The mother of a seminary student sent her son a new black soutane, with a letter in the pocket, which began thus—
“Dear Gigetto, look in the pocket of the soutane and you will find this letter....”
At a café some one asked, “Excuse me, sir; does the Daily appear every day?”
The grave man thus interrogated replied, in a solemn and professional manner, not without a sting of bitter irony: “Of course, sir. You might have seen that by the very title of the paper.”
“Then, sir, on your principle the Century should only appear once every hundred years.”
Collapse of the grave man.
The other day Spippoletti received an anonymous post-card which informed him that he was an old imbecile. Thinking that he recognised the writing of a facetious friend, he hastened at once to the latter and asked him—
“Was it you that sent me this infamous libel?”
“No,” replied the other very calmly.
“Who could it be, then?” demanded Spippoletti.