"I can't make jokes with your hands tied behind your back, but I can make one with my own hands tied behind my back that Jimmieboy here can see with his eyes shut," said the major, scornfully.
"What is it? I like jokes," said Jimmieboy.
"Why—er—let me see; why—er—when is a sunbeam sharp?" asked the major, who did not expect to be taken up so quickly.
"I don't know; when?" asked Jimmieboy.
"When it's a ray, sir. See? Ray, sir—razor. Ha! ha! Pretty good, eh?" laughed the major.
"Bad as can be," said the sprite, his nose turned up until it interfered with his eyesight. "Now hear mine, Jimmieboy. When is a joke not a joke?"
"Haven't the slightest idea," observed Jimmieboy, after scratching his head and trying to think for a minute or two.
"When it's one of the major's," roared the sprite, whereat the woods rang with his laughter.
The major first turned pale and then grew red in the face.
"That settles it," he said, throwing off his coat. "That is a deadly insult, and there is now no possible way to avoid a duel."