Golfer. "What's the matter, Sandy? Aren't you going to play this afternoon?"
Sandy. "Man, have you not heard? I've lost ma ball."
ELIZABETH GOES TO THE SALES.
"Are you goin' to the Summer Sales this year, 'm?" inquired Elizabeth, suddenly projecting herself on the horizon of my thoughts.
I laid down my pen at once. It is not possible to continue writing if Elizabeth desires to make conversation at the same time.
"Certainly I shall, if I hear of a sale of cheap crockery," I replied pointedly; "ours badly needs replenishing."
The barbed arrow did not find its mark. It may require a surgical operation to get a joke into a Scotsman, but only the medium of some high explosive could properly convey a hint to Elizabeth.
"'Oo wants to go to sales to buy things like pots?" asked Elizabeth scornfully.
"People who are always getting their pots broken," I replied in italics.