“I smell the clove.”
A man addicted to walking in his sleep went to bed all right one night, but when he awoke he found himself on the street in the grasp of a policeman. “Hold on,” he cried, “you mustn’t arrest me. I’m a somnambulist.” To which the policeman replied: “I don’t care what your religion is—yer can’t walk the streets in yer nightshirt.”
“I can’t keep the visitors from coming up,” said the office-boy dejectedly to the editor. “When I say you’re out they don’t believe me. They say they must see you.”
“Well,” said the editor, “just tell them that’s what they all say. I don’t care if you ‘cheek’ them, but I must have quietness.”
That afternoon there called at the office a lady. She wanted to see the editor, and the boy assured her that it was impossible.
“But I must see him!” she protested. “I’m his wife!”
“That’s what they all say,” replied the boy. And forthwith a new boy was wanted there.