of laughter. Jones's wife was furious at their derision, and shouted:-— •■■ it "It's no laughing matter. Nobody hates his misses more than my husband!" • ± She still' wonders why the laughter grew. louder than ever. "As a result of rationing, bacon may disappear from the English breakfasttable," we read/ It always did. ! Nervous Householder (interrupting two burglars at work): D-d-don't mind j me. I'm only w-walking in my s-s-sleep. COVERED. Three little boys were boasting about their parents and their belongings. "Well," said the first boy, "my father is going to build a house with a steeple on it." "Oh, that's nothing!" exclaimed the second boy, "my father is going to build a house with a flagpole on it. Then the third boy exclaimed triumphantly/ "That's nothing. My father's going to build a house with a mortgage on it." THE WORD TOO MUCH. Every Saturday the "charlady" came to clean up for the weekend. She timed her arrival to fit in with the lunch-time washing-up and other things. . ... „ Then she began "missing her time, and pleaded that she just, popped into a milk-bar' for a "cupper tea." One day the "tea" must have been very strong, because she was very talkative. . , . , "I do like parrots!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "They're such clever birds There's one at the milk-bar where I 'as me cupper tea, which says 'Good-morning,' and 'Good afternoon, and 'Time gentlemen, please!

LEFT.

"Yes I've moved out into the country. It certainly has its inconveniences." . ,„„ "What do you miss most? _ "The last train home at nignt.

ON THE JOB

"What is your occupation?" asked the Magistrate. "I'm a locksmith, sir," replied the prisoner. . ~ , "Then what were you doing m that gambling house when the police raided it?" '"I was making a bolt for the door.

STILL GAME,

Kindly people had provided a very fine Christmas tea for the evacuated children living in the village, who did justice to the loaded tables. Presently one small boy began to look uncomfortable. One of the hostesses said to him, rather unnecessarily: "Have you had sufficient?" The six-year-old cast his glassy eyes round the ravaged table. _ "No," he murmured; 'where is it.'

"This noisy modern world of ours must be very trying to old-fashioned ghosts," remarks a writer. Some of the poor things can hardly hear themselves shriek.

"As soon as our wedding was over, we drove away in a car." "Where did you spend your honeymoon?" "In hospital."

There are several writers by the name of Wells, but the most famous of them all is H. G. Wells, the British historian and writer of fantastic fiction.

That is one reason why a certain librarian was very eager to please a patron the other day who came up to her desk and asked her about a •book.

"I want a book on Wells," he said. '.'Do. you want an autobiography?" the librarian asked. The patron eyed the librarian blankly. "Huh?" he said by way of making himself clear. "Did you want something on his life?" the librarian said to make it plain. Unable to conceal his impatience any longer, the patron blurted out: "Lady, I just want to know how to dig 'em."