“Fifteen dollars a week for a start.”

“And when can you come?”

“Don’t need to come; I’m here.  I could have been at work five minutes ago if you’d only said so.”

BOSS (to new boy)—­“You’re the slowest youngster we’ve ever had. 
Aren’t you quick at anything?”

BOY—­“Yes, sir; nobody can get tired as quickly as I can.”

A small boy went into a business office that displayed a sign, “Boy Wanted.”

“What kind of a boy does youse want?” he asked of the manager.

“Why, a decent boy,” said the manager.  “One who is quick, doesn’t swear, smoke cigarettes, whistle round the office, shoot craps—­”

“Aw, gee, boss,” interrupted the boy, “youse don’t want a boy; youse wants a girl.”

“How does your boy Josh like his job in the city?”

“First-rate,” replied the father.  “He knows more about the business than the man that owns it.”

“Who told you that?”

“Josh did.  All he’s got to do now is to convince the boss of it, an’ git promoted.”

“Why, look here,” said the merchant who was in need of a boy, “aren’t you the same boy who was in here a week ago?”

“Yes, sir,” said the applicant.

“I thought so.  And didn’t I tell you then that I wanted an older boy?”

“Yes, sir.  That’s why I’m back.  I’m older now.”

OFFICE-SEEKERS

Mayor Mitchel of New York was talking at a dinner about office-seekers.

“A good man had just died,” he said, “and with unseemly haste an office-seeker came after his job.

“Yes, sir, tho the dead man hadn’t been buried, yet this office-seeker came to me and said, breathlessly: 

“’Mr. Mayor, do you see any objection to my being put in poor Tom Smith’s place?’

“‘Why, no,’ said I.  ’Why, no, I see no objection, if the undertaker doesn’t.’”

No matter how hard a man runs for office he is perfectly satisfied to win in a walk.

There is seldom a collision between the office seeking the man and the man seeking the office.

“There goes a fellow who chased around for years trying to land a political job.”

“Well, what does he do now?”

“Nothing—­he’s got the job.”

Uncle Mose aspired to the elective office of justice of the peace in the “black bottom” part of town.  One bar there was to his preferment:  he could neither read nor write.  His master advised him to go to the commissioner of elections and ask whether he was eligible.  Mose went and returned.

“What did he tell you, Mose?” inquired the master.

“It’s all right, sah,” answered Mose; “dat gen’lemun suttinly was kind, yas, suh.  He tole me Ah was illegible fo’ dat office.”

OFFICERS

OFFICER—­“I ketched this here mut pinchin’ bananas off a fruit-stand.”