A Bad Cases.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXVIII, Issue 3700, 31 July 1906, Page 4

A Bad Cases.

Once I was assistant to an elderly doctor I la Ontario, who also ran a drug store. Ha J was as peppery as a cayenne pod, and from time to time customers and patients sprung Jokes on him Just for the fun of hearing him blow off. On one occasion a weU dressed young fellow called at the shop and asked the doctor to prescribe breaking out and a rash on his left aim The doctor examined the limb and pronounced it to be a bad case of psoriasis and eczema. **l suppose, doctor, you can cure it?” said the patient. “Why, certainly,” replied the doctor. "How long will it take to get well?” "Oh, I guess about two months," said the doctor. "Quite sure, sir—ia it a bad case?" "Positively the worst I’ve seen.” "Then I will leave It with you and call for It again when cured,” solemnly said the patient, slowly unfastening arm, which Was an artificial one and painted for the occasion.—Chemist and Druggist. Pains Taking.

-Life. Burns Knew Better. It was the fate of a practical and patriotic Scotchman of Rochester to assist at a meet* log of a certain improvement society, the while a Shakespearean scholar dilated upon the virtues of nia favorite writer, At the eloM of the meeting the stranger £,->- proaohed the lecturer, and the following dialogue ensued; “Ye think a fine lot o’ Shakespeare, doctor?” “I do, air,” was the emphatic reply. “An ye think ho was malr clever than Rabbi Burns?” “Why, there's no comparison between them.” “Maybe no, but ye tell us the nielit it waa Shakespeare who wrote ‘Uneasy Ilea the head that wears the crown.’ Ni-w, Rabbi would never bae written ale uanaense oh that.” "Nonsense, sir?” thundered the indignant doctor. “Aye, Just nonsense. Rabbi would ha* kent fine that a king, or a queen either, disna gat j to bed wi’ the croon ou thrir head. They hang it ower the back u’ a chair!' Exchange, Habit. “You have paid tne nothing on account of tny bill for six months,” wrote a tailor to the editor of a suburban paper recently. "My capital,” he continued, “does not admit of my giving such long credits. Kindly remit at once.” Inclosed in the envelope was a duplicate copy of the bill long past due, which the editor, solely through the force of habit as he maintained, inscribed “respectfully declined,” and then tossed it Into the waste basket.—New York Herald. Foreign Travel Improves. Successful Farmer—Son George got some sense durin that foreign tour anyhow. Wife—l hain’tseen it. "I have. You know hespeut a good while In Lunnon, as he calls it?” “Yes, an I’d like to know what good it did.” “Use y’r eyes, Miranda. Ho learned to turn up his pants w’en It rains.”—New York Weekly. A Considerate Debtor. Collector--When are you going to pay lhi{j bill? I can’t bo coming here every ay in the week. Debtor—Well, what day could you come on conveniently? “1 could Call fall Saturday.*’ “All right. From now on I shall expect you every Saturday.’’—Texas Siftings. An Heirloom. Droper—Do you believe Sprinkler’;' s.*sertion that the stylish umbrella he can- >.-s waa owned by Lis great grandfather? Pouror—Oh, yes; he says Lis grandfaS < r put a new stick in it, his father a i.';.v frame, and Sprinkler has had it covered Clothier and Haberdasher. No flood. First Colored Gamester—l've got frw) kings. Second Ditto—Dey's no good. "Watcher got?” “A razor.”—Binghamton Leader. A Superior Scheme. Mrs. Dontkno—Mrs. Muscavado employe uafta but-elderly servants. |£m. Knowitall—That is to give stranS» the Impression that they have been in e family for many years.—Truth. . The Ugly Heiress. Jtertune Teller—Your husband will be e poor man. Inquirer—How can you tell that? Fortune Teller—Well, rich men don't eatery lor money.—life. Why the Objected. "Mrs. Sinks is very bitter in her condemBg&on of poker, isn’t she?” said the caller. “Yes,” replied the hostess. “You know Mr. Sinks plays a wretched game.”—Washington Star. Information Wanted. Mrs. Gay—Mary, did I see you kissing tty husband this morning? Mary—At what time?—Boston Budget His Share. Tea, this is her picture, drawn By the sun’s resistless flash! Xyes of hazel like a fawn, Hidden by the drooping tosh. Such a neck and shoulders too! Ah, I thought you'd like her arms. Surely artist never drew Any goddess with such charms! Flatters her? Oh, no, nut muchl Her complexion's like a peach. And her smile—that soulful touch Which the lens could never reach. Lucky man? Well, maybe, sir. But this picture and one curl Are all I have left of her, For Jack Stockton got the girl! —Harry Romaiue in Vogue.