Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Smith? cried a neighbor, who happened to be present.
Pale and faint, Mrs. Smith pointed to an inscription on the crate. It read—
Bill inside!
Rear Admiral Osterhaus, at a luncheon in New York, said of a naval disappointment.
It was as disappointing as absent-minded Ibsen’s Christmas dinner.
Ibsen, you know, ran absent-mindedly one Christmas night into the restaurant of a railway station and asked—
Look here, waiter, did you say I had twenty minutes to wait or that it was twenty minutes to eight?
The Tipperary waiter stopped carving a turkey long enough to reply—