—­Anne Alfreda Mellish.

Sign on butcher shop reads, “Tongue 48 cents, Brains 33 cents.”  Some one remarks that this proportion of payment is quite often the case.

A downtown merchant, while engaged in the office the other morning, discovered that he had left his pocket knife at home and, as he needed one urgently, he asked the different clerks, but none of them happened to have one.  Finally the errand boy hustled in and the merchant called him, asking if he was able to produce the desired article.  Jimmy handed over his “pigsticker.”

“How is it, Jimmy, that you alone out of my entire staff seem to have a pocketknife with you?” smiled the proprietor, eyeing Jimmy with undisguised admiration.

“Dunno, sir,” replied the youth, “unless it’s because my wages are so low that I can’t afford more’n one pair of pants.”

FIRST LABORING MAN—­“Wot’s a minimum wage, Albert?”

SECOND DITTO—­“Wot yer gets for goin’ to yer work.  If yer wants ter make a bit more yer does a bit o’ work for it."_—­Punch_.

The workman was busily employed by the roadside, and the wayfarer paused to inquire, “What are you digging for?” The workman looked up.

“Money,"’ he replied.

“Money!  And when do you expect to strike it, my good man?”

“On Saturday!” replied the other, and resumed operations.

WAR

Some nations were fighting fiercely.

“Why are you fighting so?” inquired the bystanders, moved at length to curiosity.

“To save civilization!” replied the nations severally.

Here a draggled figure rose from the mire under the feet of the combatants and limped lamely away.

“And who are you?” asked the bystanders, with a disposition to get to the bottom of the matter.

“Don’t speak to me—­I’m civilization!” the figure made answer, somewhat pettishly.

“What if we loses this blinkin’ war after all, Bill?”

“Well, all I can say is—­them what finds it is quite welcome to keep it.”

If we must have wars, let’s adopt the pay-as-you-enter plan.

The war left the world so flat that Voliva may be excused for denying that it is round.

VISITOR—­“It’s a terrible war, this, young man—­a terrible war.”

MIKE (badly wounded)—­“’Tis that, sor—­a tirrible warr.  But ’tis better than no warr at all."_—­Punch_.

See also European War.

WEALTH

BENNETT—­“My, Storer must be rich.”

JONES—­“How so?”

BENNETT—­“He was cleaning his mother’s windows with gold dust in the water.”

WEATHER

A Salina man tells this as happening to him.  Early in the morning one winter’s day, came a wire from a friend in Chicago:  “How’s the weather today out there?”