The superintendent of a Sunday School was one afternoon explaining to his scholars the story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal; how Elijah built an altar, put wood upon it, and cut a bullock in pieces and laid it on the altar.
“And then,” said the superintendent, “he commanded the people to fill four barrels with water, and to pour it over the altar; and they did this four times. Now, I wonder if any boy or girl can tell me why this water was poured over the bullock upon the altar?”
There was silence for a few moments, when one little girl spoke up:
“Please, sir, to make the gravy.”
“What has become of the big man who used to beat the bass drum?” once asked a returning citizen of the leader of the band.
“He left us more than a year ago,” was the answer.
“Good man, wasn’t he?”
“Sure, an excellent man, but he got so fat that when he marched he couldn’t hit the drum.”
“What is a man-of-war?” said a teacher to his class.
“A cruiser,” was the prompt reply.
“What makes it go?”
“Its screw, sir.”
“Who goes with it?”
“Its crew, sir.”
Teacher: “Johnny, can you tell how iron was first discovered?”
Johnny: “Yes, sir.”
Teacher: “Well, just tell the class what your information is on that point.”
Johnny: “I heard my father say yesterday that they smelt it.”
Wife: “This paper tells of a man out in Ohio who lives on onions alone.”
Hub: “Well, anyone who lives on onions ought to live alone.”
A Mouse Shave
Wife: “Mercy; what’s the matter with your face? You look as though you’d been in a battle.”
Hub: “I was getting shaved by a lady barber when a mouse ran across the floor.”
Couldn’t Fool Him
It was a fast one that hit Biggs on top of the head and the ball, bounding high, was caught by the catcher just as the umpire awoke from his nap.
“You’re out!” yelled the “umps.”
“But it hit me on the head,” gasped Biggs.
“Mebbe I didn’t see where it hit, but I knows the sound of wood when I hears it, and out you goes.”
How It Happened
Mrs. Flatleigh: “John, the janitor discovered this morning why we had no heat last winter.”
Mr. Flatleigh: “Indeed?”
Mrs. Flatleigh: “Yes, he wanted to burn some papers this morning and discovered that there is no furnace in the building.”
A Gentle Hint
“It’s going to be war to the knife,” declared the suburban man who was feeding his chickens.
“What now?” asked the friend.
“Why, Blinks sent me a box of axle grease and advised me to use it on my lawn mower.”
“Well, I sent it back and told him to use it on his daughter’s voice.”
“And when you eloped with the girl,” asked a friend, “did her father follow you?”
“Did he?” said the young man. “Rather! He’s living with us yet!”
The Unkindest Cut
Mrs. Cronan heard her little granddaughter, Margaret, crying as if in great pain, and hastened to the child.
“Why, dear, what is the trouble?” inquired Mrs. Cronan solicitously. “Did you meet with an accident?”
“No-no, grandma!” sobbed Margaret, “it wasn’t no accident. M-mother did it on purpose!”
Yells from the nursery brought the mother, who found the baby gleefully pulling small Billy’s curls.
“Never mind, darling,” she comforted. “Baby doesn’t know how it hurts.”
Half an hour later wild shrieks from the baby made her run again to the nursery.
“Why, Billy,” she cried, “what is the matter with baby?”
“Nothing, muzzer,” said Billy, calmly; “only now he knows.”
Limerick of Infelicity
A young wife complained to the Gov.
Her husband was rude and kept shov.
Tho but recently wed
He had changed, so she sed,
And had quite given up lovey-dov.
Dry Goods Expert
Kind stranger: “How old is your baby brother, little girl?”
Little Girl: “He’s a this year’s model.”
Irritable Old Man: “Say, does this car always make this racket?”
Chauffeur: “No, sir; only when it’s running.”
In the Pullman
Pullman Porter: “Next stop is yo’ station, sah. Shall I brush yo’ off now?”
Morton Morose: “No; it is not necessary. When the train stops I’ll get off.”
First Mosquito: “What’s become of our old friend?”
Second Mosquito: “His was a terrible fate. Those human beings poured kerosene all over the place.”
F.M.: “But he liked kerosene.”
S.M.: “That was the trouble. He gorged himself with it and then collided with a firefly.”
Asking Too Much
Lady: “Yes, they are very nice gooseberries, but aren’t they dirty?”
Street Vender: “Dirty! Think I can wash ‘em, and part their ‘air down the center for tuppence a pound in these ‘ere war times?”
Ducked a Job
A vaudeville artist, who used to tour the theatres with a flock of performing ducks, found managers no longer willing to book his sedate show. After he had been resting some time he received a telegram asking him to open on the following Monday at a vaudeville theater in a distant town. In reply he wired:
“Regret cannot come. Haven eaten the act.”