A butcher (to boy whistling outside ,his shop): Whr.t are, ye makin’ that noise fur, ye young scamp? Boy: I’ve lost ma dang. Butcher: Weel, d’ye think I’ve'got. him ?. . Boy: I dinna ken, but every time I whustle they sausages move.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/GEST19380602.2.61.2
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Greymouth Evening Star, 2 June 1938, Page 8
Word Count
41Page 8 Advertisements Column 2 Greymouth Evening Star, 2 June 1938, Page 8
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