“Well, did you have a good night’s rest?” the clerk asked.

“No, I didn’t,” replied the Kansan.  “The room was all right, and the bed was pretty good, but I couldn’t sleep very much for I was afraid some one would want to take a bath, and the only door to it was through my room.”

RURAL CONSTABLE-"Now then, come out o’ that.  Bathing’s not allowed ’ere after 8 a.m.”

THE FACE IN THE WATER-"Excuse me, Sergeant, I’m not bathing; I’m only drowning.”—­Punch.

A woman and her brother lived alone in the Scotch Highlands.  She knitted gloves and garments to sell in the Lowland towns.  Once when she was starting out to market her wares, her brother said he would go with her and take a dip in the ocean.  While the woman was in the town selling her work, Sandy was sporting in the waves.  When his sister came down to join him, however, he met her with a wry face.  “Oh, Kirstie,” he said, “I’ve lost me weskit.”  They hunted high and low, but finally as night settled down decided that the waves must have carried it out to sea.

The next year, at about the same season, the two again visited the town.  And while Kirstie sold her wool in the town, Sandy splashed about in the brine.  When Kirstie joined her brother she found him with a radiant face, and he cried out to her, “Oh, Kirstie, I’ve found me weskit.  ’Twas under me shirt.”

In one of the lesser Indian hill wars an English detachment took an Afghan prisoner.  The Afghan was very dirty.  Accordingly two privates were deputed to strip and wash him.

The privates dragged the man to a stream of running water, undressed him, plunged him in, and set upon him lustily with stiff brushes and large cakes of white soap.

After a long time one of the privates came back to make a report.  He saluted his officer and said disconsolately: 

“It’s no use, sir.  It’s no use.”

“No use?” said the officer.  “What do you mean?  Haven’t you washed that Afghan yet?”

“It’s no use, sir,” the private repeated.  “We’ve washed him for two hours, but it’s no use.”

“How do you mean it’s no use?” said the officer angrily.

“Why, sir,” said the private, “after rubbin’ him and scrubbin’ him till our arms ached I’ll be hanged if we didn’t come to another suit of clothes.”

BAZARS

Once upon a time a deacon who did not favor church bazars was going along a dark street when a footpad suddenly appeared, and, pointing his pistol, began to relieve his victim of his money.

The thief, however, apparently suffered some pangs of remorse.  “It’s pretty rough to be gone through like this, ain’t it, sir?” he inquired.

“Oh, that’s all right, my man,” the “held-up” one answered cheerfully.  “I was on my way to a bazar.  You’re first, and there’s an end of it.”

BEARDS