She Could Smell It.
Little Johnny McSwilligen, surreptitiously sampled his mamma's brandied peaches yesterday, and soon after had occasion to use the telephone.
"A little later Mr. McSwilligen called his wife to the 'phone to inform her that he would be late getting home.
"Yes, I know why," she replied.
"Ah, how do you know?"
"Why, you're drinking again, and intend to make a night of it."
"Indeed I am not," protested McSwilligen. "I have not touched a drop for a year."
"Oh, you can't impose on me that way," insisted his wife. "I can smell your breath."
And she hung up the receiver with a rattle that almost dislocated the instrument.
—Pittsburgh Chronicle.