In a crowded omnibus a stout woman vainly endeavored to get her fare out
of the pocket of her cloak, which was tightly buttoned as a precaution
against pickpockets.
After she had been working in vain for some minutes, a gentleman seated
on her right said: “Please allow me to pay your fare.”
The lady declined and recommenced her attacks on the pocket.
After these had continued for some little time her fellow-passenger
said: “You really must let me pay your fare. You have already undone my
suspenders three times and I cannot stand it any longer.”
* * * * *
A woman is never so disappointed as when she asks a man to behave, and he
behaves.
* * * * *
“Oh, Dear, You Hurt”
Imagine the scene: A big, comfortable chair, a beautiful girl snuggled
down in it, her head leaned back so that she is looking up into the face
of the man who is bending so attentively over her.
Now he reaches his arm around her. Her head is pressed against his heart.
Speech at this time would be impossible.
Listen. We hear her struggled whisper: “Oh, dear, you hurt.” In a low,
earnest voice he says: “Well, I simply cannot help hurting you a little
bit. You don’t mind that, do you?”
Again we hear only silence. They seem perfectly contented.
It is not long, however, that they remain in this position. He does not
seem content with what he sees in her face.
Her eyes are a violet gray. He bends farther over so that he can see
into—well—see into her mouth.
Because, of course, it is the dentist repairing her teeth.
* * * * *