She was a pretty little widow, whose husband, after nine years of married life, had left her with four strapping boys and a generous provision of the world’s goods. Her financial affairs were in the hands of a trust company, the cashier of which, having an ambition to be thought something of a wit, often joked her when she called at the office. One day, in opening her hand bag for a check, she thoughtlessly dropped a pin of the variety known as safety.
The cashier, noticing this, jocosely asked:
Is that your fraternity pin?
To which the little widow replied:
No, it’s my maternity pin.
Can you tell me, said the cool-looking young lady in white, confidentially approaching the young man at the soda fountain, the most agreeable way to take castor oil?
Oh, yes, indeed, replied the man, his eyes brightening. And while you are waiting, he added, won’t you have a glass of soda?
Oh, thank you, said the young lady, as he set it down before her. The day being hot, in a few moments she had drained the glass.
Is the prescription ready? she asked, sweetly, wiping her mouth.