“Aunty,” she said, with a wave of her hand toward the place she had just vacated, “take my seat.”

“Thank you, missy,” replied the colored woman, smiling broadly, “but which gen’man’s lap was you sittin’ on?”

“Madam,” said the man in the street-car, “I know I ought to get up and give you my seat, but unfortunately I’ve recently joined the Sit Still Club.”

“That’s all right, sir,” replied the woman.  “And you must excuse me for staring at you so hard:  I am a member of the Stand and Stare Club.”

She proved herself so active and conscientious a member that the man began to feel uncomfortable under her gaze.  Finally he rose and said:  “Take my seat, madam; I guess I’ll resign from my club and join yours.”

STRIKES

TEACHER—­“Now, if I paid one man two dollars a day for seven days, another three dollars and fifty cents for ten days, and another four dollars and seventy-five cents for six days—­”

REDDY BACKROW (whose father belongs to the union)—­“You’d have the durndest strike on your hands you ever saw, teacher.”

  “Everybody’s striking,”
    Said the Old Clock on the shelf;
  “It seems to be the fashion. 
    So I think I’ll strike myself.

  “But striking is my business—­
    Did you ever see such luck
  I’ll have to give up striking
    Just to show folks that I’ve struck!”

THE LADY-"So you’re really one of the strikers?”

THE LOAFER-"Yus, lidy.  I’m wot they call one o’ the pioneers o’ the movement.  I went on strike twenty-three years ago, lidy, and I ain’t never give in yet.”

A strike is not a “brake on industry.”  It’s a displaced switch.

THE FATHER—­“But have you enough money to marry my daughter?”

THE SUITOR—­“Well, sir, at the moment I only get 300 francs a month, but by going on strike every other month for higher wages, I shall be getting 1,000 francs by the end of the year.”

EMPLOYER—­“There’s a spirit of unrest among my men.”

VISITOR—­“What about?”

EMPLOYER—­“Because they can not find any excuse to go out on a strike.”—­Judge.

SUBSTITUTES

Speaking of substitutes for gasoline, there is the street-car ticket.

“Neurasthenia,” said Mrs. Biggums to her cook, “I think we will have some chicken croquettes today out of that leftover pork and calves’ liver.”

“Yes’m,” said Neurasthenia, called Teeny for short.  “An’ we got a little bread dressin’ what went wid the pork, mum.  Shall I make some apple sauce out’n hit, mum?”

A very pretty young woman had been asked to dinner by the mother of a young man who admired her very much.

While waiting for dinner to be announced the four-year-old niece of the young man came into the room and climbed into the lap of her uncle, of whom she seemed very fond.