Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1891-02-05

Schoolmaster turning round sharply
Which of you is it that is daring to
make faces at me!
Six Youngsters Gn chorus)-Freddy
Brown, sir.
Schoolmaster-Ah. Then you six
bows stand out and be caned. If you
saw Freddy Brown making faces 1t
shows that you were not attending to
your lessons : Pick Me Up.
COOL LOCATION.
Porlor Car Passenger-Porter, this car
is very draughty. feel chilly.
Porter-Can't help it, sir. There's a
party of the New York's Four Hundred
in one end and lot of Philadelphia ex-
clusives in the other, and you're sittin'
right between 'em. II New York Weekly.
A BREACH OF PROMISE.
He sued for her hand-did the dude
In moment exceedingly rash;
And he in turn is being sued,
And she's after ten thousa and in cash &.
ACCEPTING THE COMPLIMENT.
''Your rich aunt has a grand air about
her."
"Yep. I'm the heir"
RECIPROCITY.
Scrawley-Drcadfu bore that fellow,
Pennibs. Do you know that he kept me
on n street corner for half an hour this
cold morning talking about his new play
which he has just finished2
Scribblerus-And how did you finally
get rid of him?
Scrawley-I began to tell him about
my new poem, and he left at once
America.
THE MEAGRE DIET MADE HIM THIN.
Borrowit-That's rather a swell board
ing house you are stopping at, Gazzleton.
Gazzleton-Why, yes. l tried cheap
er one, but | couldn't afford it. l fell
away so that had to buy new suit in
six weeks Harper's Bazaar.
INDIAN TROUBLES.
General Killcm Irregular army)-What's
become of all those hostile Indians who
were expected to make an attack here2
Mr.. Starvem Gndian Agent)-I-I gave
em something to eat, and they went off.
Il New York Weekly.
LIMITATIONS OF GENIUS.
Book Publisher have looked over
the manuscript which you submitted to
us, and find a good plot, many we'll
drawn characters, and some picturesque
word painting; but the love-scenes are
cold and stilted. Can't you improve on
them?
Authoress (wearily)-I am afraid not.
I'm married. New York Weekly.
| HORRIBLE EXPOSURE.
whats the matter, Chappie, you
look all broke up?"
dweadful cold. Miss Budde would use
her fan at the cotillion lahst night, and
got it all, don't you know, wight on my
chest"
THE REJECTED LOVER.
He proposed, she said no, and he pom
dered upon it,
And his brow grew as black as @
And as he departed he called her o
sonnet,
Because she to him was averse. Cape
Cod Item.
NOT THE RIGHT SORT.
Applicant see you advertise for a
college graduate to take position in
your business.
Publisher-Yes. Arc you graduate?
81 am"
"What place did you hold in the col
lege eleven?"
II did not play football. Twas afraid
of getting crippled"
"You won't do. / want man for
book agent. u New York Weekly.
HOW SHE WAS CURED.
Mamie. oh, George, feel so faint !
What is good for fainting-spells, George?
George (excitedly)-Now you've got
Mamie-Oh, l am so glad to hear you
say so, dear Georgel l feel better al
ready Puck.
DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS so BAD.
Biggs-Isn't it sad that poor Higgs has
lost his mind?
Diggs -Awfully! He was absent
minded the last time met him, but
didn't fancy it would be chronic
Brooklyn Eagle.
YOUTH AND AYE.
Ambitious youth-Don't you wish you
were Finemind, the great author9
Practical Father--Not much | don't
But I'd like to be his publisher, Il New
York Weekly.
INVEST IN PLoUGHsHAREs.
"They tell me man can make money
in Wall street." said farmer to a broker,
recently. "What shares would you ad-
wise me to invest ins"
''Do you own farm property" replied
the broker, who had been pinched in the
money panic.
"Yes, l own free and clear, 10000
acres of the best farm land in Iowa."
answered the agriculturist.
"Well, then, take a friends advice, -
said the Wall street man. ''1nvest in
ploughshares."
TOO MUCH IRON.
Doctor--Did you get that mixture of
i wine and iron that | ordered2
Deacon Waters Yes; it was first rate.
Never enjoyed bottle of medicine bet
ter in my life. Drank it up without
takin' breath. But, doctor, there was
too much iron in it.
Doctor-Humph! So should imagin'
Deacon Waters Yes, the iron went to
my feet and made 'em so heavy | could
hardly walk. New York Weekly.
A TuEppy