“Gracious me, mother!” exclaimed her son. “That blue ribbon—have you been wearing that at the temperance meeting?”
A loud laugh went up on all sides.
“Why, what is it, Harry?” asked the good woman, clutching at the ribbon in surprise.
“Why, mother, dear, didn’t you know that was the ribbon I wore at the show?”
The gold lettering on the ribbon read:
Atlanta Poultry Show.
First Prize. Bantam.
At a dinner party recently given the subject of regular hours and plain diet was discussed. Several had spoken when one of the guests remarked, “You may not believe it, but for ten years I rose on the stroke of six, half an hour later was at breakfast, at seven was at work, dined at one, had supper at six, and was in bed at 9.30. In all that time I ate the plainest food and did not have a day’s sickness.” The silence that followed was awful, but finally another guest asked, “Will you permit a question?” “Certainly,” was the reply; “what do you wish to know?” “Well, just out of curiosity,” said the other, “I would like to know what you were in prison for?”
Watch—“Eight bells, and all’s well!”