“Yessah, ah reckon we is,” said George, “She’s sure runnin’ right smooth jes now. Almost seem lak ol’ engineer done succeed in gettin’ her back on the ties once mo.”
A jitney car operated by a woman between Chico and Paradise, California, broke down the other day. She halted a passing roadster and of the driver inquired:
“Only a lot of bum jokes,” he replied, and drove on.
Joyride and the girls ride with you; Stroll, and you stroll alone, For this is the day of the damsels gay, Who consider the stroller a drone.
Feast, and the girls feast with you; Fast, and you fast uncheered. For they like to dine and drink rare wine, And to dance when the floor is cleared.
Flirt, and the girls flirt with you; Don’t, and they count you slow. For they play with you, so you must play, too Or sit in the lonesome row.
Love, and the girlies love you; Wed, and she is yours for life. For she does not play in the cabaret, The one that you make your wife.
We will now sing that new southern ballad of the darkies, entitled, “I’se got the razor and you’se got the throat.”
Squire Green, wealthy Minnesota farmer, had a pedigreed dog, Fido. He read in the Weekly Argus where Professor Dumpey in Minneapolis could operate on a dog and make him talk like a man for a three thousand dollar fee.
The squire shook himself loose from the money and delegated his son, Bycyrus, to take the money and Fido to the miracle professor. Arriving in the city, Bycyrus parked Fido in the hotel and started out to spend the three thousand berries. When he sobered up, he found himself without railroad fare home, so he and Fido started to walk.
“Well,” replied Bycyrus, “It was this way: As I was walking home, Fido looked up at me and said: ‘I wonder if your father still goes out with the cook.’ So I killed poor Fido.”
“Bycyrus,” earnestly inquired the Squire, “are you sure that dog is dead?”
The colonel of a British regiment returned home in a very angry mood, and when questioned by his wife as to the cause, replied: “Why, that Yankee captain attached to us boasted in the mess today that he had kissed every officer’s wife in the regiment but one.”
“My word,” replied his wife, “I wonder who she can be.”
Trust Hollywood to have the latest in fads, but as in lots of cases, they are short lived. A few months ago Madam Edith Maida Lessing built her temple in Glasswell Park, high above Hollywood, and said, “Here will I commune with the eternal, here will I show the bungalow sweeties that I am no piker.” So she gathered her subjects about her and taught them that civil marriage is the bunk, ownership of land is terrible, churches, penitentiaries are awful, divine marriage is the berries, barter and exchange are the biscuits, free trade and religious transformation is the hot dog.