A young gentleman was spending the week-end at little Willie's cottage at Atlantic City, and on Sunday evening after dinner, there being a scarcity of chairs on the crowded piazza, the young gentleman took Willie on his lap.
Then, during a pause in the conversation, little Willie looked up at the young gentleman and piped:
"Am I as heavy as sister Mabel?"
The late Charles Coghlan was a man of great wit and resource. When he was living in London, his wife started for an out-of-town visit. For some reason she found it necessary to return home, and on her way thither she saw her husband step out of a cab and hand a lady from it. Mrs. Coghlan confronted the pair. The actor was equal to the situation.
"My dear," he said to his wife, "allow me to present Miss Blank. Mrs. Coghlan, Miss Blank."
The two bowed coldly while Coghlan quickly added:
"I know you ladies have ever so many things you want to say to each other, so I will ask to be excused."
He lifted his hat, stepped into the cab, and was whirled away.
The evening callers were chatting gaily with the Kinterbys when a patter of little feet was heard from the head of the stairs. Mrs. Kinterby raised her hand, warning the others to silence.
"Hush!" she said, softly. "The children are going to deliver their 'good-night' message. It always gives me a feeling of reverence to hear them—they are so much nearer the Creator than we are, and they speak the love that is in their little hearts never so fully as when the dark has come. Listen!"
There was a moment of tense silence. Then—"Mama," came the message in a shrill whisper, "Willy found a bedbug!"
"I was in an awkward predicament yesterday morning," said a husband to another.
"How was that?"
"Why, I came home late, and my wife heard me and said, 'John, what time is it?' and I said, 'Only twelve, my dear,' and just then that cuckoo clock of ours sang out three times."
"What did you do?"
"Why, I just had to stand there and cuckoo nine times more."
"Your husband will be all right now," said an English doctor to a woman whose husband was dangerously ill.
"What do you mean?" demanded the wife. "You told me 'e couldn't live a fortnight."
"Well, I'm going to cure him, after all," said the doctor. "Surely you are glad?"
The woman wrinkled her brows.
"Puts me in a bit of an 'ole," she said. "I've bin an' sold all 'is clothes to pay for 'is funeral."