The June bride frowned.
“These tomatoes,” she said, “are just twice as dear as those across the street. Why is it?”
“Ah, ma’am, these”—and the grocer smiled—“these are hand-picked.”
She blushed.
“Of course,” she said, hastily; “I might have known. Give me a bushel, please.”
Mistress—“Jane, I saw the milkman kiss you this morning. In the future I will take the milk in.”
Jane—“’Twouldn’t be no use, mum. He’s promised never to kiss anybody but me.”