“Then perhaps you can explain this,” she said. “This morning I sent the suit you wore yesterday out to be pressed. But first I went through the pockets and in one of the pockets I found a card and on the card was written in your handwriting: ‘Evelyn, 2161 Fitzroy.’ Now then, what does this mean?” Without a moment’s hesitation the husband answered. “My dear child,” he said soothingly, “the thing is simplicity itself. ‘Evelyn’ is the name of a racehorse—a friend gave me a tip on her. And ‘2161’ were the odds on her for first and second place. ‘Fitzroy’ is the name of the jockey. Surely you’ve heard of Fitzroy, the famous jockey? Now then, aren’t you ashamed that you suspected me?” The lady admitted that she might have been a bit hasty in jumping at conclusions. She dried her tears and peace descended upon the household. On the following evening the husband entered the flat at peace with the world and whistling a merry catch. An ominous silence greeted him. “Hello, dearie!” he hailed. “How do you feel?” “I’m quite all right, considering,” answered his wife frigidly. “Any mail here for me?” “You might look and see.” “Anybody drop in to-day?” “No.” “Has anything happened at all?” “Well,” she said, “about three o’clock this afternoon your racehorse called up and asked for you.” § 239 The Unaccommodating Kansan Our country was enjoying one of its regular Japanese war-scares. I forget, now, whether it was the fifteenth or the sixteenth Japanese war-scare. A Congressman, representing a Kansas district, felt that a crisis impended. On the floor of the House he made a speech pointing out the need of preparedness, and having done this, he took the train for his district with a view to sounding out his constituents upon the advisability and wisdom of the measures he so strenuously had advocated. However, upon his arrival home, he was pained to note that the voters seemed strangely apathetic as regarded the prospect of an invasion by the Mikado’s armed forces. By a personal campaign the Representative undertook to arouse his people to the seriousness of the situation. The first prospective convert he encountered was an elderly farmer, who listened as the statesman expounded his views and then slowly shook his head, in seeming dissent. “But look here, John,” protested the Congressman. “If this war comes it may be necessary to call every able-bodied man in America to arms. You even may be called. Wouldn’t you fight the Japs if they set foot on the soil of this country?” “I reckon I wouldn’t do that,” said the farmer. “From what I kin understand, most every Japanese is what they call a fatalist.” “What has their fatalism got to do with your duty as a patriot?” asked the Congressman. “Well,” said the honest Kansan, “it looks to me like I couldn’t derive much nourishment from fightin’ with a lot of fellows that think you’re doing ’em a personal favor every time you kill one of ’em.”