Introducing Jokes
All jokes should be introduced by a certain amount of conversational patter between the Interlocutor and “Bones.”
Mr. Johnson, the interlocutor, is always a very simple-minded person, unable to see any joke until it has been fairly thrown at him, and perfectly innocent in the presence of the most obnoxious puns. He has a certain patronizing air with his companion which only serves to make his innate simplicity more delightful. Mr. Johnson maintains an impassive face in the most ludicrous and trying situations by his very matter-of-fact behavior, extracting all kinds of smart things from the funny man.
“Bones” is the very reverse of Mr. Johnson. He is up to all the latest catches, full of quips and puns, is possessed of a never-failing store of quaint experiences and remarkable stories, the most improbable of which are gravely swallowed by Johnson. Yet the big red lips on his broad black face must be immovable and never show the least symptom of a smile as he recounts with stolid solemnity his marvelous doings to his credulous friend.
The following dialogue is arranged for these two characters. Mr. Johnson asks Bones all kinds of simple and apparently harmless questions; but Mr. Bones replies with a constant succession of puns and jokes:—
Johnson. So you’ve been enjoying yourself, William, lately, I understand. Dining out a good deal?
Bones. Oh yes, that’s right. I’d dine with anybody.
Johnson. Yes, but I’m told you dined with the Mayor last week. Is that right?
Bones. Oh yes, that’s right.
Johnson. Then I suppose you had an excellent dinner—plenty to eat and drink. What was the menu?
Bones. Well, to tell you the truth, there was a lot of ’em there, but I don’t recollect him.
Johnson. Ah, you don’t understand me. I mean what was the bill of fare?
Bones. Oh, well, it was a pretty fair bill. I believe it cost him about $300.
Johnson. No, you don’t understand me. I mean what dishes did you have to eat?
Bones. Well, we didn’t eat any dishes.
Johnson. No, no, of course not; but what did you have to eat and drink?
Bones. Well, I believe the first thing we had to eat was something to drink.
Johnson. And what did you have to drink, then?
Bones. Well, it was a new soup.
Johnson. A new soup! Well, I should like to know what that was. What was it called?
Bones. Oh, I don’t remember exactly what it was, but you might mention the names of a few to help me.
Johnson. Well, was it Mullagatawny?
Bones. No, it wasn’t Multigatony.
Johnson. Was it Mock Turtle?
Bones. No, it wasn’t him.
Johnson. Was it gravy?
Bones. No.
Johnson. Was it spring?
Bones. No, it wasn’t spring, it was summer.
Johnson. Well, I must give it up, William. What was it?
Bones. Oh, I know, it was what they call—er—er—shadow soup.
Johnson. Oh, then, it must be a new soup. I’ve never heard of shadow soup.
Bones. Never heard of shadow soup?
Johnson. No, I haven’t. I should like to taste that. How is it made?
Bones. I’ll tell you. You go down to the market, buy a nice chicken, take it home, stretch a line across the yard, hang the chicken in the middle of the line, put a nice clean pail of water under the chicken, and when the sun comes out it casts its beautiful rays on the chicken, reflects the shadow in the pail of water, and that’s what they call shadow soup.
Johnson. Oh, you go down to the market, buy a nice chicken, take it home, stretch a line across the yard, hang the chicken in the middle of the line, put a nice clean pail of water under the chicken, and when the sun comes out it casts its beautiful rays on the chicken and reflects the shadow in the water, and that’s what they call shadow soup.
Bones. Yes.
Johnson. But, my dear sir, you’ve forgotten one of the principal things.
Bones. Oh, have I? What’s that?
Johnson. What’s that? Why, supposing you have no sun?
Bones. Well, then—you have no soup.