SCHOOLS
A keen-eyed mountaineer led his overgrown son into a country schoolhouse. "This here boy's arter larnin'," he announced. "What's yer bill o'fare?"
"Our curriculum, sir," corrected the schoolmaster, "embraces geography, arithmetic, trigonometry—"
"That'll do," interrupted the father. "That'll do. Load him up well with triggernometry. He's the only poor shot in the family."
There is no real suffering in Mexico now, except that of the schoolboy who is trying to learn the dates of all the revolutions.
CRABSHAW—"Why do you wish to leave school and go to work when you're so young?"
WILLIE—"It's this way, dad. School is going to be a tough place for the next few years. We'll have a new map of Europe to study, and if we fall down on it the teacher is likely to give us the Constitution of the League of Nations to learn by heart."
MAMMA—"How do you feel this morning, Robert? Are you able to sit up?"
ROBERT—"I feel awful bad. Don't think I could stand on my feet."
MAMMA—"Well, I hope you will be able to go to school Monday. This is Saturday—"
ROBERT (jumping out of bed)—"Saturday! Gee! I thought it was Friday!"