TEACHER—­“How dare you say I don’t want the truth!  Tell me at once where you got that chewing-gum.”

WILLIE—­“Under your desk.”

  Grave is the Master’s look; his forehead wears
  Thick rows of wrinkles, prints of worrying cares: 
  Uneasy lie the heads of all that rule,
  His worst of all whose kingdom is a school.

  —­0.W.  Holmes.

TEARS

Two Irishmen who had just landed were eating their dinner in a hotel, when Pat spied a bottle of horseradish.  Not knowing what it was he partook of a big mouthful, which brought tears to his eyes.

Mike, seeing Pat crying, exclaimed:  “Phat be ye cryin’ fer?”

Pat, wishing to have Mike fooled also, exclaimed:  “I’m crying fer me poor ould mother, who’s dead way over in Ireland.”

By and by Mike took some of the radish, whereupon tears filled his eyes.  Pat, seeing them, asked his friend what he was crying for.

Mike replied:  “Because ye didn’t die at the same time yer poor ould mother did.”

TEETH

  There was an old man of Tarentum,
  Who gnashed his false teeth till he bent ’em: 
    And when asked for the cost
    Of what he had lost,
  Said, “I really can’t tell for I rent ’em!”

  —­Gilbert K. Chesterton.

Pat came to the office with his jaw very much swollen from a tooth he desired to have pulled.  But when the suffering son of Erin got into the dentist’s chair and saw the gleaming pair of forceps approaching his face, he positively refused to open his mouth.

The dentist quietly told his office boy to prick his patient with a pin, and when Pat opened his mouth to yell the dentist seized the tooth, and out it came.

“It didn’t hurt as much as you expected it would, did it?” the dentist asked smiling.

“Well, no,” replied Pat hesitatingly, as if doubting the truthfulness of his admission.  “But,” he added, placing his hand on the spot where the boy jabbed him with the pin, “begorra, little did I think the roots would reach down like that.”

An Irishman with one side of his face badly swollen stepped into Dr. Wicten’s office and inquired if the dentist was in.  “I am the dentist,” said the doctor.

“Well, then, I want ye to see what’s the matter wid me tooth.”

The doctor examined the offending molar, and explained:  “The nerve is dead; that’s what’s the matter.”

“Thin, be the powers,” the Irishman exclaimed, “the other teeth must be houldin’ a wake over it!”

  For there was never yet philosopher
  That could endure the toothache patiently.

  —­Shakespeare.

TELEPHONE

Two girls were talking over the wire.  Both were discussing what they should wear to the Christmas party.  In the midst of this important conversation a masculine voice interrupted, asking humbly for a number.  One of the girls became indignant and scornfully asked: