When she looks pretty, When he deserves it, kiss tell her so; him; Let her feel how well you Let him think how well understand her— you understand him— But never let her know But never let him know she isn’t boss. that you manage him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ =_Pasture Pot Pourri_= I didn’t like her apartment so I knocked her flat. * * * * * A parson in London, England, has been unfrocked for kissing a servant girl. This smacks of intolerance. * * * * * =Give It Up= If big feet, knock-knees and bow legs won’t make a girl wear long skirts, what chance has modesty? * * * * * =An Ambition= _I’ve mortgaged the house and mortgaged the cow, And mortgaged the things that are, And all the things I expect to have, To purchase a motor car. And when I first roll out in it My joy will be sublime If I can run over my brother-in-law And get away in time._ * * * * * A man in Brandon, the other day, was fined one thousand dollars for selling a bottle of whiskey, and a man in Humboldt, found guilty of seduction, was let off on suspended sentence. Uplift is making great advances. * * * * * Clothing dealers think that it’s all over with the overall. * * * * * The man who does not possess a private cellar is in a fair way to possess a private cell. * * * * * Bohemia! Bohemia! The world of hopes and fears, Of themes and dreams and cigarettes, free lunches, beers and tears. * * * * * =A recruiting officer says soldiers make good husbands because all they want is plenty to eat and beans once a week. Hm! And we imagined beans were something to eat.= * * * * * =A Good Excuse= Flooterpush gazed sadly upon Jane Emily the handmaiden. “Jane Emily,” said he, severely pointing to a half-empty bottle of the fluid which cheers and occasionally inebriates, “somebody’s been at this whiskey.” “Well, I’ve never touched your whiskey,” retorted the girl. “Are you sure, Jane Emily?” “Sure! O’ course I’m sure! Why, the blessed cork wouldn’t come out!” * * * * * =My Hosiery, My Hosiery= Silk stockings coming down, is the joyful scream that hits up from the headlines. ’Smatter, garters going up?