Humour of the Week

Timaru Herald, Volume CXXV, Issue 18536, 5 April 1930, Page 10 (Supplement)

Humour of the Week

Fashion Note. “Well, skirts had to be longer.” “Yes, to be skirts any longer.” Obedience. “Does your wife obey you?” “She does. Then years ago, when we were married, I told her to run the house just as she pleased. And she has!” Silent Comfort. “My wife used to play the piano a lot, but since the children came she doesn’t have time.” “Children are a comfort, aren’t they?” Delicacies. Explorer's Wife: “Look! that wretched Eskimo you brought back from the Arctic is eating all the candles on your birthday cake!” Judging by Looks. Hawker: “Any beer bottles, lady?” Lady: “Do I look as if I drank beer?” Hawker: “Well, vinegar bottles, lady?” More Convenient. Prospective Employer: “Are you one of those girls who watch the clock?” Fair Applicant: “Oh, no, not at all. I have a wrist watch.” Proof in Evidence. “Call these prize cattle? Why, they ain’t nothing to what our folks raise. My father raised the biggest calf of any man around our parts.” “Don’t doubt it,” remarked a bystander, “and the noisiest.” i A Problem. Miss Sappe: "Yes. the captain has asked me to sit on his right hand for dinner to-night.” Mr Witte: “You don’t say so? Then what’s he going to stir his coffee with?” Careful Cleaning. “What's the first thing you do when cleaning your rifle?” the sergeant demanded. “Look at the number,” said the newcomer. “Oh,” barked the sergeant, “and what’s the big idea?” “To make sure I don’t clean someone else’s.” Stilling the Ocean. He wrote: “Nothing you may do, dearest, can still the ocean of emotion in my heart.” She wrote: “Enclosed herewith, dearest, please find my last hat bill.” Just For Luck. Sandy was about to pay a visit to London, and his friend Angus was giving him a little advice and a few hints on what to do during the journey. “And, mon,” said Angus, “it’s supposed to be very lucky if you throw a halfpenny out of the carriage windows as you pass over all the river bridges on your journey south.” Sandy thanked his friend and set out for the train. Two days passed, and on the third, Angus received a letter from his friend. It read: “Thank ye for your advice about the halfpennies, Angus; I managed to do this all right crossing the Dee, and it was all right crossing the Tay Bridge; but when I came to the Forth Bridge the string- got mixed up with the girders, and I lost my halfpenny.—Sandy. Money Orders. The very strict army colonel was taking his Sunday walk in the park when a beggar approached and held out his hand. “Spare a trifle, sir,” pleaded the man unhappily. “I'm an old soldier.” "Old soldier, eh!*’ roared the colonel fiercely. “I’ll see if you’re an old soldier or not. Now, then, carry out my orders. Attention!” The beggar's feet came smartJy together. “Eyes right!” barked the old colonel. And followed up with “Stand at ease!” “There you are, guv’nor ” said the beggar, “that proves it.” “Yes, but what comes next?” asked the colonel. “Present alms,” replied the other. A Useful Present. “What’s the price of that book in the window called ‘How to Captivate Men’?” asked the little girl of the bookshop assistant. The man looked very dubiously at the little girl. “That’s not the sort of book for you,” he said. “What do you want it for?” “Well, I want to give it to my father,” replied the child. “It’s his birthday to-morrow.” “But surely there are hundreds of other books that he would like,” advised the assistant. “Perhaps so,” went on the little girl; “but I though that book would be the most useful; you see, he’s a policeman.” Within the Law. Saturday afternoon was set apart for the village brass band to have its weekly practice. With a view to demonstrating the band’s ability to a new justice of the peace, the bandmaster decided to stop outside his house and play a few tunes. The J.P., however, was in a very bad temper that afternoon, and the band playing outside his house did not help to soothe it. “Look here,” he cried, rushing up to the bandmaster, “if you don’t stop that infernal row I’ll have to call a policeman!” “Can't do that, sir,” returned the bandmaster, “it’s 'im what's making the most noise; he’s the trombone player.”

