“I simply can’t understand the combination of my wife’s clothes.”

“What puzzles you?”

“Well, when she wants to hide anything, she pokes it down her neck, but when she wants to get it again it’s always in her stocking.”

Why They Don’t Wear Old Clothes

Father—­Because he never can tell when he might be detained at the office on business.

Brother Bill—­Because he has got to look his best in case he meets (a) a certain young lady, (b) her father, (c) her mother, (d) any other near relative of (a).

Sister May—­Because everybody would know it if she put on one of last year’s dresses.

Angela, aged five—­Because she has outgrown everything she ever wore.

Tommy, aged seven—­Because he has outworn everything he hasn’t outgrown.

The Richest Man in Town—­Because he can’t afford to look shabby.

The Poorest Man in Town—­Same reason.

The Mayor—­Because he is mayor.

His Chief Rival—­Because he hopes to become mayor.

The President of the Ladies’ Federation—­Because the newspapers are forever sending photographers after her.

Mother—­Because there’s no fun playing the game alone.

  Where are the clothes of yesteryear—­
    And of the year before? 
  Bare is the cupboard—­shelf and hook;
  Barren, the garret’s cobwebbed nook;
    Empty, the darksome drawer! 
  Why should they strangely disappear—­
  All the old clothes of yesteryear?

  Where are the clothes of yesteryear? 
    Easy would be the search. 
  Seek them where duty or pleasure calls;
  Seek them in learning’s classic halls—­
    Office or club or church. 
  Rich and lowly, alike, appear
  Wearing the clothes of yesteryear.

  Honor the clothes of yesteryear,
    Deal with them tenderly;
  Don them gladly and make them last,
  Friends of an opulent era past;
    Stout may their fabric be! 
  Drink long life to their new career—­
  Here’s to the clothes of yesteryear!

  —­Jennie Betts Hartswick.

“I’m afraid these Louis XV heels are much too high for me.  Perhaps you have lower ones—­say about Louis X would do, I think.”

  I can not wear the old suit
    I wore long years ago;
  It’s shiny at the shoulders,
    My knees and elbows show. 
  But on investigation I
    Discover this is true: 
  I can not wear the old suit,
    Nor can I buy a new.

“Is this the hosiery department?” said the voice over the phone.

“Yes,” replied the weary saleslady.

“Have you any flesh-colored stockings in stock?” asked the voice.

“Yes,” replied the weary saleslady.  “Whaddy ya want—­pink, yellow, or black?”

They had been poor all their lives.  Then one day Uncle Oscar died, leaving Henry a large sum of money.  He cashed the check, hurried home, and threw the whole amount in his wife’s lap.  “At last, my dear,” he said, “You will be able to buy yourself some decent clothes.”