Sheared Cream
o’ Wit

A Classified Compilation of the Best WIT and HUMOR

By
CARL J. MITTLER
Louisville, Ky.

Copyright 1923
BY
CARL J. MITTLER

This little anthology is lovingly dedicated to Miss Jennie C. Benedict and Miss Salome E. Kerr, with respect and admiration.

By the Way

My Dear Mr. Mittler:

The old adage “what is one man’s laughter may be another man’s dirge” is not inapplicable to the selections of wit and humor in your book.

Please let me “dib” this one suggestion,

Gulping rich food brings on indigestion,

Homeopath these rescued treasures,

Little at a time conserves the pleasures.

Good luck to “Sheared Cream o’ Wit”.

Augustus E. Willson

Foreword

The rare gift of originality is denied most of us, but a measure of compensation rests in the gift of appreciation which has been so freely bestowed, in some degree at least, upon nearly every one of the human race. As one who enjoys this blessing, the compiler of this little volume has counted it a labor of love, and hence a delight, to gather together during a period of forty years choice bits of humor and quaint verse, for his own amusement and the delectation of an inner circle of friends.

The growth of this collection, together with the care used in selection, seems now to warrant its stepping into a wider field. The same recognition of the finer things of wit and pathos which led to these gleanings will be met in other hearts and the smile of kindred spirits will broaden as this little book makes its new friends. Under the evening lamp, the family circle may have many a hearty laugh together; in the office or train, the tired business man may ease the strain of concentration; in the hospitals, weary convalescents may cheer the hours of waiting; the after-dinner speaker may find here some worth-while “I am reminded” stories; far and wide are scattered the multitudes of those who will welcome the coming of one whose mission it is to “scatter sunshine” along life’s weary way.

The gems contained in these pages have been gathered from the New York Graphic, Texas Siftings, Ram’s Horn, Life, Paris Figaro, Punch, London Tit Bits, Literary Digest, Ladies Home Journal, Fliegende Blätter, and from daily papers, living and dead. To all of these, due acknowledgment is made and confidence is expressed that one and all will endorse the propaganda for the spread of the gospel of laughter.

All of the foregoing is set down to emphasize the simple truth that I shall regard my labor as well rewarded, if a bit of new joy, a ray of new brightness, may enter the life of some one who needs it today.

Carl J. Mittler.

Random Smiles

Motto for young lovers: Sofa and no father.

I would like some powder, please, said the young miss to the drugstore clerk.

Yes, miss. Face, gun or bug?

Diner (Scanning menu)—Have you frog legs?

Waitress—Oh, no sir! I walk this way on account of rheumatism.

The new long skirts may make the women appear taller, but there is no denying that the short skirts make the men look longer.

Village Constable (to villager who has been knocked down by passing motorist): You didn’t see the number, but could you swear to the man?

Villager: I did, but I don’t think ’e ’eard me.

Messenger boy, with a telegram for Mr. Jenkins, rings the bell at half-past one in the morning: Does Mr. Jenkins live here—

Feminine voice from upstairs, wearily: Yes; bring him in.

Uncle Sam’s worries (Stevenson Americanized):

There’s so much blues in the East of U. S.

And so much booze in the West of U. S.

That it ill behooves any of U. S.

To say what it thinks of the rest of U. S.

He—I feel like thirty cents.

She—How things have gone up since the war.

Paw, said Tommy Tucker, am I descended from the monkey? Not on my side of the house, replied Mr. Tucker, with much positiveness.

A Reformer would change the name of Hollywood to Follywood.

The Hellywood.

Farmer—See here, young feller, what are you doing up that tree?

Boy—One of your apples fell down and I’m trying to put it back.

A Yorkshireman recently entered an auction mart. Looking around and catching the auctioneer’s eye during a lull in the bidding, he shouted loudly enough to be heard by all: May I bid, sir?

Certainly, said the man of the hammer, thinking him a customer.

All eyes being turned on the questioner, he, making for the door, said:

Well, I’ll bid you good-night, then.

The laughter which followed stopped business for some time.

In the sweet silence of the twilight they honey-spooned upon the beach.

Dearest, she murmured, trembling, now that we are married, I—I have a secret to tell you!

What is it sweetheart? he asked softly.

Can you ever forgive me for deceiving you? she sobbed. My—my left eye is made of glass!

Never mind, lovebird, he whispered, gently; so are the diamonds in your engagement ring!

Mrs. Smith presented her husband with triplets, and two weeks later she had twins.

How come?

One of the triplets died.

An inebriated husband, who has returned after a night out, bringing with him nothing but a charlotte russe, finds his wife very angry. I sent you for fish last night and here you have come home with nothing but a charlotte russe.

Husband (startled)—Did she come all the way home with me?

