“It was him wi’ the coo’s breakfast on his head!”

The reply was altogether too much for Mr. Asquith, and he had to join in the general roar of laughter.

COMPENSATION

“There’s a bright side to everything.”

“To those high food prices?”

“Certainly.  Think of the cases of indigestion they have cured.”

A little girl who had been out walking with her aunt heard the latter complaining that her feet were tired.  “My feet get tired too, when I go out walking,” said the small maiden, “but I always think what a nice ride my stomach has been having.”

“Anyhow, there’s one advantage in having a wooden leg,” said the veteran.

“What’s that?” asked his friend.

“You can hold your socks up with thumb-tacks.”

COMPETITION

The clergyman’s eloquence may have been at fault, still he felt annoyed to find that an old gentleman fell asleep during the sermon on two consecutive Sundays.  So, after service on the second week, he told the boy who accompanied the sleeper that he wished to speak to him in the vestry.

“My boy,” said the minister, when they were closeted together, “who is that elderly gentleman you attend church with?”

“Grandpa,” was the reply.

“Well,” said the clergyman, “if you will only keep him awake during my sermon, I’ll give you a nickel each week.”

The boy fell in with the arrangement, and for the next two weeks the old gentleman listened attentively to the sermon.  The third week, however, found him soundly asleep.

The vexed clergyman sent for the boy and said:  “I am very angry with you.  Your grandpa was asleep again today.  Didn’t I promise you a nickel a week to keep him awake?”

“Yes,” replied the boy, “but grandpa now gives me a dime not to disturb him.”

“Yes,” said the specialist, as he stood at the bedside of the sick purchasing agent, “I can cure you.”

“What will it cost?” asked the sick man, faintly.

“Ninety-five dollars.”

“You’ll have to shade your price a little,” replied the purchasing agent, “I have a better bid from the undertaker.”

COMPLIMENTS

A rector in South London was visiting one of his poorer parishioners, an old woman, afflicted with deafness.  She expressed her great regret at not being able to hear his sermons.  Desiring to be sympathetic and to say something consoling, he replied, with unnecessary self-depreciation, “You don’t miss much.”

“So they tell me,” was the disconcerting reply.

“You don’t seem to enjoy being referred to as a good loser.”

“No,” replied Cactus Joe.  “In the course of time a good loser comes to be regarded merely as a poor performer.”

See also Tact.