The skipper was examining an ambitious gob who wanted to be a gunner's mate.
"How much does a six-pound shell weigh?" he asked.
"I don't know," the gob confessed.
"Well, what time does the twelve o'clock train leave?"
"Twelve o'clock."
"All right, then, how much does a six-pound shell weigh?"
"Ah," said the youthful mariner, a great light dawning on him. "Twelve pounds."
* * *
The two flappers at the Strand seemed barely in their 'teens, yet their conversation stamped them as seasoned film fans. They were discussing titles of pictures in general, and the tiny blonde expressed regret that the recent German importations had had their titles changed for American consumption. "If they had only called that picture 'Du Barry' instead of 'Passion,' think what a hit it would have made!"
Her bobbed-hair companion tossed her head and scoffed: "Don't you believe it. There's millions of folks never heard of Du Barry, but every one knows about passion."
* * *
"We will take as our text this morning," announced the absent-minded clergyman, consulting his memorandum, "the sixth and seventh verses of the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs." Never suspecting that his vivacious son and heir had found the memorandum in his study on the previous night, and, knowing that his papa had composed a sermon celebrating the increased severity of dry law enforcement, had diabolically changed the chapter and verse numerals to indicate a very different text, the absent-minded clergyman turned to the place and read aloud these words of Solomon: "Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts. Let him drink and forget his past poverty, and remember his misery no more."
* * *
"You don't mean to say it cost you $7000 to have your family tree looked up?"
"No; $2000 to have it looked up and $5000 to have it hushed up."
* * *
The Aristocrat (returning to school): My ancestors came over with William the Conqueror.
The New Girl: That's nothing! My father came over in the same boat with Mary Pickford!
* * *
It was Judgment Day, and throngs of people were crowding around the Pearly Gates trying to convince St. Peter that they were entitled to enter Heaven. To the first applicant St. Peter said, "What kind of a car do you own?"
"A Packard," was the reply.
"All right," said St. Peter, "you go over there with the Presbyterians."
The next in line testified that he owned a Buick, and was told to stand over with the Congregationalists. Behind him was the owner of a Dodge, who was ordered to stand with the Baptists. Finally a meek little individual came along.
"What kind of a car do you own?" was the question.
"A Ford," was the answer.
"You just think you own a car. You go over there with the Christian Scientists."
* * *
The Housewife: My goodness! I don't believe you've washed yourself for a year.
The Hobo: Just about that. You see, I only washes before I eats.
* * *
The Professor: A diamond is the hardest known substance, inasmuch as it will cut glass.
The Cynic: Glass! My dear sir, a diamond will even make an impression on a woman's heart.
* * *
Boss: What do you mean by such language? Are you the manager here or am I?
Jones: I know I'm not the manager.
The Boss: Very well, then, if you're not the manager, why do you talk like a blamed idiot?
* * *
"Pa, what's an actor?"
"An actor, my boy, is a person who can walk to the side of a stage, peer into the wings at a group of other actors waiting for their cues, a number of bored stage hands, and a lot of theatrical odds and ends, and exclaim, 'What a lovely view there is from this window!"'
* * *
"Is she making a rich marriage?"
"I should hope to tell you; he is a butcher who has been arrested three times for profiteering."