An advertisement appeared in a newspaper lately praising a new make of infant’s feeding bottle. Here is the advice it gave relative to its use:

When the infant is done drinking, it must be unscrewed and put in cold place under a tap. If the baby does not thrive on raw milk, it should be boiled.

Jenkins’ mother-in-law was buried one day last week. Jenkins was visibly affected as he followed the hearse.

Bear up, sir, said the undertaker. Don’t cry.

I can’t help it, sighed poor Jenkins. Poor woman! Do you know this is the very first time we have been out together without quarreling?

The stingiest man was scoring the hired man for his extravagance in wanting to carry a lantern in going to call on his best girl.

The idea! he scoffed. When I was courtin’ I never carried no lantern; I went in the dark.

The hired man proceeded to fill the lantern.

Yes, he said sadly, and look what you got.

Collector—When can you pay this bill?

Business Manager—See the puzzle editor.

Are you Hungary, Frances?

Yes, Siam.

Well, Russia long and I’ll Fiji.

She—John, do you think that this hat is becoming to me?

He—I expect so, for the bill will be coming to me.

Mrs. Wade Parker—Do you take a Sunday paper?

Mrs. Glen Villers—We do if we get up before our next-door neighbors.

A young lady was caressing a pretty spaniel, and murmuring, I do love a nice dog! Ah! sighed a dandy, standing near; I would I were a dog. Never mind, retorted the young lady, sharply, you’ll grow!

Mrs. Knicker—Weren’t you frightened when the bull bellowed at you on account of your new dress?

Mrs. Bocker—No, it was exactly the same way Henry behaved when he got the bill.

English specimen (with monocle)—Aw—do you serve lobstahs here?

Boston waiter—We make no unnecessary inquiries concerning our customers, sir.

This is from a retail grocer, found (not the grocer) in a basket of Florida beans—

Dearest Sweet Pea—Do you carrot all for me? My heart beets for you. With your radish hair and turnip nose, you are the apple of my eye. Give me a date, if we cantaloupe. Lettuce marry anyway. I know we would make a happy pear.

Yes, dear, I was married last month. I’d like you to call on me and see the pretty little flat I have.

I’ve seen him, my dear.

What is the difference between a rooster, a soldier, and a vamp?

The rooster says, Cock a doodle do.

The soldier says, Yankee doodle do.

And the vamp says, Any dude’ll do.

The prodigal son wrote the old man as follows—

I got religion at camp meeting the other day. Send me ten dollars.

But the old man replied—

Religion is free. You got the wrong kind.

The girl was very pretty. Leaning her dimpled elbows on the table she said—And what is your lecture to be about, professor?

I shall lecture on Keats, he replied.

Oh, professor, she gushed, what are keats?

A pretty young lady went into a Fourth Avenue music shop the other day. She tripped up to the counter, where a new clerk was busy, and in her sweetest tones asked—

Have you “Kissed Me in the Moonlight”?

No! It must have been the man at the other counter. I’ve only been here a week.

A tall, strong man walked into a shop.

I want to get a set of lady’s furs, he said.

What kind? asked the male salesman.

That brown set in the window will do if it’s not too dear, replied the tall, strong man.

Oh, you mean skunk? said the salesman.

The salesman is still in the hospital.

Miss Fleyme—Oh, Mr. Nocoyne, how lovely of you to bring me these beautiful roses! How sweet they are—and how fresh! I do believe there is a little dew on them yet!

Mr. Nocoyne—W-well, yes—there is; but I’ll pay it to-morrow.

Madam, I must request you to remove your hat, remarked the polite theater usher.

The lady smiled grimly.

Does my hat annoy the little man behind me?

Yes, madam.

Then you’ll find it much easier to remove him.

How’s this? sneered the jealous goose. How happens it you aren’t the leading attraction at some Thanksgiving dinner?

The beautiful young turkey blushed and hung her head. Then she said softly—

Nobody axed me.

A drummer approached a girl in charge of a soda fountain and before giving his order asked—How is the milkmaid to-night?

Milk isn’t made; it comes from cows, you fool, was the retort. He was glad to close his mouth with some of it.

No man is as well known as he thinks he is, says Caruso. I was motoring on Long Island recently. My car broke down and I entered a farmhouse to get warm. The farmer and I chatted, and when he asked my name I told him modestly that it was Caruso. At that he threw up his hands.

Caruso! he exclaimed. Robinson Caruso, the great traveler! Little did I expect ever to see a man like yer in this here humble kitchen, sir!

What do you mean by an “eight-day clock?”

One that will run eight days without winding.

Huh, then how long would it run if you wound it?

I sometimes wonder, said an Englishman visiting New York, to a pretty girl sitting next to him at dinner, what becomes of all your peaches here in America.

Oh, was the reply, we eat what we can, and we can what we can’t.

