OUR AGENT in Prince Edward Island reports that residents of the Island capital recently got quite a chuckle out of this notice appearing
in the Charlottetown Guardian:
“SOLOIST—At the Trinity Y.P.U. meeting referred to Saturday, Miss McCausland sang the solo, Lord Speak To Me, not Miss McDonald.”
One of the most fantastic tieups in Edmonton’s street railway history recently forced thousands of citizens to walk to work. Streetcars entering a certain section of the system suddenly went dead and nobody could discover why. For more than four hours worried workmen probed and tested, trying to find the power break.
At long last a red-faced official suddenly remembered he had pulled a switch the previous night and had forgotten to tell anybody about it. The pulled switch was closed and the streetcars rolled merrily along.
Government orders cutting short the tails on men’s shirts could have serious repercussions. Take the case of the hunter from Gananoque, Que.
While hunting—more than a mile off Stave Island in the St. Lawrence River—his gun accidentally
exploded, tearing a hole in the bottom of his boat which began to sink. His shirt tail, the only immediate packing available, saved the day and he got safely hack to shore.
It happened on a bus running out of a city in the Maritimes. Obviously annoyed by an obstreperous passenger, the driver warned him to either stop singing or get out and walk.
“What if I don’t do either?” demanded the passenger.
“Then I’ll throw you off,” retorted the driver.
All remained silent until the bus reached the end of its run. Then the offender, now the only passenger left aboard, approached the driver and said:
“Do you really think you could throw me off this bus?”—and without waiting for an answer swung wildly at the driver.
Ducking, the driver countered with a sharp uppercut and the passenger reeled back out the open door. Looking ouf to see what damage he had inflicted on his fare, the driver was surprised as the chap grinned up off the ground and said:
“Well, chum. 1 guess you could at that!”
Police in Kent ville, N.S., were baffled recently by the disappearance of cigarettes and other comforts from a local service canteen. They hunted everywhere but could find neither the goods nor the thief. Then came a solution.
Goods valued at more than $100 were found hidden in the town's jail barn. Further investigation revealed that one of the jail’s inmates had in his possession a jackknife and four keys. Using these he had been breaking out of jail, regularly, committing the thefts and then returning to hide the loot under the very noses of the police.
Police at the other end of the country were having
their strange cases, too. After bearing several small raids on the fruit trees in her backyard in silence, one west coast woman reported to police that the thieves had finally carried things too far.
After their latest assault she was missing not only a quantity of fruit but one whole peach tree.
Nobody can say Nova Scotians don’t appreciate art. In Halifax the other day one matronly woman had engaged a new maid and was questioning her about her family background, etc.
“Have you any religious views?” she asked.
“No,” replied the girl earnestly, “but I have some good snaps taken down at Purcell’s Cove.”
From Edmonton comes this real-life version of an old fairy tale.
A lanky blonde sat down at the lunch counter and ordered a chicken dinner. On either side of her sat a man. One ordered bean soup, the other cupcakes with raisins.
As the food arrived Goldilocks attacked it with great gusto. The men sat waiting. As Goldilocks finished and eased back on her stool, the two Big Bears bellowed at a waitress:
“Where’s my bean soup?”
“Where are my cupcakes?”
Goldilocks blushed suddenly, considered fleeing, then rallied to stand her ground.
“Sorry,” she said, “but I just realized I ate your lunches with mine. Bean soup and cupcakes.” Then laying her-money on the counter she walked bravely off the scene.
“What courage!” mused a waitress aloud.
“What capacity!” growled one of the Big Bears, slapping a hat angrily on his lunchless head.
Down Woodstock, Ont., way, there’s a chap who isn’t letting defeat at the polls throw him for a loss. Judging from a message of thanks which he recently inserted in the Woodstock Sentinel-Review, he’s quite philosophical about the whole thing. To wit:
“I give all thanks and all glory to Almighty God for the 406 unsolicited loyal votes. I did not raise a finger to further my election and was in my store all day yesterday. But I am again thankful that I will not have to serve the people who are so indifferent to their own welfare. . . ”
Department of Understatement:
It’s the Peace River Record Gazette that reports under a Nampa date line;
“The young folks of the district held a skating party by Ab Owens’ and all reported a good time.
“Mrs. Ab Owens is still in bed with broken ribs.”
Maybe you think you have a serious housing problem on your hands—but cheer up. Just be glad you’re not in Calgary where this advertisement recently appeared in the “For Rent” columns of the Calgary Herald:
“ONE furnished sink, quiet business adults.”
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