No answer.

“See here, what’s wrong with you anyway?”

“Doc,” replied Axel.  “That bane your yob.”

“Some un sick at yo’ house, Mis’ Carter?” inquired Lila.  “Ah seed de doctah’s kyar eroun ’dar yestiddy.”

“It was for my brother, Lila.”

“Sho!  What’s he done got de matter of’m?”

“Nobody seems to know what the disease is.  He can eat and sleep as well as ever, he stays out all day long on the veranda in the sun, and seems as well as any one; but he can’t do any work at all.”

“Law, Mis’ Carter, dat ain’t no disease what you brothe’ got!  Dat’s a gif!”—­Everybody’s.

DILEMMAS

The house doctor of a Cincinnati theater sometimes tires of his office; hence the following: 

One evening an excited usher rushed to the doctor’s seat and whispered a brief message.  The occupant rose at once and both men left the orchestra hastily and made for the dressing-rooms.

“It’s the leading lady,” wailed one of the actresses, meeting them; “come this way.”

“Have you poured water on her head?” inquired the doctor, solemnly.

“Yes, from the fire-bucket.”

“The fire bucket!—­what a fearful blunder!  Here,” and he scribbled a line on a card, “take this to the drug-store and get it filled.”

When the leading lady found herself alone with the doctor, she opened her eyes.

“Doctor,” she gasped, “you’re a good fellow, aren’t you?  I know you are aware that there’s nothing the matter with me.  I want a day off, and I don’t want to go on in this act.  Can you fix it?”

“You bet I can,” said the doctor, wringing her hand, sympathetically.  “I ain’t no doctor.  I came in on this ticket.”

A lady’s leather handbag was left in my car while parked on Park avenue two weeks ago.  Owner can have same by calling at my office, proving the property and paying for this ad.  If she will explain to my wife that I had nothing to do with its being there, I will pay for the ad.

“Mamma, if a bear should swallow me, I should die, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes, dear.”

“And should I go to heaven?”

“Yes, dear.  Why do you ask that question?”

“And would the bear have to go too?”

A new regulation in a certain coal-mine required that each man mark with chalk the number on every car of coal mined.

One man named Ole, having filled the eleventh car, marked it with a number one and, after pondering a while, let it go at that.

Another miner, happening to notice what he thought was a mistake, called Ole’s attention to the fact that he had marked the car number one instead of eleven.

“Yes, I know,” said Ole; “but I can’t tank which side de odder wan go on.”

Dinah Snow was a colored cook in the home of the Smiths.  One morning on going to the kitchen Mrs. Smith noticed that Dinah looked as if she had been tangled up with a road-roller.