• Author: Unknown
• Editor: B-7413
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume 5
• Page Number:
• Date: 9 27 1916
• Tags:
• joke

BORROWED MIRTH

“What a beautiful girl Miss Stone is Strange she has never married." “Well, you know there are very few men who can afford to provide a proper setting for such a beautiful Stone.”

“I just adore Western men,’’ gushed the girl who had never been west of Hoboken. “You are all so big and bluff and hearty.” “Well, when it comes to that,’’ replied the Westerner, ‘‘I’ve seen some pretty big bluffs right here in New York City.”

“I hear you came back over a scenic route.’’ “Er—yes. So I did.” “I presume you enjoyed the trip.” “Immeansely. We got up a game of cards that lasted the whole day, and my luck was amazing.”

Mother (to battered son) — ‘‘Willie,how often have I told you to stop before fighting and count up to a hundred?” Battered Son—‘‘That’s what I did, but Charlie Jones’s mother only told him to count ten."

City-bred Doris had arrived at grandfather’s farm for a visit. The first morning. she came running into the house to her mother, crying excitedly: ‘‘Oh, mamma, come see the dear little pigs, but just think, they have a hog for a mother!”

Mary’s mother found her busily engaged in cutting up potatoes. “Why, Mary,” said the astonished mother, ‘‘what are you doing that for?” Pausing a moment in her task, Mary looked up and replied, "I heard the man over at the store say that there was money in potatoes this year, mamma, and I was just looking for some.’’

“Oh, Grandma,’’ exclaimed little Doris, who had been rummaging through an old bureau drawer in the attic, ‘‘what a curious- looking key this is!” “Yes, dear,” replied her grandmother, “That was your grandfather’s latchkey.’’ “And you keep it in memory of the old days?’’ ‘‘No, nights.”

"I suppose,’’ ventured the interested friend of the family, ‘‘that John is still burning the midnight oil at college?’’ “Yes, indeed,” responded the fond but puzzled mother, ‘‘but the college must furnish a very inferor quality of oil. John writes me that some midnights the light is so poor that he can hardly read his hand.”