Little Willie came home in a sad state. He had a black eye and numerous scratches and contusions, and his clothes were a sight. His mother was horrified at the spectacle presented by her darling. There were tears in her eyes as she addressed him rebukingly:
"Oh Willie, Willie! How often have I told you not to play with that naughty Peck boy!"
Little Willie regarded his mother with an expression of deepest disgust.
"Say, ma," he objected, "do I look as if I had been playing with anybody?"
"Why is Miss Jones wearing black?"
"She's in mourning for her husband."
"Why, she never had a husband?"
"That's why she mourns."
"Doctor," said the sick man, "the other doctors seem to differ from you in their diagnosis of my case."
"I know," replied the physician cheerfully, "but the post-mortem will show that I am right."
"It takes Bill a day and a night to tell a story."
"He'd make a good bookkeeper, I should think."
"Why do you say that?"
"He's never short on his accounts."