"Hey, kid!" yelled the game warden, appearing suddenly above the young fisherman. "You are fishing for trout. Don't you know they ain't in season?"
"Sure," replied the youth, "but when it's the season for trout they ain't around, and when it ain't the season there's lots of 'em. If the fish ain't a-goin' to obey the rules, I ain't neither."
THE LIMIT
He was a very small boy. Paddy was his dog, and Paddy was nearer to his heart than anything on earth. When Paddy met swift and hideous death on the turnpike road his mother trembled to break the news. But it had to be, and when he came home from school she told him simply:
"Paddy has been run over and killed."
He took it very quietly; finished his dinner with appetite and spirits unimpaired. All day it was the same. But five minutes after he had gone up to bed there echoed through the house a shrill and sudden lamentation. His mother rushed upstairs with solicitude and sympathy.
"Nurse says," he sobbed, "that Paddy has been run over and killed."
"But, dear, I told you that at dinner, and you didn't seem to trouble at all."
"No; but—but I didn't know you said Paddy. I—I thought you said daddy!"