DIAGNOSIS
FRIEND—"What is the first thing you do when a man presents himself to you for consultation?"
DOCTOR—"I ask him if he has a car."
FRIEND—"What do you learn from that?"
DOCTOR—"If he has one, I know he is wealthy—and if he hasn't, I know he is healthy."
Starting with a wonderful burst of oratory, the great evangelist had, after two hours' steady preaching, become rather hoarse.
A little boy's mother in the congregation whispered to her son, "Isn't it wonderful? What do you think of him?"
"He needs a new needle," returned the boy sleepily.
The telephone rang and the bookkeeper answered it.
"Yes, madam, this is Wilkins's market."
"This is Mrs. Blank. I want you to know that the liver you sent me is most unsatisfactory. It is not calf's liver at all; calf's liver is tender and——"
"Just a moment, madam, and I'll call the proprietor."
"What is it?" Wilkins asked.
The bookkeeper surrendered the phone.
"Mrs. Blank," he said. "Liver Complaint."
Axel, a Swede in an outfit at Fort Jay, woke up one morning with a desire to loaf. He got put on sick-call, thinking it was worth trying, anyway. At the dispensary the "doc." looked him over, felt his pulse, and took his temperature. Then he said:
"I can't find anything wrong with you."
No answer.
"See here, what's wrong with you anyway?"
"Doc," replied Axel. "That bane your yob."
"Some un sick at yo' house, Mis' Carter?" inquired Lila. "Ah seed de doctah's kyar eroun 'dar yestiddy."
"It was for my brother, Lila."
"Sho! What's he done got de matter of'm?"
"Nobody seems to know what the disease is. He can eat and sleep as well as ever, he stays out all day long on the veranda in the sun, and seems as well as any one; but he can't do any work at all."
"Law, Mis' Carter, dat ain't no disease what you brothe' got! Dat's a gif!"—Everybody's.