IN LIGHTER VEIN.

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXII, Issue 2409, 9 April 1927, Page 7

IN LIGHTER VEIN.

Wife: “I have found out one thing about that Mrs Newcome. Whoever she is, she has never moved in good society.” Husband: “How did you know that?” “She shakes hands as if she meant it.”

Father (outside tailor’s) : “Willie, I am going to buy you a new pair of trousers. You shall choose them. Which pair doi you want?” Willie gazed at the goods in the shop window for a few moments, and then replied : “Please, may I have those marked ‘Cannot be beaten.’.”

Doctor: “Isn’t this accident very similar to one he had some months ago,” Patient’s Wife: “No, doctor. Last time ’e slipped on a banana skin, but this time it was a piece of orange peel.”

“What’s the matter, old boy?” asked Jimmie’s friend. “I’ve never seen you looking so seedy.” “I’ve got to go abroad at once,” remarked Jimmie gloomily. “Nonsense! Doctors mustn’t Lighten you out of your life like that.” “It wasn’t a doctor. It was a lawyer.”

Elsie: “When is my birthday, mother?” Mother: “On the thirtyfirst- of this month, deal'.” “Oh, mother! Supposing this month had had only thirty days, where would I have been?”

A fashionably-dressed young lady sat in a Scottish train, tenderly holding a lijttle poodle. “Yb canna hao yer dog in here,” said the guard, as he looked at her ticket; “it’s against the rules.” “I shall hold him in my lap all the way, and he will disturb no one,” she replied. “It disna matter,” answered the guard. “Dogs must gang in the brake-van, I’ll fasten him a.‘ riclit for ye.” “I will trust him to no one,” said the lady excitedly, and with indignant tread she marched to the van, tied up, the clog, and then returned to her seat. At the next station when the guard came along, she asked him, “Is my dog all right?” “I’m sure 1 couldna say. You see, yo tied him in a brake that was si am ted at tho last station ”

“When I was only a lad,” continued tho millionaire, who was telling his fellow club members at their annual dinner some of the trouble of his earlier life, “I walked to Devonshire. 1 found a job, and after five years’

hard work managed to save enough to buy a, bicycle.” There was a gasp of astonishment from 'the listeners.

“Not long after,” began tho other afresh, “I got a letter from home. Mother was very ill. So I jumped on the hike and rode into London just in time to hear the doctor say that the fresh air of Devon was the only thing that would save mother.” His audience gasped. “You didn’t take her back?” they gasped. “No,” said the millionaire; “I dragged the old bike in, let the wind out of the tyres, and mothers’ alive to-day. -Qs-

The shades of the goose and the turkey were discussing the circumstances which had attended their respective deaths. ./‘Did you otter any objection when first the cruel farmer laid hands on. you ” sympathetically inquired the gobbler. “Yes,” replied the goose; “I cried out, ‘Holloa! .what’s this’?” “What did you say next?” inquired the nqw thoroughly interested turkey, as the other paused for a. moment. “Oh,” the goose replied, “I did not say anything more just then; I was wrung off.”

Sir Charles Hawtrey, in Ids “The Truth at Last,” says that the two following conundrums were' constantly used in the dinner-party scene in his production, “The Man from Blankney’s” with great success: — “Can you tell me anything of your master’s whereabouts?” a mistress asked her servant one day. “I

couldn’t say, ma’am, but I think they have gone to the wash.” The second conundrum related to a certain family who were very fond of playing bridge. It was in the old days before auction bridge came in. They thought and spoke of nothing else. The father died, and the sons were discussing whether he should be cremated or buried in the usual way. The younger son said, “I will leave it to you,” to which the elder one replied, “Well, let’s make it spades.”

It is said that the following strange and almost unbelievable expressions were once used by the ancient English : “I beg your pardon.” “Hero’s your number, sir.” “Thank you very much for the tip, sir.” “She was actually seen smoking, my dear ?” “Won’t you take my seat, miss?” “Business is absolutely splendid, my dear fellow!” “Efficient cook seeks situation--moderate wages.” “Bovuc costumes shocked the audience. ’ ’ “Do you dance?” “Have you a wireless set?” “I’m satisfied with my wages.” Itawlinson felt that the warning was no longer to be unheeded. Three times ho had dreamt that somewhere concealed in his flat was a quantity of valuable silver. “You are right, John,” said Mrs Rawlinson ; “we must; hunt for it.” That niglvf. fliey spent a, considerable time in knocking the walls to find a hollow place. At last they hit upon it, and after some artistic manipulation of a chisel and a coke-hammer, Rawlinson succeeded in dislodging some bricks. There, bidden on tho other side, lay the realisation of his dreams. Valuable silver plate—only waiting for them to take it-! But just as they were considering how they should spend the money it would realise, there came a furious ring, and their next-door neighbour bounced in. “Whafc the deuce do you mean by breaking into my dining-room cup>board ” be gasped.

