“What time is it?” asked his wife suspiciously as he came in.
“About one.”
Just then the clock struck three.
“Gracious! when did that clock commence to stutter?” he asked, with a feeble attempt at justification and a joke.
“What’s become of those patent-leather shoes you wore last winter?”
“They have gone to the wall.”
“Why? Wasn’t the leather good?”
“Yes, but the patent expired.”