Look here! angrily exclaimed the householder, pointing to a cigar-stump that lay on the floor of the back porch. That was in the lump of ice you left here yesterday morning! Well, belligerently replied the iceman, what did you expect to get for fifteen cents—a box of perfectos?

I, said the temperance man, strongly object to the custom of christening ships with champagne.

I don’t, replied the other man. I think there’s a temperance lesson in it.

How can that be?

Well, immediately after the first bottle of wine the ship takes to water and sticks to it ever after.

A man “butted in” at a waiting line before the railroad ticket window at New York, and the men who were in a hurry glowered.

I want a ticket for Boston, said the man and put 50 cents under the wicket.

You can’t go to Boston for 50 cents, returned the ticket seller.

Well, then, asked the man, where can I go for 50 cents?

And each of the fourteen men in that waiting room told him where he could go.

But, observed the fool man who had permitted his wife to take him along on her search for a spring bonnet, the hat doesn’t seem to fit. Now, I think a woman’s hat should conform to her head the same as a man’s.

Oh, tittered the merry milliner, there are no fits connected with spring hats. They generally develop in the men when the bill comes home.

A few days ago, says the “Newark Star,” Alderman Elmer A. Day was glancing over the register at one of the local hotels to see if a friend of his was registered there. Near him stood a man who was holding onto the desk for dear life in a semi-successful attempt to maintain his balance.

I s’pose you think I’m drunk? said the stranger, looking belligerently at Day.

No; not in the least, replied the Alderman, anxious to avoid the possibility of a row.

Well, you’d know I was if I let go this desk, answered the man.

I visited Miss Marie Corelli when I was in Stratford, said a young woman. She lives in a quaint house of dull red brick. She is very pretty and very rich, and she likes Americans.

Miss Corelli was full of fun. She talked about woman’s over-regard for appearances. She said that she herself was too prone to think that, if appearances were all right, everything was right.

Once, in her childhood, Miss Corelli said she was yachting on the English coast.

As the yacht sped along there was a sudden swerve, and the helmsman said—

By Jove, I believe she’s broken her rudder.

Oh, well, said the young girl, what does it matter? It’s under water, and I’m sure nobody will notice it.

A sentimental novelist once wrote: Edwin then kissed Angelina under the silent stars.

The compositor set it up thus:

Edwin then kicked Angelina under the cellar stairs.

Old Smith was busy in his back yard with saw and hatchet while his wife nursed a bad cold in the house, when a neighbor came to the fence.

Good mornin’, Mr. Smith, he said. How is Mrs. Smith this mornin’?

Just about the same, old Smith replied. She didn’t sleep very well last night.

That’s too bad, the neighbor sympathized, and then, as a raucous sound came from the house, he added solicitously:

I s’pose that’s her coughin’, ain’t it?

No, old Smith answered absent-mindedly, his eyes still on his work, it ain’t her coffin, it’s a new hen house.

The world has so long been at war with the hapless printer that it will be interesting to know that at least one compositor has been capable of following instructions. Once upon a time a printer brought to Booth for inspection proof of a new poster, which after the manner of its kind, announced the actor as the eminent tragedian, Edwin Booth.

Mr. Booth did not fully approve of it.

I wish you’d leave out that eminent tragedian business. I’d much rather have it simple Edwin Booth, he said.

Very good, sir.

The next week the actor saw the first of his new bills in position. His request had been carried out to the letter. The poster announced the coming engagement of Simple Edwin Booth.

I left my husband’s death notice here this morning, said the widow.

Yes, said the bright clerk in the publication room of the “Daily Squib.”

Now, continued the widow, I want you to add to the notice, “Gone to Rest,” in an appropriate place.

Yes, madam, replied the bright clerk, and the next morning she read: Gone to rest in an appropriate place.

Miss Frances Kellar, of the Woman’s Municipal League of New York, illustrated admirably at a dinner party a point which she wished to make.

Women, a man has said, are vainer than men.

Of course, Miss Kellar answered, I admit that women are vain and men are not. There are a thousand proofs that this is so. Why, the necktie of the handsomest man in the room is even now up the back of his collar.

There were six men present, and each of them put his hand gently behind his neck.

We recently heard of a man who attended a grand ball with his wife and had a grand time. While dancing a quadrille he noticed that his pants were ripping, and hurriedly retired to a room with his wife, who procured a needle and thread and began sewing up the rip. While the man was sitting there without any pants on he heard the rustling of skirts and it occurred to him that he had taken refuge in the ladies’ dressing-room. He appealed to his wife, and she shoved him to a door which opened, as she thought, into a closet. Opening the door quickly, she shoved him through and locked the door. Mary! he screamed, I’m in the ballroom! The door, instead of opening into the closet, opened into the ballroom.

The Morning Star announced the death of William B. Jones when he was not dead, writes Simeon Strunsky in the New York Evening Post.