A neighbour called to inquire after the health of a man whose wife had been very ill. The man was at worth with saw and hammer in his wood shed.

“How is she?” asked the neighbour.

The husband’s reply was drowned by a sound of coughing inside the house. “Is that her coughin’?” asked tho neighbour. “No,” said the husband, continuing to saw, “’it’s a fowlhouse!”

The village store was over-run by rats, and the proprietor engaged a man to exterminate them. “I must have a. pound of cheese,” the exterminator said. This was given to him. “And a bottle of whisky.” This was provided also.

The man then descended to the cellar, and emerged again in about half-an-hour with red face and glaring eyes. He shook his fists defiantly and shouted : “Now I’m ready. Bring out your rats!”

A London Magistrate was sitting in his private room at a well-known Police Court, waiting to begin tho duties of the day, when the telephone suddenly rang. Taking it up, he heard a woman’s voice in horror-stricken tones, asking him to come and see her at once.

“Why, madam?” he asked. “Oh,” answered the Avoinan, “we have caught a rat in a trap. We are all women here. Can’t you understand? Please come and help us.”

The Magistrate mildly answered that there must be some mistake. He was the Magistrate, and at the Police Court, appointed to deal with prisoners trapped in the cells below. “So sorry, I have got the wrong number,” replied the woman, “but, oh, dear, what can we do?” The Magistrate promised to get into touch with the official rat-catcher of the district.

“Let him come quickly,” pleaded the woman. “If he doesn’t come today, he won't come on Sunday, and it will be terrible if we have to wait till Monday.”

The young man strolled up and down the road waiting for his lady-love. He soon got tired of walking, and leaned against some railings. Then he discovered that they had just been painted.

Furthermofre, the painter was still at his job further down the road. The young man approached him, and said indignantly, “Why don’t) you put ‘Wet Paint’ on. these railings?” The painter, after looking at him for a minute on* so, answered scornfully, “Well, ain’t I?”

“Life,” said the unsuspecting young man, “is what we make it.”

“Then,” replied the coy maid, “suppose you make it diamonds, and I’ll make it hearts.”

Poet: “I propose to publish my poems under the name of John Smith.” Candid Friend: “Well, T don’t think that’s playing the game. Just think of the thousands of innocent men who will be suspected.”

“What! Wed my daughter, sir?” he cried. “Why, she’s my only child.” The young man would not be denied, however—he just smiled. “Oh, that’s all right,” he said, undaunted, “you see, sir, one was all I wanted.”

An enraged angler rushed in to a country hotel and grasped the manager by the arm. “What do you mean by luring anglers here with the promise of fine fishing?” he said. “There isn’t a bit of fishing! about here. Every brook has a sign warning off,” “I didn’t say anything about there being fine fishing,” said the manager calmly. “If you will kindly read my advertisement again, carefully, you will seo whafc I said was ‘Fishing unapproachable’ 1”

The case of the vicar who waxes sarcastic over small foreign coins of negligible value placed in the offertory, recalls the story of the pastor who thus addressed his flock:—-“Members of this congregation who desire to contribute buttons to the collection are requested not to hammer them flat, as doing so' does not improve the contribution’s value as money, but reduces its value as a button.”

A stockbroker, whose good luck was well known, went to dinner with some friends. Presently one man said to him, “I suppose, with your amazing luck, you’ve pulled off any amount of good things lately?” With a twinkle in his eye, the stockbroker replied. “Well, I picked up a good thing recently. It stood at 44 when 1 discovered it, and last week it touched 60.” “Good gracious! What was it?” 'the man demanded. “A thermometer,” said the stockbroker quietly

For a few days before Christmas little Willie, wlio possessed a marvellous appetite, bad, to the surprise of the whole household, been eating comparatively little. At dinner on Christinas Day, however, he recovered, and easily beat all bis previous records. He had three substantial helpings of turkey, any one of which would have been sufficient for an average man. He followed this lip by sending bis plate along four times for plum pudding. When William bad polished off the last of the plum pudding, bis father, after lie had somewhat recovered from his amazement) at the extent of his son’s digestive capacity, asked him sarcastically whether he c-ould not manage a mince pie. After thinking the suggestion over lor a moment or two, the young hopeful replied: “I might manage it, dad—if I stood up.”

. A portly old g€iitl<?i*uui, laden with a travelling rug and several bags, was endeavouring to make a dignified exit from a crowded railway carriage. At the door, however, he stumbled and brought down his foot somewhat heavily on the pet corn of a brawny Scot. “Hoots, toots, man,” groaned the latter, “canna ye lok wliaur ye’re goin’ ? Hoot, man, boot!” After he bad slammed the door behind him, the overburdened traveller put bis head through te window. “Hoot yourself! he retorted. “I’m a traveller, not- a motor car!”