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.
At the crossroads he killed Fido.
“Where’s the dog?” the Squire asked.
“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?”
* * * * *
Wow, Zowie?
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.”
_Our Movie Gossip_
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.
So divine marriage prevailed, it consisted of taking a person as your
mate in the sight of God and when tired of them give them the gate,
and daily and nightly they gamboled lightly on the lee, little elfins
scantily clad could be seen flitting hither and thither in the moonlight
and they held earthly communication in the doorways; in the early
mornings could be seen the spirit dance around the red flag of love, and
many a bungalow sweetie could be seen looking longingly toward Glasswell
Park. It got so bad that the dearies thought they were going to lose
their sweet man and they all began to squawk in accents bold.
They yelped so loud that they were heard in Los Angeles, and straightway
two noble minions of the law set forth to quiet the rumpus. When they
arrived and asked what it was all about, they were informed this was the
temple of Helois where the disabled vets were soon to reside and where
St. Mary’s cradle was to be founded to care for all the babies that were
not otherwise cared for. Here was to be the goat farm to feed said babies
that their mothers might commune with the spirits unhampered; here was to
be the boat landing where the fishermen would land nightly after their
day’s fishing to feed the vets and the other members of the colony. Here
was everything.
The law was not satisfied and escorted her forth to durance vile, and
accused her of lots of things she didn’t understand, but she remained
unruffled and when safely situated in the county hotel, broke forth in a
fit of poetry—