“Didn’t know you cared for fishing.”

“I don’t ordinarily.  But it’s the only chance I have of finding myself at the end of a line that isn’t busy.”

“Has the line been busy?” asked the man with a nickel poised between his thumb and forefinger.

“No,” answered the precise operator.  “The line wasn’t busy.  I was.”

“What name are you calling?” asked the telephone-girl over the wire.

“McCohan,” the customer answered.

“I beg pardon?” asked the girl.

The man repeated it.

The wire was silent for a moment, then the girl said:  “Wait a moment, please.  I think the wires are crossed.”

“I once knew an eccentric man,” stated old Festus Pester, “who when he had got the desired number on the telephone did not demand fiercely, ‘Whizz ziss?’ Instead he invariably said civilly, ’This is John J. Poppendick, wishing to speak to Mr. Buckover.’  His funeral was the largest ever held in the neighborhood where he had resided, and thereat strong men broke down and wept like children, being convinced that they would never again see his like.”—­Judge.

Pat walked into the post-office.  After getting into the telephone-box he called a wrong number.  As there was no such number, the switch-attendant did not answer him.  Pat shouted again, but received no answer.

The lady of the post-office opened the door and told him to shout a little louder, which he did, but still no answer.

Again she said he would have to speak louder.

Pat got angry at this, and turning to the lady said: 

“Begorra, if I could shout any louder I wouldn’t use your bloomin’ ould telephone at all!”

See also Strategy.

TEMPER

Little Molly had been very trying all day.  That evening, when her grown-up sister was putting her to bed, she said she hoped the child would be a better girl tomorrow, and not make everybody unhappy with her naughty temper.

Molly listened in silence, thought hard for a few moments, and then said, wisely: 

“Yes, when it’s me it’s temper; when it’s you it’s nerves.”

TEMPERANCE

THE MAN (to a New York waiter)—­“—­and a glass of good beer!”

THE WAITER—­“Sorry, sir.  We only serve temperance beverages.”

THE MAN—­“Why, I got beer in Rhode Island.”

THE WAITER—­“Maybe you did, sir.  But that was only by an act of
Providence.”

A temperance lecturer was enthusiastically denouncing the use of all intoxicants.

“I wish all the beer, all the wine, all the whiskey in the world was at the bottom of the ocean,” he said.

Hastily Pat arose to his feet.

“Sure, and so do I, sor,” he shouted.  “I wish every bit of it was at the bottom of the sea.”

As they were leaving the hall the lecturer encountered Pat.