And with a horse laugh they resumed the discussion of their table d’oat.
BOBBY’S BAD BOX.
Mrs. Suburb—“Bobby, I wish you would weed this flower bed.”
Bobby—whimpering—“If I sit out here in the hot sun, a-pullin’ weeds, I’ll get all sunburned, and my skin will be so sore I can’t sleep.”
Mrs. Suburb—“That’s easily remedied. After you get through with the flower beds you may pull all the plantain weeds out of the lawn and bring them to me. Plantain leaves are good for sunburn.”
SHOWING HIS WISDOM.
Housekeeper—“I wish to get some borax.”
New Boy—“Powdered?”
“I hardly know. I saw in a paper that roaches could be killed with borax.”
“Guess you’d better take the other kind, ma’am. It’s ’most as hard as rocks. Have you a little boy?”