Father Knew. * “How did your father know we went ; out in the car yesterday?” ! “Quite simple! You know that stout man we ran over? That was father.” Well Punctuated. Mother: “Now', Willie, be a good boy and eat up your figs.” Willie: “I don’t like them, mother. They’re just skins full of full stops.” The Dilemna. The employer called his secretary. “Here, John, look at this letter. I can’t make out whether it’s from my tailor or my lawyer. They’re both named Smith.” And this is what John read: “I have begun your suit. Ready to be tried on Thursday.—Smith.” Radical Revision. “Why is Murray Rime looking so sad?” “He sent his poem, ‘The Memory of a Moth,’ to an editorial friend for revision!” “Well, what happened?” “The editor changed the title, omitted 11 verses, and rewrote the others!” One in a Thousand. The policeman on duty at Lincoln’s Ihn Fields was accosted by a man who looked as though he had come up from the country. “Excuse me,” said the visitor, “I’ve got an appoinment wi’ a chap in this square, but I’ve lost his name and Address. ’Owever, you’ll soon be able to put me right, I reckon, because—trumphantly—’e’s a lawyer, ’e Is.” Our Young Hopeful. He steals the jam and strews the floor With junk of every kind; He tracks the kitchen, slams the door, And can’t be made to mind. He teases Tabby, riles the cook, And throws arounds his toys. He mutilates each treasured book, And drives us mad with noise. He wrecks the garden, runs away, And fights for all he’s worth. What would we take for him? What Eh? Not anything on earth! Not Quite the Score. “Hallo. Bill! ’Ow did you get on today against Biffen Rovers?” asked Tom. “Oh,” said Bill, “we gave ’em a good run for their money, even though they beat us.” “Play in goal as usual?” asked Tom. “Yes,” replied Bill, “and if it hadn’t been for me in goal w T e would have lost by about 20 goals to nothing.” “Well done, Bill,” prised Tom, “a. what was the final score?” “Nineteen-nil.” A Heavy Smoker. “You are a heavy smoker, sir,” said an Irishman to an American. “Yes,” replied the American. “I am so fond of smoking that I have made a very curious provision in my will.” “What’s the provison?” asked the Irishman. “The provision is that when I die a supply of cigarettes be buried with me.” “Begorra!” retorted the Irishman: “you won’t have far to go for a light!” A Mixed Mall. A farmer wrote to the editor of an agricultural paper asking for a method of ridding his orchard of the grasshopper plague. In the same mail the editor received a requisition for advice from an anxious mother about her twins, who were having a hard time teething. The farmer received his reply; "Wrap flannel cloths around their throats. Rub gums twice daily with castor oil, and massage their stomachs. The anxious mother received this startling reply: “Cover with dry straw. Soak thoroughly with coal oil and apply match. The little pests will soon stop bothering you.” Looking Ahead. It was the day before Billy’s birthday. “I want you to come with me to choose a new pair of trousers,” said the boy’s mother. “They will be a present from father and myself.” Reaching the village High Street, mother and son made a good inspection of the shops. “Have you seen a pair that you like yet?” asked mother, as they were gazing in to a clothier’s shop. “Not yet, mum!” replied the boy. Presently they moved on to another shop, and before the boy’s mother had time to look around Billy gave an exclamation of delight. “I’ve decided, mum,” he said. “I’ll have that pair marked, ‘Cannot be beaten’.” Not Made to Measure. It was market day, and the little village bus was crowded to its last seat with burly farmers. Presently the vehicle came to a stop-ping-place, and a tall, cadaverous-look-ing individual clambered aboard, and looked round for a seat. Finding that it was impossible to squeeze in anywhere, he turned to two farmers who seemed to be taking up more than their share of room. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, politely enough, "but I must ask you to sit a little closer. According to an Act of Parliament I think every passenger is entitled to eighteen inches of seating accommodation.” “That be all very well for ye, sir,” replied one of the farmers, “but ye cannot blame us if we’re no’ constructed according to the Acts of Parliament.”