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One mother who still considers Marcel waves as the most fashionable way
of dressing the hair was at work on the job.
Her little eight-year-old girl was crouched on her father's lap,
watching her mother. Every once in a while the baby fingers would slide
over the smooth and glossy pate which is Father's.
"No waves for you, Father," remarked the little one. "You're all beach."
"Were any of your boyish ambitions ever realized?" asked the
"Yes," replied the practical person. "When my mother used to cut my hair
I often wished I might be bald-headed."
Congressman Longworth is not gifted with much hair, his head being about
as shiny as a billiard ball.
One day ex-president Taft, then Secretary of War, and Congressman
Longworth sallied into a barbershop.
"Hair cut?" asked the barber of Longworth.
"Yes," answered the Congressman.
"Oh, no, Nick," commented the Secretary of War from the next chair, "you
don't want a hair cut; you want a shine."
"O, Mother, why are the men in the front baldheaded?"
"They bought their tickets from scalpers, my child."
The costumer came forward to attend to the nervous old beau who was
mopping his bald and shining poll with a big silk handkerchief.
"And what can I do for you?" he asked.
"I want a little help in the way of a suggestion," said the old fellow.
"I intend going to the French Students' masquerade ball to-night, and I
want a distinctly original costume--something I may be sure no one else
will wear. What would you suggest?"
The costumer looked him over attentively, bestowing special notice on
the gleaming knob.
"Well, I'll tell you," he said then, thoughtfully: "why don't you sugar
your head and go as a pill?"--_Frank X. Finnegan_.
United States Senator Ollie James, of Kentucky, is bald.
"Does being bald bother you much?" a candid friend asked him once.
"Yes, a little," answered the truthful James.
"I suppose you feel the cold severely in winter," went on the friend.
"No; it's not that so much," said the Senator. "The main bother is when
I'm washing myself--unless I keep my hat on I don't know where my face
A near-sighted old lady at a dinner-party, one evening, had for her
companion on the left a very bald-headed old gentleman. While talking to
the gentleman at her right she dropped her napkin unconsciously. The
bald-headed gentleman, in stooping to pick it up, touched her arm. The
old lady turned around, shook her head, and very politely said: "No
melon, thank you."
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