Too Sad for That
A tourist was chatting with the proprietor of the village inn.
“This place boasts of a choral society, doesn’t it?” he asked.
The innkeeper looked pained.
“We don’t boast about it,” he replied, in low, sad tones. “We endure it with all the calm resignation we can!”
The swain and his swainess had just encountered a bulldog that looked as if his bite might be quite as bad as his bark. “Why, Percy,” she exclaimed as he started a strategic retreat, “you always swore you would face death for me.” “I would,” he flung back over his shoulder, “but that darn dog ain’t dead.”
Wife (enthusiastically): I saw the most gorgeous chiffonier to-day, dear. But, of course, I know we can not afford——
Hubby (resignedly): When have they promised to deliver it?