A grouchy butcher, who had watched the price of porterhouse steak climb the ladder of fame, was deep in the throes of an unusually bad grouch when a would-be customer, eight years old, approached him and handed him a penny.
"Please, mister, I want a cent's worth of sausage."
Turning on the youngster with a growl, he let forth this burst of good salesmanship:
"Go smell o' the hook!"
TOM—"My pa is very religious. He always bows his head and says something before meals."
DICK—"Mine always says something when he sits down to eat, but he don't bow his head."
TOM—"What does he say?"
DICK—"Go easy on the butter, kids, it's forty cents a pound."