THE COP—"The driver of a hearse asked me just now which was the way to the cemetery, and I told him."
THE CAPTAIN—"Don't do it again. You're being paid as a policeman, not as a funeral director."
"What are you going to make of your son Charley?" I asked.
"Well," replied Charley's father, "I made a doctor of Bob, a lawyer of Ralph, and a minister of Bert; and Joe is a literary man. I think I'll make a laboring man of Charley. I want one of them to have a little money."—Life.
The Other Fellow's Job
I seldom quarrel with the universe;
Things could be better, could be better far.
But, on the other hand, they could be worse—