Jeanne laughed merrily.
“My dear child, did you see the point?” cried the old gentleman delightedly. “That is indeed an accomplishment! Now my daughter, Anne, is a good girl. An excellent girl, but she not only cannot make a pun, but neither can she see one when it is made. I have a little weakness that way myself.”
“We used to, Dick, father and I, to make them at home. But we did it so much that mother stopped us. She said that it wasn’t refined–I am sure that I beg your pardon,” she broke off in great distress.
“There! Don’t take it so to heart,” laughed Mr. Huntsworth good-naturedly. “I know that it isn’t just the thing to pun, but
“‘A little nonsense now and then
Is relished by the best of men.’
“Then, too, we have the example of the immortal Shakespeare. But I won’t indulge again before you, my dear.”
“Oh, but I like them,” cried Jeanne. “I think mother stopped us because we did nothing else for a time. But she used to laugh at some of them herself. She did, truly.”
“Well, well, of course if you enjoy them that is another thing. Perhaps you can tell when a boy is not a boy.”
“I can beat any sort of a drum but a conundrum,” was Jeanne’s quick reply.