=Betty B. Good=: Don’t complain that your confidence has been betrayed. The fault is your own for pouring unsafe talk into a leaky mind. * * * * * =Van Perry=—It seems plausible enough that Mandy acquired her big feet from walking through the squashy, mushy mud of the rich Brazos county soil but I hardly believe she was so lazy as to have ever sat down on the job of cotton picking. Too good to be true. * * * * * =Tiny.=—Can not quite make out the letter. If it was an (o) your father shot himself. If it wasn’t, he didn’t. * * * * * =Henpeck=—If your wife really loved you she’d have married someone else. * * * * * =Lover=—Squeeze them, tease them, anything will please them. * * * * * =Lord Helpus=: You don’t have to be a seasoned veteran to put “pep” in your work. * * * * * =Dolly Dollars=: Yes, we all blow many beautiful bubbles of iridescent hue, and of course, some of ’em are just bound to bust. * * * * * Said mother to father: “It’s time that girl of ours was married.” “Oh, what’s the rush? Let her wait till the right man comes along.” “Why should she? I didn’t.” * * * * * It ’Appened in Hingland Both the vicar and his curate were extremely devout churchmen, and so when Lent came round they naturally decided that each must deny himself something, and thus set a proper example to the flock. Unfortunately, however, the curate could not make up his mind as to what he should forego. He therefore consulted the vicar on the point and asked what his worthy superior had decided to do without. “I shall abstain from tobacco,” said the vicar, in answer to the curate’s question, “and I can but suggest that you should either do the same or refrain from taking alcohol.” “But, vicar,” protested the curate, “you surely know that I am a non-smoker and a teetotaler.” “Ah! I had forgotten that,” replied the vicar; “in that case the only thing left for you is to put your wife from you for six weeks and live as a celibate.” This, the curate agreed, would indeed be self-denial; however, he promptly proceeded to put the plan into action. Already he had got about half-way through this trying period, when one morning he was awakened by a gentle tap on his door. “Yes; what is it?” he demanded, wondering why on earth he should be aroused at such an unearthly time. “John, dear,” came his wife’s plaintive voice from the other side, “the vicar’s in his garden, and—and he’s smoking!” * * * * * No Cheap Skates Wanted The world’s Stingiest Man shuffled off finally and departed heavenwards. He was challenged at the pearly gates by St. Peter. “What deeds of good did you do on earth?” queried Peter.