Jan. 1, 1923—­Rewrites; takes out German villain.

Apr. 1, 1934—­Author in old people’s home; sells original story to Cozy Hearth; editor features it as “charming romance of life before the war.”

EDITOR (surveying summer landscape)—­“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, close bosom friend of the maturing sun!”

FRIEND—­“But, I say, that was written about autumn, wasn’t it?”

EDITOR—­“Yes, yes, I know—­but you must remember that we always go to press four months in advance!”

It was the first of January when a stranger entered the offices of Pushup’s Monthly Magazine.

“Gracious, but it is hot in here!” he remarked to a man in his shirt sleeves, who was mopping his face with a handkerchief.

“Some,” was the terse reply of the man, who was no other than the famous editor himself.

“What are all those flowers, straw hats and palm-leaf fans scattered about for?”

“Oh, to give a touch of realism;—­we are now preparing our great Midsummer Fiction Number,” was the great editor’s kindly reply.—­E.C.H.

MAJORITY

“You don’t mean to tell me you ever doubt the wisdom of the majority?”

“Well,” responded Senator Sorghum with deliberation, “what is a majority?  In many instances it is only a large number of people who have got tired out trying to think for themselves and have decided to accept somebody else’s opinion.”

MARKSMANSHIP

“Why do you compare my marksmanship with lightning?” asked the recruit.

“Because,” replied the instructor, “it never hits twice in the same place.”

OFFICER (to recruit)—­“Goodness gracious, man, where are all your shots going?  Every one has missed the target.”

SOLDIER (nervously)—­“I don’t know, sir.  They left here all right.”

MARRIAGE

“Hubby, if I were to die would you marry again?”

“That question is hardly fair, my dear.”

“Why not?”

“If I were to say yes you wouldn’t like it, and to say never again wouldn’t sound nice.”

THE PHRENOLOGIST—­“Yes, sir, by feeling the bumps on your head I can tell exactly what sort of man you are.”

MR. DOOLAN—­“Oi belave it will give ye more ov an oidea wot sort ov a woman me woife is.”—­Jack Canuck.

Private Nelson got his leave, and made what he conceived to be the best use of his holiday by getting married.

On the journey back at the station he gave the gateman his marriage certificate in mistake for his return railway ticket.

The official studied it carefully, and then said: 

“Yes, my boy, you’ve got a ticket for a long journey, but not on this road.”

NORTH—­“I see they’re reviving the talk about trial marriages.  Do you believe in them?”