"No, my son, never. What in the world do you mean. Is it a lot of rubber figures that you blow up and then do they play music?"
"Naw, pap. Come out in the next room and I'll let you hear some music from a rubber band."
The old gentleman becoming interested, laid down his paper, wiped his glasses, and followed his son into the next room, where Johnnie had a rubber band stretched from one side of the wood box to the other, which he began to pick with his finger. "Now, pap, you can say that you have heard music from a rubber band."
"Yes," said the old man, "and I will be able to add that I have caused music by a leather band," and suiting the action to the word, he reached around for a strap, and before John knew it he felt as if eight million rubber bands were snapping him where his pants fit the tightest.
—Liverpool Post.
It Hurt His Feelings.
Kansas Tramp—Mister, could you do a little something to assist a poor man?
Stranger—You don't look as though you were unable to work. You ought to be ashamed of yourself to go around this way. You are a disgrace to humanity. Why don't you go down to the river and take a bath and try to earn a living?