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By TAD
Up-to-Date Jokes
A dealer eelling cloth in a small
town asked an Irishman who was
passing if he would buy a suit length,
and added: “You can have it for ten
bob.” |
To which Pat replied: “Begob, sir,
if tuppence would buy the makings
of a Eopcout for an elephant I couldn’t
buy the makings of a pair of leggings
for a canary this minute,”
Rosemary —lsn't it wonderful how
prolific some of the old novelists were
when it is taken into consideration
that they had to do all their composi
tion with pen and ink? .
Thornton—Yes; I shudder to think
of what they might have turned out
if they could have had the advantage
of typewriters,
One of Lord Sandwich’s ancestors
went to Paris to learn dancing, but as
his lordship had an awkward, sham
bling gait his attempts at dancing
were not very successful. The danc
ing master had been very civil, how
ever, and the Earl as he was taking
his leave offered to do what he could
for him in London.
“Then,” said the man, bowing pro
foundly, “I should esteem it a partic
ular favor if your lordship would
never tell anyone who taught you to
dance,”
“l enjoyed your*sermon tiis morn
ing very much,” said Mark Twain to
a clergyman of his acquaintance. “I
welcomed it like an old friend. I have,
yvou know, a book at home conlaining
every word of it.”
“You have not,” said the preacher,
“I have, indeed,” returned the
humorist,
“Well, send that book to me. I'd
like to see it.”
“You shall” Mark Twain replied.
And he sent the next morning an un
abridged dictionary to the minister.
Daysey Mayme
and Her Folks
By FRANCES L. GARSIDE.
VERYONE, all the way from ('a!-
E cutta to Calgary, either 'has
written a moving picture piayv
or has one in his mind. And the
greatest of these are those that .ro
still in their minds,
The scenar!d is the latest and maosi
approved metincd for lifting the mort
gage from the Dear Old Home; it :s
the foundation on which all modern
dreams of achievement are builded; it
is the ultimate hope for fame and sue
cess.
“Some day,” everyone says, “l will
write the prize scenario,” and the as
surance that this prize scenario is
hidden away in his brain gives (e
dreamer a finer epicurean relish (or
the efforts of others. “Humph,” e
will say after witnessing .a moving
picture play, “I can write one better
than that myself!”
It was with this assurance of gre:t
er achievement that Daysey Mayme
Appleton had enjoyed the moving pic
ture efforts of others. She could wril:
a better play herself; she said it fally
500 times,
All of us all the way from Calcutia
to Calgary who have sent prize scena
rios away and enjoyed our dreams of
snending the money they brought us
know what a sickening sensatjon it :s
when the postman wakes us up. . Day .-
sey Mayvme experienced it when “Bel
ter Believe Betty” was put back ‘n
her hands. ‘
Like all the rest of us who have
had prize scenarios come back, she
knew beyond a doubt that the vil
lainous producers had kept her secna
rio just long enough to steal its go.d
points, and in her next visit to a
meving picture theater her suspicions
were confirmed.
“Betty was young and pretty,” she
sobbed, “and I disguised her as an «'d
maid that she might command a
nephew just arriving from abroad to
marry Betty:; the villain kidnaps ,he
nephéew and throws him into a cellay;
there aré an automobile chase, a
ghost, a faded rose that serves as a
clew, a lurking figure at moonligat,
three murders, a long-lost brother, a
donation party at the preacher's, .«
housebreaker, a chase by three polico
men, a deathbed, a lost will, a jealous
husband, a twin sister, a drowning, an
innocent man accused, and the her
oine is in the hero’s arms at last.
And every play given this afternoon
had some of these in it, stolen from
my scenario!"
Alas, 'twas true, for there is some -
thing from “Better Believe Betty” in
every play.
There is ne use trying any mor-.
Like the rest of us, Daysey Mayme i 3
convinced that real genius ne lona:r
has a chance.
Birds of a Feather.
Pat and Mike shared a.room to
gether and, since both of them had
been out of work for some time past.
they. were by no means sorrv to
have found jobs again, although in
future it would be necessary for
them to leave home at 5 a. m,
That was much too early for Pat's
liking, and he said so volubly when,
in the cold, dim hours of the early
morning, Mike turned him out of
bed. He said so more volubly when
he learned that the elock had
stopped, and that Mike had merely
guessed the time.
It couldn't be anything like 5
o'clogk, said Pat and, to prove his
statement, led his friend to the win
dow and showed him the moon.
Mike maintained it was the sun.
Pat swore it was the moon, and con
tinued all the while he dressed, and
even when, accompanied by Mike,
who made his way toward the town.
To tell the truth, he was quite
angry on the subject,
Just then a tramp hove in sight,
whom Mike, in order to reassure his
friend, accosted:
“If ye plaze,” he asked, “will ye
tell us—is that the sun or the
moon'?"
“Dunna,” mumbled the tramp, as
he slouched past. “I'm a stranger
in these parts myself.” ’
One for the Missus.
Only one cloud-—not so very much
bigger than a woman's hand—had cast
a shadow over the early married life
of Mr. and Mrs. Jinks, i
1t was due to the fact that he would
insist on singing the praises of his
mother's skill in culinary matters at
his wife's expense. One day his ma
ternal parent came up to stay with
the young couple, and Jinks asked the
old lady to take notice of the food his
wife gave him, and to give her some
hints during the day.
The first morning that the three
sat down to breakfast Mrs. Jinks sail
to hubbhy:
“And how do you like the toast (.8
morning, dear?”
“Oh, it's flabby, as usual!” answered
he, with a long-suffering look at h's
mother. =
“Oh, I am sorry! But the baconu's
all right, isn't it, darling?"
“Only half cooked, as always, Ma
ria!”
“Well, have an egg, then, swee'-
heart?”
“They're boiled as hard as bullets!™
“Oh, dear! I am sorry you have
had such a bad breakfast, especiatiy
as your dear mother cooked it for you
for a treat!”
Doctor (to patient)—You'll have to
rouse yourself up and take more in
terest in your business.
Patient—My dear thir, that ith ab
tholutely impothible,
Doctor—Why? What is your busis
ness?
Patient—ll'm a money lender.,