Somebody told Mr. Jenks that red flannel worn next to the skin would cure the rheumatism from which he suffered. So he purchased several sets of red flannel undergarments. The clerk assured him that the firm guaranteed the goods in every particular. About two months later, says the New York “Times,” Mr. Jenks revisited the shop, sought out the proprietor and told his woful story.
“The goods are the best in the house,” declared the proprietor. “Of course,” he said, in a reasonable tone used on unreasonable persons, “of course the shirts may have shrunk or faded a little—”
“Shrunk! Faded!” bellowed Mr. Jenks. “What do you think my wife said to me, when I came down to breakfast yesterday with one of them on?”
The proprietor looked bored.
“Well, sir,” said the aggrieved Jenks, “she looked at me a minute, and then said, ‘What is that little red line round your neck John? It isn’t the baby’s string of coral beads, is it?’”
“Now, Tommy,” said Mrs. Bull, “I want you to be good while I’m out.”
“I’ll be good for a nickel,” replied Tommy.
“Tommy,” she said, “I want you to remember that you can not be a son of mine unless you are good for nothing.”