MERRY LEAVES FROM THE FUN TREE.

Observer, Volume XL, Issue 8, 25 October 1919, Page 28

MERRY LEAVES FROM THE FUN TREE.

THE DRAWBACK

A rich American recently sold his motor-car and bought an aeroplane, and invited his black chauffeur to remain with him as pilot, but he was surprised to be met with a decided refusal. ~ "No, sah, no airplane job lor me, the negro said. "But surely, Sam, you are not afraid of that engine, are you—a good mechanic like you?" his master asked. . ~ "No, boss," replied Sam, "I am t afenrd of dat, or going up into the air, but what about when you asks me to get out and crank?" « <® ®

HIS PROGRESS

WHY HE CHOSE IT

It was a trembling class that faced the inspector, as he bounced in and rapped out questions like a machinegun. But the boys were not to be caught napping, and the replies came back very well until he asked one boy whether he would prefer onesixth or one-seventh of an orange. "I would prefer one-seventh, sir, answered the scholar. "One-seventh—eh?" said the inspector, grimly, and thereupon proceeded to explain that although that fraction sounded larger, it was really the smaller of the two. "I know that, sir," said the pupil. "That's why I chose it. I don t like oranges." @> ® $ ,

A POSER

Tommy Hodge, who had been apprenticed to Farmer Hicks, had not proved what might be called a conspicuous success, and so, when old Mr. Hodge came along one day to ask what progress the lad was making, the old farmer looked dubious. "Well," said he, " 'tisn't as I want to discourage you or your son either.- He don't do nothing wrong —nor nothing at all if 'c can 'elp it. But I will say that, in my opinion, it your son >ad another hand 'ed want another pocket to put it in!" , .-•■■ @> - - © #

WASTING HIS TIME

With international complications on his mind, the Foreign Secretary. completely worn out, tumbled into bed. He' was just dozing off when the front door bell pealed. "A reporter, sir," announced a footman. "Will you see him?" "I suppose so!" sighed the Foreign Secretary. And, rising, he slipped on his dressing-gown and sTippers and descended to the library. The reporter was a mere youth, but though shivering with cold, the Secretary dictated two columns about the reasons for the compromise he had arrived at with a neighbouring Power* Then, satisfied that he had done his duty, he showed the youthful reporter to the door. * "G-good night!" he said, with chattering teeth. "You might let me have half a d-d-dozen copies of the paper in the m-m-morning." "Oh. this isn't for any paper! said the repdrter. . "What," cried the Minister. "What the d-d-duece is it for, then?" "Why, you see," exclaimed the youth, "I belong to the new School of Journalism, and this is a test interview." , <& <SS ®

GOT NOTICE THEN

Green had been in new lodgings just one week, and had arrived at the conclusion that his tenancy would not be of long duration unless there was a material difference in the quality of the breakfast egg. He did not like to tell the landlady pointblank so he adopted a round-about method of communicating his opinion, on the subject. "Didn't\you tell me you were fond of reading Macaulay, Mrs. Bluff? „ he asked her. as he broke the shell of the egg. . "It was my lamented's favourite reading, Mr.' Green," returned the widowed lady. "Ah! Now I understand why you have your eggs from Italy." "Whatever makes you think thai. sir? They came from a farm near here." "Really!" exclaimed Green, with a pronounced sniff. "These eggs remind me most forcibly of the Lays of Ancient Rome.' Funny, isn t itr He had notice on the spot.

A noted clergyman was in his study writing, when his five-year-old daughter walked in and asked: "What are you writing, papa?" "I am writing a sermon, daughter." "How do you know what to write, papa?" -God tells me what to write, daughter." After watching her father for a few minutes the little girl said: "Pa D a, if God tells you what to write why do you scratch some ot it out?''