"Miss," he calmly announced.
A second shot.
"Miss," he repeated.
A third shot.
"Miss."
"Here, there! Hold on!" protested the major. "What are you trying to do? You're not shooting for the target at all."
"Of course not," admitted the lieutenant. "I'm firing for those cigars." And he got them.
Two old cronies went into a drug store in the downtown part of New York City, and, addressing the proprietor by his first name, one of them said:
"Dr. Charley, we have made a bet of the ice-cream sodas. We will have them now and when the bet is decided the loser will drop in and pay for them."