The next day it printed the following notice:

Yesterday we were the first newspaper to publish the news of the death of William B. Jones. Today we are the first to deny the report. The Morning Star is always in the lead.

A matron of the most determined character was encountered by a young woman reporter on a country paper, who was sent out to interview leading citizens as to their politics. May I see Mr. ⸺? she asked of a stern-looking woman who opened the door at one house. No, you can’t, answered the matron decisively. But I want to know what party he belongs to, pleaded the girl. The woman drew up her tall figure. Well, take a good look at me, she said, I’m the party he belongs to!

Here is a singular incident showing how easy it is to mistranslate an overheard remark.

Said Mrs. A, one of the overhearers: They must have been to the zoo, because I heard her mention a trained deer.

Said Mrs. B: No, no. They were talking about going away and she said to him, find out about the train, dear.

Said Mrs. C: I think you are both wrong. It seemed to me they were discussing music, for she said, A trained ear, very distinctly.

A few minutes later the lady herself appeared and they told her of their disagreement.

Well, she laughed, that’s certainly funny. You are poor guessers, all of you. The fact is, I’d been out to the country overnight and I was asking my husband if it rained here last evening.

She was a pretty little widow, whose husband, after nine years of married life, had left her with four strapping boys and a generous provision of the world’s goods. Her financial affairs were in the hands of a trust company, the cashier of which, having an ambition to be thought something of a wit, often joked her when she called at the office. One day, in opening her hand bag for a check, she thoughtlessly dropped a pin of the variety known as safety.

The cashier, noticing this, jocosely asked:

Is that your fraternity pin?

To which the little widow replied:

No, it’s my maternity pin.

Can you tell me, said the cool-looking young lady in white, confidentially approaching the young man at the soda fountain, the most agreeable way to take castor oil?

Oh, yes, indeed, replied the man, his eyes brightening. And while you are waiting, he added, won’t you have a glass of soda?

Oh, thank you, said the young lady, as he set it down before her. The day being hot, in a few moments she had drained the glass.

Is the prescription ready? she asked, sweetly, wiping her mouth.

The young man’s eyes gleamed with benevolence. The prescription, he said, tapping the glass, was in here.

Do you mean to say I’ve drunk it? she screamed. But it wasn’t for me; it was for my little brother! And she swept from the drug store.

It’s too bad, sighed the young man, and she was one of our best customers!

But she isn’t any more. Daily the soda fountain young man watches her enter the drug store across the way, where they look before they leap.

An employer, noted for his energy and lack of tolerance for loafing in any form, visited his stock room and found a boy leaning idly against a packing case, whistling cheerily, and with nothing at all on his mind. The chief stopped and stared. Such a thing was unheard of in his establishment.

How much are you getting a week? he demanded, with characteristic abruptness.

Twelve dollars.

Here’s your twelve. Now get out. You’re through.

As the boy philosophically pocketed the money and departed, the boss turned to the chief clerk and demanded:

Since when has that fellow been with us?

Never that I know of, was the response. He just brought over a proof for us from the printer.

Henry was at college. He had been spending somewhat too freely, and he was short. It was near the holidays and he hated to write home for money. As a last resort he pawned his dress suit to tide him over.

When the time came to leave for home the suit was still unredeemed. He knew he would need it at home. He hurriedly redeemed it at the last moment, packed it in the grip and was off.

His mother was helping him unpack. She came to the coat.

Henry, she asked, what is this ticket on your coat for?

Why, mother, he replied, I went to a dance the other evening and had my coat checked.

She continued putting away his garments. Finally she lifted out the trousers. They, too, were ticketed.

Henry! she exclaimed, what kind of a dance was that?

Philip—My man, I think you are one of the most self-controlled men I have ever seen.

Morris—Howcum?

Philip—You seem to have an awful lot of trouble with your flivver. You get angry with it, and yet you never swear at it.

Morris—Well, you see it’s this way. I don’t think the flivver is worth a damn.

It was in one of the “ten, twent, thirt” vaudeville houses where moving pictures are shown. An Oriental act has been concluded and incense filled the house.

Usher, complained a pompous man in an aisle seat, I smell punk.

That’s all right, whispered the usher, confidently, just sit where you are, and I won’t put anyone near you.

Some time ago there lived a gentleman of indolent habits who spent his time visiting among his friends. After wearing out his welcome in his own neighborhood he thought he would visit an old Quaker friend some twenty miles distant.

On his arrival he was cordially received by the Quaker, who, thinking the visitor had taken much pains to come so far to see him, treated him with a great deal of attention and politeness for several days.

As the visitor showed no signs of leaving, the Quaker became uneasy, but bore it with patience until the eighth day, when he said to him—

My friend, I am afraid thee will never come again.

Oh yes, I shall, said the visitor. I have enjoyed my visit very much, and shall certainly come again.

But, said the Quaker, if thee will never leave, how can thee come again?