Jokes from the church magazines of 1911. They don’t tell ‘em today like they used to then.
Mrs. Borus – “Yes, we’re going to be quite near neighbors of yours at Detroit Lakes this year. We’ll be living just across the bay.”
Miss Sharpe – “Indeed? I hope you’ll drop in some day.”
Witness – “At the time of the accident my maid was in the boudoir arranging my hair.”
Lawyer – “Yes; and where were you?”
Witness – “Sir!”
“Move up, there!” yelled the conductor, trying to crowd more passengers into the car.
“Move up?” gasped a voice. “Does he expect us to climb the straps?
Hardibuss Fatibus (Virgil)
Mrs. Bayle – “She is simply mad on the subject of germs, and sterilizes or filters everything in the house.”
“How does she get along with her family?”
“Oh, even her relations are strained.”
Young Husband – “Did you make those biscuits, my dear?”
His Wife – “Yes, darling.”
Her Husband – “We’ll, I’d rather you would not make any more, sweetheart.”
His wife – “Why not, my love?”
Her Husband – “Because, angel mine, you are too light for such heavy work.”
“Did your father ever raise his hand to you Billy?” asked Tommy.
“Hundreds of times,” said Billy. “But it wasn’t that that bothered me. Where I got stung was when he brought it down.”
“When you punish your boy, do you spring that old one on him about how you are only doing it because you love him?”
“We have a friend who tried that once, and his son answered, ‘If I were big enough, dad, I’d return your love!’”
“Good morning, Ike, haf you heard about Jakey?”
“No; vot’s the matter wit Jakey?”
“Vy, he’s got appendicitis.”
“Vel, why don’t he haf it cut oudt?”
“He can’t; it’s in his vif’s name.”
“How is your son getting on since he bought a flying machine?”
“On crutches, like the rest of them.”
The Tables Turned
It was time for baby girl to be in bed, but no amount of coaxing could take her. At last father offered to lie on the bed till she fell asleep. Off she went “pick-a-back,” and the tired mother leaned back in her chair with a sigh of content ready for a hard earned rest.
Ten minutes – twenty – half an hour, and she was wondering when father would be down, when all at once she heard a soft, stealthy “pit-a-pat.” Nearer came the steps, and then a little, white-robed form with a tiny finger on her lip stood in the doorway.’
“Hush, hush, muvver,” she said, “Ise got farver to sleep.”
“You say your baby doesn’t walk yet?” said Jones. “Mine does; and it’s not as old as yours. Your baby cut his teeth yet?”
“Not yet,” said Bones.
“Oh, mine has – all of them,” said Jones. “Your baby talk?”
“Not yet,” replied Bones; “can yours?”
“Great Scott, yes!” answered Jones.
Then Bones got desperate. “Does he use a safety razor or one of the others?” he asked.
“What’s the matter here?” asked the caller, noticing the barren appearance of the house. “Sent your goods away to be stored?”
“No,” replied the hostess. “Not at all. My daughter was married last week and she has merely taken away the things that she thought belonged to her.”
Mother – “Tommy always eats more pie when we have friends at dinner.”
Visitor – “Why is that, Tommy?”
Tommy – “‘Cos we don’t have no pie no other time.”
“The bluff, cheery optimism of the late Senator Frye,” said a Lewiston divine, “could not brook a whiner. Once at a dinner here in Lewiston, a whiner seated opposite Senator Frye said dolefully:
“‘I have only one friend on earth – my dog.’
“‘Why don’t you get another dog?’ said Senator Frye.”
“Mary,” said the sick man to his wife, after the doctor had pronounced it a case of smallpox, “if any of my creditors call, tell them that I am at last in a condition to give them something,.
Worse Surgeon at a New York Hospital – “What brought you to this dreadful condition? Were you run over by a streetcar?”
Patient – “No sir; I fainted, and was brought to by a member of the Society of First Aid to the Injured.”
Not to Be Fooled
A mission worker in New York tells of a youngster who had never been to “the country” until the occasion of a “fresh-air” excursion whereof he was a member.
One day this lad was seen closely examining a certain trim, well-made object on the farm. He stared at it for a while and then shook his head dubiously.
“What are you looking at, son?” asked the farmer.
“Where’s the doors and windows?” inquired the boy.
“Doors and windows? Why, that’s not a house; it’s a haystack.”
“Excuse me, pop!” returned the youngster. “You can’t string me that way. Hay doesn’t grow in lumps like that.”