“Your honor,” roared the clerk, “I beg that this man be committed for contempt of court!”

“What is your name?” asked the judge.

“My name, your honor, is Ottiwell Wood, and I spell it O, double T, I, double U, E, double L, double U, double O, D.”—­Literary Digest.

“Is Mr. Smith in the audience?” broke forth the presiding officer.  “I am informed that his house is afire.”

Forty men sprang to their feet.

“It is the house of Mr. John Smith,” added the chairman.

“Thank goodness!” fervently exclaimed one man, resuming his seat.—­Everybody’s.

NATIONALITY

“But are you an American citizen?” angrily demanded the official at the passport office.

“My mother was American”—­began the applicant.

“Yes, yes”—­

“But she married a Frenchman”—­

“Yes.”

“In Italy.”

“Yes; but where were you born?”

“I was born on a ship flying Spanish colors while she was lying at anchor in Honolulu Harbor, but my parents died in Brazil when I was only four years old and I was adopted by a Chinaman, who brought me up in Russia”—­

“Well, he’s”—­began an official.

“He’s a bloomin’ League of Nations!” exploded the official who had first spoken.

NATURAL LAWS

CHARLIE—­“What you say just goes in one ear and out the other.”

JOHNNY—­“Impossible!”

“Why?”

“Sound can’t cross a vacuum, you know, old fellow.”

“Say, dad, what keeps us from falling off the earth when we are upside down?”

“Why, the law of gravity, of course.”

“Well, how did folks stay on before the law was passed?”

NEGROES

Miss Annette Benton, on returning from a visit, brought a gift to each of her mother’s colored servants.  It was the “day out” for Lily, the housemaid, so Annette distributed her gifts, reserving for Lily a scarlet-silk blouse.

“That won’t do,” said Mrs. Benton.  “Lily’s in mourning.”

“Mourning?”

“Yes, for her husband; he died in jail, and Lily’s wearing a long crape veil.”

When Lily returned, her young mistress expressed regret.  “I’ll give the blouse to Lizzie,” she said, “and get you something else.”

Lily looked at the blouse, then she swallowed.  “Don’t you give that blouse to no Lizzie, Miss Annette, cos nex’ mont’ I’se gwine outa mournin’ from the waist up.”—­Harper’s.

“G’wan, nigger, you-all ain’t got no sense nohow.”

“Ain’t got no sense?  Whut’s dis yere haid for?”

“Dat thing?  Dat ain’t no haid, nigger; dat’s jes er button on top er yo body ter keep yer backbone from unravelin’.”

OLD DARKY (to shiftless son)—­“I hearn tell you is married.  Is you?”