ELEVEN o’clock p.m.—a dainty little ankle adorned by the lace ruffle of
a silken pair of pajamas is drawn under the warm, crisp covers. A little
brunette head is nestled more comfortably on the soft pillows—two sleepy
gray-blue eyes glance demurely but searchingly around the room. A tired
yawn is suppressed by tiny rosy finger-tips—a small round arm reaches
upward, and, presto—the lights go out.
A moment of struggling is encountered in the gloom,—follows a turning
over, and suddenly the shapely little head is jerked breathlessly under
the covers. Part of a minute elapses, then—“Ow, help, murder, police,
oh—oh, oh, my God!—a man!”
A frantic struggle to turn on the lights commences, but the poor
frightened little slip of a girl can’t find the switch.
An anxious pater rushes in amidst the hysterical screams of his
exceedingly excited wifie who just knows that she will collapse!
Two minutes later, with the lights well on, daughter is snuggled
securely in pater’s protecting arms,—but where is the man?
A faint sound arises from under the blankets, at which daughter Fanchon
screams, and mother, true to her prediction, faints.
Oh! how terrible is the suspense of that fateful night! Presently, the
“sound” is converted into an unmistakeable mew—Tabby innocently emerges
from the covers, and demure little Fanchon very conventionally cries,
“Oh, Hell—it’s only the cat!”
* * * * *
=Billy Noonan’s Sunshine=
The sad part about fishing trips this year is that the fisherman will
have to fish.
It is next to impossible to get a drink in St. Paul—unless you have the
price.
John Smith, Cass Lake, Minn., Indian, says he fished on the Rainy river
115 years ago. There’s a mark for some of you fish liars to aim at.
Thrift advocates are advising wives to discard all useless things around
the house. It looks bad for a lot of husbands.
Villa supported the rebels until they got into power, but now he is
“agin” them. There must be a strain of Irish in him.
They are still selling beer in England at three cents a glass. The fare
to England is only $179.75.
The daily papers are running articles about the great slashing in
wearing apparel. They must refer to the laundries.
Price slashing continues. Snow shovels, ear muffs and overcoats are
coming down in price.
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=_Our Mail Bag_=
=John=—I think you must be speaking of pickles; olives are never warped.
* * * * *
=C. P.=—Use one end of the fork, only.
* * * * *
=Agnes=—The male should buy the tickets—at least his own. Would suggest
that you send me your picture. After all I may be wrong.
* * * * *
=L. M. & C. D.=—“You are both wrong.” Question 1—It was Richard B.
Sheridan the lady was speaking of. Phil Sheridan took the ride and it
was Martin Sheridan “who threw things,” as you so aptly put it. Question
2—She must have thought you a couple of mutts.
* * * * *
=Mr. B.=—I am sorry but I know of no way to keep the ears from flapping.
Is Jessie your wife or your horse?
* * * * *
=T. U.=—You cannot lay the blame to your hostess. One should not expect
the chicken to be nailed to the plate.
* * * * *
=Maggie=—No, tea is not tackled nor is it lapped. Sip perhaps is the
word you seek.
* * * * *
=Henery=—If you must speak of them, use the word “Suspenders.” “Braces”
are doubtful, while gallowses, well, you strike me with horror.
Gallowses are obsolete in good society. Yes, an old-fashioned man is one
who wears suspenders.
* * * * *
=Percy=—No, you are not expected to kiss the girl in the vestibule. It
is not being done these days.
* * * * *
=Bill Grabb=—If you think you have a good chance with the lady and are
sure about her income, hire a taxi. Life is a gamble, anyway. Take a
chance; Steve Brodie did.
* * * * *
=H. G. P.=—We thank you for the two following items. They’re “birds”: A
young man and girl eloped and when they reached Pensacola he wired the
girl’s mother as follows: “Married Gladys in Pensacola today. Am going
to Tampa with her tomorrow.”
You can lead a mule to water, but it takes Bull Durham Tobacer.
* * * * *
=Mae=—The skins of potatoes become jackets upon leaving the kitchen.
* * * * *
=Ed.=—Yes, it would be best to use your handkerchief.
* * * * *
=Miss Sylvia=—If you are unfamiliar with the artichoke turn it down. No
book can help you. It is one of the most treacherous traps that a
newly-rich-society-climber can fall into. I dare not advise you.
* * * * *
=Frank D.=—No, Frank, trap is not the correct expression to use in
speaking of a lady’s mouth, unless—unless she is your wife.
* * * * *
=Harry P.=—I am no lawyer. However, I believe that you have no grounds
for a law-suit. You didn’t have to hold the baby.
* * * * *
=Miss Dorris M.=—Please mention the kind of a breath your dancing
partner had. Also give his name and address.
* * * * *
=James P.=—Grapefruit is always uncertain. Write a letter to “the lady
on your left.”
* * * * *
=Louise=—Charles Dickens’ “Curiosity Shop” is a book, not a store. Give
up hunting downtown and try a library.
* * * * *
=E. O.=—A is right. Trousers; not pants.
* * * * *
=Cleo=—Yes, your touching poem, “Why Should I Suffer and Die,” is very
good, but you should practice what you preach.
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