“I’m goin’ home. This ain’t no place for a lady in a thin calico dress!”
At a certain railway junction the train divides, one portion going to Edinburgh, the other to Glasgow. The guard put his head in at one of the carriage windows and asked, “All here for Edinburgh?” All replied in the affirmative except one old woman, who after the train had started remarked with a smile, “I was just goin’ to Glesca masel’ but I wasna goin’ to tell yon inquisitive deevil.”
A pompous Bishop of Oxford was once stopped on a London street by a ragged urchin.
“Well, my little man, what can I do for you?” inquired the churchman. “The time o’ day, please, your lordship.”
With considerable difficulty the portly Bishop extracted his watch. “It is exactly half-past five, my lad.”
“Well,” said the boy, setting his feet for a good start, “at ’alf-past six you go to ’ell!” and he was off like a flash and around the corner. The Bishop, flushed and furious, his watch dangling from its chain, floundered wildly after him. But as he rounded the corner he ran plump into the outstretched arms of the venerable Bishop of London.
“Oxford, Oxford,” remonstrated that surprised dignitary, “why this unseemly haste?”
Puffing, blowing, spluttering, the outraged Bishop gasped out: “That young ragamuffin—I told him it was half-past five—and—he—er—told me to go to hell at half-past six.”