“You wish to divorce this woman because she drinks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you drink yourself?”

“That’s my business!” angrily.

Whereupon the unmoved lawyer asked:  “Have you any other business?”

At the Boston Immigration Station one blank was recently filled out as follows: 

Name—­Abraham Cherkowsky. 
Born—­Yes. 
Business—­Rotten.

BUSINESS ENTERPRISE

It happened in Topeka.  Three clothing stores were on the same block.  One morning the middle proprietor saw to the right of him a big sign—­“Bankrupt Sale,” and to the left—­“Closing Out at Cost.”  Twenty minutes later there appeared over his own door, in larger letters, “Main Entrance.”

In a section of Washington where there are a number of hotels and cheap restaurants, one enterprising concern has displayed in great illuminated letters, “Open All Night.”  Next to it was a restaurant bearing with equal prominence the legend: 

“We Never Close.”

Third in order was a Chinese laundry in a little, low-framed, tumbledown hovel, and upon the front of this building was the sign, in great, scrawling letters: 

“Me wakee, too.”

A boy looking for something to do saw the sign “Boy Wanted” hanging outside of a store in New York.  He picked up the sign and entered the store.

The proprietor met him.  “What did you bring that sign in here for?” asked the storekeeper.

“You won’t need it any more,” said the boy cheerfully.  “I’m going to take the job.”

A Chinaman found his wife lying dead in a field one morning; a tiger had killed her.

The Chinaman went home, procured some arsenic, and, returning to the field, sprinkled it over the corpse.

The next day the tiger’s dead body lay beside the woman’s.  The Chinaman sold the tiger’s skin to a mandarin, and its body to a physician to make fear-cure powders, and with the proceeds he was able to buy a younger wife.

A rather simple-looking lad halted before a blacksmith’s shop on his way home from school and eyed the doings of the proprietor with much interest.

The brawny smith, dissatisfied with the boy’s curiosity, held a piece of red-hot iron suddenly under the youngster’s nose, hoping to make him beat a hasty retreat.

“If you’ll give me half a dollar I’ll lick it,” said the lad.

The smith took from his pocket half a dollar and held it out.

The simple-looking youngster took the coin, licked it, dropped it in his pocket and slowly walked away whistling.

“Do you know where Johnny Locke lives, my little boy?” asked a gentle-voiced old lady.

“He aint home, but if you give me a penny I’ll find him for you right off,” replied the lad.

“All right, you’re a nice little boy.  Now where is he?”

“Thanks—­I’m him.”