=_Dear Whiz Bang Bill_=—Is there much food values in dates?—=_Ona Dyett_=. It all depends on who you make them with. * * * * * =_Dear Captain_=—What is a Sly Oodle?—=_Nat. U. List_=. ’Tis a small weasel that sleeps in the crotch of a tree, and swallows its nose to keep it from freezing. * * * * * =_Dear Capt. Billy_=—A fellow asked me a funny question the other day. Why is a crow? Seems sort of silly. Do you know the answer?—=_M. T. Kann_=. That’s easy. Caws. * * * * * =_Dear Captain Billy_=—What is a Nabisco?—=_Ray Vaughan_=. It consists of two pieces of tissue paper with a little honey between. * * * * * =_Dear Captain Billy_=—Would it hurt me to sleep between two windows?—=_I. Foozle_=. You would have a “pane” on the chest and back, and a “catch” on your side. * * * * * =_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is a good name for a new college sorority?—=_Al E. Wrat_=. I. Phelta Thi. * * * * * =_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is a sculptor?—=_Cant E. Lope_=. A man that makes faces and busts. * * * * * =_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is dust?—=_Hose Ette_=. Mud with the juice squeezed out. * * * * * =_Dear Capt. Billy_=—Is hair tonic a good drink?—=_J. Fewbrains_=. Would advise you not to drink hair tonic as it will raise a mustache on your appendix and if you should laugh you would tickle yourself to death. * * * * * =_Dear Farmer Bill_=—Please inform me where milk comes from.—=_A City Girl_=. From cow faucets. * * * * * =_Dear Capt. Billy_=—If my father was a duke and my mother was a duchess, what would that make me?—=_Watts D. Yoos_=. Why, I guess you would be Duke’s Mixture. * * * * * =_Dear Captain_=—Tell me something interesting about auction bridge.—=_Adeline Moore_=. All we know about is Brooklyn Bridge, and that is just one long suspense. * * * * * =_Dear Capn._=—What did my beau mean when he told me he would meet me in the future?—=_Sarah Desert_=. Probably he meant in the pasture. * * * * * =_Dear Capt. Billy_=—What is a drydock?—=_Torchy_=. A physician who won’t give us prescriptions. * * * * * The Farm That Bull Built Oh! over the hill to Robbinsdale, For a slap on the back and a hearty hail. Where the cows do tricks in the new mown hay, And the Bull is thrown in a very quaint way. Where Gus is tired from morn till night, And the old silo is always tight. Where the chickens sing and the roosters crow, And the corn does a hoe-down row on row.