She Wasn't Posted.
Grocer (who has lately joined the militia, practising in his shop)—Right, left, right, left. Four paces to the rear; march! (Falls down trapdoor into the cellar.)
Grocer's wife (anxiously)—Oh, Jim, are you hurt?
Grocer (savagely, but with dignity)—Go away, woman; what do you know about war?
—Liverpool Post.
