HUMOUR- More or Less

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume LIX, Issue 17911, 15 October 1932, Page 13

HUMOUR - More or Less

“We cannot avoid the Irish problem.” England must still stand Pat! They were on a farmhouse holiday, and after the first night Smith was a bit out of sorts. ' ]'ve had practically no sleep," he complained to his wife. “Those beastly roosters have been crowing out there, in the barn since dawn.” ‘•Well, darling,” murmured 1 1 is wife, sweetly, "once when you got up early you crowed iiboui it for at least a week.” “Major Nil-kails tells, in his volume of reminiscences, about a fellow member on the Slock Exchange who bored everyone with stories about Ids wonderful house arid poultry run. (hie dux* tins loquacious bore enlarged on the fact that a hen pheasant had come to feed with Ins chickens and was now in a wire cage. They decided, something must be clone. ‘‘Oil arriving home one evening this man was met by Ids wife arrayed in her l est clothes and greeted with the remark : “-.Oh, cuv dear, where’s your friend Walker ?’’ He replied that he knew no one of - that. name. “But,” said she, “you sent me a wire at midday saying: ‘‘Walker coming to dinner, kill the lien pheasant, and I’ve got such a lovely dinner for you!” * * a *• ITenrv had been friendly with Mary for over 10 years. Tn all that time ho had never suggested that they should marry. | One day while they were seated lo- - gather in the parlor she picked up courtage to ask him a question: 1 “Henry, dear,” slm commenced, “we’ve i been going out together now for something like 10 years, haven’t wc?” ; “les. Mary,” he said, with a vacant smile, “and it’s been lovely, too.” “'Of course, dear,”, she said. “But don’t you think it's about time that we got married?” Ho shrugged his shoulders despairingly. | “Eh. lass, you’re quite right,” he replied, "hut who’ll have us?” j** * * , Two young ladies entered a tram in , which there was only standing room. , G-ne of them whispered to her companion : “I’m going to got a seat from one of these men. Just see how easy it is.” j 'Sho looked clown the row of men and seki.-tod a sedate, middle-aged mail. Then she boldly opened fire : I “My clear 'Mr. er—l forget your name—how delighted I am to meet you I You are almost a stranger. Will I accept your seal ? Well. 1 do feel tired, I admit. Thank you so much.” j Ihe sedate gentleman—a total stranger, • of course—quietly arose and gave her his seat. J "Sit down, Jane, my girl,” he remarked, loudly. “I don’t often see you out <m a washing-day. You must feel tired, ! I’m sure. How is your mistress?” Tim young lady took the seat, but she appeared to have lost, her spirits. * * * * ) The tactful orator: “Mr. E. W. 11. Wimvood, of Worcester, visited Birmingham Prison on Sunday and addressed about 200 male and female prisoners on ‘The Art of the Furniture Remover.’ ” —London Observer. i • * * * * j - A man was being tried for diunkerincs’s. A constable was the only witness. “What was the accused doing when you arrested him, constable?” asked the magistrate. The constable gave a sharp cough and then replied: “Well, sir, lie was on Iris hands and knees in the middle of the main road trying to roll up a white traffic line. He said lie wan,tod to take it home for a frieze for his drawingloom.” i * «- * * | That Tired Feeling. The business man who complains about his staff restarting work in a spiritless manner when coming buck from holidays should remember that no one feels cheerful the morning after the fortnight before.—Punch. 1 His Move. j A young London girl who was holidaying in the country became rather friendly with a young farmer. Oneevening, as they were strolling in the fields, they happened across a cow and a calf rubbing noses- in the accepted j bovine fashion. “Ah,” said the young farmer, I “that sight .makes me want to do the f same.” j “Well, go ahead,” said the gill encouragingly. “It’s your cow.” Thanks a Lot. The late James J. Hill was inspoct- [ ing his railroad with an imposing i group of officers. At Minot, N.D., J the party walked down the ties on a section of roadbed. First came Mr. Hill, then the vice-president, the general superintendent, and so on down to the rotulmastcr, and finally Mike Cassidy, the section boss. Mr. Hill picked a brand new spike out of the gravel, and as lie handed it back to the vice-president, lie remarked that; this whs a case of carelessness which would have to be explained. The , spike was passed back down the line, from officer to officer, until it reached the roadmastcr and Mike. “Mike,” said the roadmastcr, “Mr. Hill just picked this spike up, and he wants to know why company property is left lying around this way.” | “Well, thank God for Mr. Hill,” j replied the section foreman. “I’v>; ] had six men searching for that spike for four days.” A Grand Funeral? j Here is one of the best stories heard i in Dublin during the Eucharistic Con- ' gross. I On the day of the garden party at Blucknock, when the road out was crammed with slowly moving cars, a man in a taxicab turned to his friend and said, “ ’Twould be a grand funeral if you were the corpse,” Interference. j On the concert programme of one of the larger orchestras, not so many weeks ago, was Beethoven V ‘ Leonoro ’ ’ overture, the two climaxes of which are each followed by a trumpet passage offstage. The first climax came, but not a sound emanated from the trumpet. 'The conductor, considerably annoyed, went on to the second. Again there was silence. This time, the overture being finished, he rushed into the iviugs. There he found the trumpet player still arguing with the house fireman. “I tell you, you can’t play that thing back here,” the latter was saving. “There’s a concert going on.”