An anxious pater rushes in amidst the hysterical screams of his exceedingly excited wifie who just knows that she will collapse!
Two minutes later, with the lights well on, daughter is snuggled securely in pater’s protecting arms,—but where is the man?
A faint sound arises from under the blankets, at which daughter Fanchon screams, and mother, true to her prediction, faints.
Oh! how terrible is the suspense of that fateful night! Presently, the “sound” is converted into an unmistakeable mew—Tabby innocently emerges from the covers, and demure little Fanchon very conventionally cries, “Oh, Hell—it’s only the cat!”
Billy Noonan’s Sunshine
The sad part about fishing trips this year is that the fisherman will have to fish.
It is next to impossible to get a drink in St. Paul—unless you have the price.
John Smith, Cass Lake, Minn., Indian, says he fished on the Rainy river 115 years ago. There’s a mark for some of you fish liars to aim at.
Thrift advocates are advising wives to discard all useless things around the house. It looks bad for a lot of husbands.