"Look here, Scribbler, what do you mean by this, 'Among the most beautiful girls was Alderman Horatio Dingley'? Old Dingley ain't a girl, you idiot! He's one of our principal shareholders."
"I can't help that," returned the realistic reporter, "that's where he was."
When Earth's last paper is finished and the type is scrambled and pied,
When the roar of the press becomes fainter and sheets are folded and dried;
We shall rest, and Faith, we shall need it, for the way has been weary and long,
And oft have we heard that chestnut, "Young man, you have quoted me wrong."
The cub reporter was grinding out a marriage notice. Finally he brought it up and laid it on the city editor's desk:
"Mr. and Mrs. Blank announce today the marriage of their daughter to take place next Monday—"
"Huh," grunted the editor, "you can't say they announced a marriage yet to take place."