Wit and Humour

Evening Post, Volume CXXXII, Issue 77, 27 September 1941, Page 15

Wit and Humour

When a very fat gentleman mounted the weighing machine he was at once surrounded by a curious crowd of youngsters. The machine was out of order a_vd the indicator did not move.

"Coo!" said a little girl. "'E must be holler."

"My new maid is a treasure," said Mrs. Smythe, proudly. "I had a bridge party the other day, and one player 'phoned at the last minute to say she couldn't come.

"How annoying!" exclaimed her friend, sympathetically.

"Oh, it didn't matter, you see. The maid put on one of my frocks and made up the four." 'That was very helpful." "It was indeed; and I won her week's wages back!"

This story won first prize in a competition run by an American periodical for stories of brevity and dramatic content, .

Elvina Parker received a telegram from her brother, who was accompanying her husband on a big game expedition in Africa. The telegram read: "Bob killed lion hunting.—Fred."

Elvina, overcome with grief, wired back: "Send him home.—Elvina."

Some weeks later a large packing case arrived from Africa. Inside was a lion. Elvina sent a telegram: "Lion received. Must be mistake. Send Bob.—Elvina."

Back from Africa came the reply: "No mistake. Bob in lion.—Fred."

"What shots have given y^u yourself the most worry?" the beginner asked the ex-open champion.

"The shots that have always worried me most," the veteran replied, "are those that my opponents have forgotten to count." The beginner looked thoughtfully for a moment and then decided to tear up the score card on which he had kept a record of their round.

A little worm was feeling lonely, so he popped out and looked about for someone to play with.

At last he noticed another little worm, and said, "Will you come and play?"

The other little worm replied "Don't be daft. I'm your other end."

"We had a wonderful trip.. We saw snow-crested summits leaping toward the cerulean heavens; we saw foaming torrents raging through the bottoms of shadowy canyons; we looked down from beetling crags into the depths of limpid lak s; we traversed sylvan glades shot with flashes of golden sunlight; we—"

"How many miles to the gallon did you get?"

"See here," exclaimed the stranger, as he stumbled into his twentieth puddle. "I thought you said you knew where all the bad places were on this road?"

"Weil," replied the native, who had volunteered to guide him through the dark, "we're a-findin' of them, ain't we?"