A little girl, brushing her hair, found that it “crackled,” and asked her mother why it did.

“Why, dear, you have electricity in your hair,” explained the mother.

“Isn’t that funny?” commented the little one.  “I have electricity in my hair, and Grandmother has gas in her stomach.”

Could Use the Other Kind, Too

“Here,” said the salesman, “is something we call the ‘lovers’ clock.’  You can set it so it will take it two hours to run one hour.”

“I’ll take that,” said Miss Jarmer with a bright blush.  “And now, if you have one that can be set so as to run two hours in one hour’s time or less, I think I’d like one of that kind, too.”

A Regard for Appearance

A milliner endeavored to sell to a colored woman one of the last season’s hats at a very moderate price.  It was a big white picture-hat.

“Law, no, honey!” exclaimed the woman.  “I could nevah wear that.  I’d look jes’ like a blueberry in a pan of milk.”

Rapid-Fire

A frivolous young English girl, with no love for the Stars and Stripes, once exclaimed at a celebration where the American flag was very much in evidence: 

“Oh, what a silly-looking thing the American flag is!  It suggests nothing but checker-berry candy.”

“Yes,” replied a bystander, “the kind of candy that has made everybody sick who ever tried to lick it.”

Kipling at a Luncheon

At a tea the other day, says “The New York Sun,” a woman heard the following remarks made about her favorite author.  She turned to listen, amazed by the eccentricities of conduct narrated.

“Yes, you know,” the hostess was saying, “Kipling came in and behaved so strangely!  At luncheon he suddenly sprang up and wouldn’t let the waitress come near the table.  Every time that she tried to come near he would jump at her.

“He made a dive for the cake, which was on the lower shelf of the sideboard, and took it into the parlor to eat it.  He got the crumbs all over the sofa and the beautiful rug.

“When he had finished his cake he simply sat and glared at us.”

The visitor finally could not control herself, and asked: 

“Excuse me, but are you speaking of Mr. Rudyard Kipling?”

“Mr. Rudyard Kipling?” echoed the hostess.  “Oh, no; Kipling is our dog!”

Getting His Trousseau Ready

The kindly ’Squire of the neighborhood was just leaving from a friendly social visit to Mrs. Maguire.

“And your son, Mrs. Maguire?” said the ’Squire as he reached for his hat.  “I hope he is well.  Busy, I suppose, getting ready for his wedding tonight ?”

“Well, not very busy this minit, ’Squire,” answered the beaming mother.  “He’s upstairs in bed while I’m washing out his trousseau.”

There Was a Chance

“Going to send your boy on an ocean trip, are you?” said a friend to a father.