Willie was out walking with his mother, when she thought she saw a boy on the other side of the street making faces at her darling.
"Willie," asked mother, "is that horrid boy making faces at you?"
"He is," replied Willie, giving his coat a tug. "Now, mother, don't start any peace talk—you just hold my coat for about five minutes."
BOILED
Not long ago the editor of an English paper ordered a story of a certain length, but when the story arrived he discovered that the author had written several hundred words too many.
The paper was already late in going to press so there was no alternative—the story must be condensed to fit the allotted space. Therefore the last few paragraphs were cut down to a single sentence. It read thus:
"The Earl took a Scotch high-ball, his hat, his departure, no notice of his pursuers, a revolver out of his hip pocket, and finally, his life."
FORCED INTO IT
Even the excessive politeness of some men may be explained on purely practical grounds. Of a certain suburbanite, a friend said:
"I heard him speaking most beautifully of his wife to another lady on the train just now. Rather unusual in a man these days."