"It tells how a house was robbed, and I want to show it to my wife," he explained.
"What good will that do?" I inquired.
"A whole lot," was the reply. "You see, this house was robbed while a man was at church with his wife."
"B'Gosh!" I exclaimed, excitedly, "you haven't got a duplicate copy of that paper, have you?"
Before we could get away Bob had a caller.
You see he owns a lot of real estate in the suburbs and his tenants pester the life half out of him on account of trivial troubles.
This party was plainly embarrassed, for he kept twirling his hat in his hands.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Sorter?" asked Bob.
"I came to tell you, sir, that our cellar—"