“Why, Dinah!” exclaimed she, “what in the world has happened to you?”

“Was me husban,’” explained Dinah.  “He done went an’ beat me ag’in, an’ jes’ fo’ nothin’, too!”

“Again!” cried Mrs. Smith, with increasing wonder.  “Is he in the habit of beating you?  Why don’t you have him arrested?”

“Been thinkin’ ob it several times, missy,” was the rejoinder of Dinah, “but I hain’t nebah had no money to pay his fine.”

“Yes,” said the storekeeper, “I want a good, bright boy to be partly indoors and partly outdoors.”

“That’s all right,” said the applicant, “but what becomes of me when the door slams shut?”—­Judge.

DINING

Nocturne

The hour grows late,
And hungrily I wait
To hear her say
Three words—­three little words,
Yet great
Enough to bring completeness to the day.

At last she comes, Cassandra tall and dark—­ Oh, very dark!  A careless tune she hums, And pauses shamelessly to mark How her delay has angered or unnerved The weak among us.  Then she snuffles—­Hark! "Dinnah am served!" —­E.W.B.

“Has Bobbie been eating between meals?”

“Bobbie has no between meals.”—­Life.

A farmer who went to a large city to see the sights engaged a room at a hotel, and before retiring asked the clerk about the hours for dining.

“We have breakfast from six to eleven, dinner from eleven to three, and supper from three to eight,” explained the clerk.

“Wa-al, say,” inquired the farmer in surprise, “what time air I goin’ ter git ter see the town?”

“Mama, I want a dark breakfast.”

“Dark breakfast?  What do you mean, child?”

“Why, last night you told Mary to give me a light supper, and I didn’t like it.”

MOTHER (at the breakfast-table)—­“You always ought to use your napkin,
Georgie.”

GEORGIE—­“I am usin’ it, mother; I’ve got the dog tied to the leg of the table with it.”

DIPLOMACY

“Father,” said the small boy, “what is an overt act?”

“My son, an overt act is something that either compels you to be so rude as to fight or so polite as to pretend you didn’t notice it.”

“Now, sir,” said the persuasive philanthropist, “we want you to be the chairman of the big meeting which we are to hold.”

“How much?” inquired Mr. Cassius Chex, wearily.

“I don’t quite follow you.”

“How much is the deficit that you expect my subscription to meet?”

Uncle Mose owns and operates an “exclusive shoe-shining parlor” in a little Northwestern town, and, as customers are rather scarce thereabouts, he can’t afford to offend any of them.  But his “parlor” has to be run on a strict cash basis.  So when a man a little too well known to Uncle Mose as “slow pay” about town came in to have his shoes shined and suggested to the old negro a desire to pay at a later date, Uncle Mose did some quick thinking.