Why, every little helps.
The other day an ear of corn was run over by an automobile and three kernels were killed.
She—We haven’t seen much of you this week.
He—I saw a good deal—at least I saw you—er—last Tuesday.
She—Did you? Where was I? Cycling?
He—Not at the moment. You were just falling over the handles.
I’ve got a brother that’s awful funny. People come from miles around to see him cut up, he’s a butcher, and he always dresses to kill.