If he will marry that sort of woman, what can he expect? The man is
asking for it.

The lady who followed him also told us a sad story of misplaced
trust. She also was comic--so the programme assured us. The
humorist appears to have no luck. She had lent her lover money to
buy the ring, and the licence, and to furnish the flat. He did buy
the ring, and he furnished the flat, but it was for another lady.
The audience roared. I have heard it so often asked, "What is
humour?" From observation, I should describe it as other people's
troubles.

A male performer followed her. He came on dressed in a night-shirt,
carrying a baby. His wife, it seemed, had gone out for the evening
with the lodger. That was his joke. It was the most successful song
of the whole six.

[The one sure Joke.]

A philosopher has put it on record that he always felt sad when he
reflected on the sorrows of humanity. But when he reflected on its
amusements he felt sadder still.

Why was it so funny that the baby had the lodger's nose? We laughed
for a full minute by the clock.

Why do I love to see a flabby-faced man go behind curtains, and,
emerging in a wig and a false beard, say that he is now Bismarck or
Mr. Chamberlain? I have felt resentment against the Lightning
Impersonator ever since the days of Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee.