Tuesday: “While fishing through the ice yesterday, Henry Whippet fell in the Saco River up to his neck. He was drawed out and took home.” Wednesday: “Henry Whippet is in bed with a powerful bad cold. His folks are thinking some about calling in a doctor.” Thursday: “Henry Whippet is rapidly continuing to get no better. It now looks like he is fixing to break out with the pneumonia.” Friday: “Henry Whippet is sinking rapidly.” Saturday: “At nine o’clock this morning our esteemed fellow-citizen, Henry J. Whippet, Esq., went to his Maker entirely uncalled for.” § 331 He Couldn’t Stick to Any One Thing Carried away by a spirit of patriotism, a New York song-writer, of indolent habits, signed up for a citizens’ training-camp. On his arrival he was assigned to an awkward squad under charge of a sergeant of the regular army. Bearing a dummy musket, our hero lined up with the rest of the green hands. Facing them, the drill-master proceeded to rattle off the manual. “Attention!” he shouted. “Carry arms—present arms—shoulder arms—parade arms!” The song-writer flung his wooden rifle down. “I quit!” he declared. “I’m through, right now.” “What’s the matter?” demanded the astonished sergeant. “The trouble with you is you change your mind too darned often!” § 332 Reserve Ammunition Either the mule which drew the decrepit wagon along the sandy road through the pine-barrens, was balky or else perhaps he merely was conservative by nature. Despite prayers, pleas, curses and commands from the lanky Georgian who drove him, each being accompanied by a terrific blow with a long heavy club, the obstinate animal merely blinked its eyes and continued to amble at the slowest of all possible gaits. The city man, who came along just now in his automobile, drew up to watch the spectacle. Ordinarily the passer-by was a humane man and believed in treating the dumb brutes with all possible kindliness. But the sight of this long-eared malingerer made him forget his sentiments. “My friend,” he said, “I marvel at your patience. Is that beast, by any chance, sick?” The Cracker shook his head: “Naw, suh,” he answered, “there ain’t nothin’ ailin’ him. This is jest the way he acts all the time. Even down here on this flat land I have to keep beatin’ him all the time this a-way to make him move a-tall.” “Why don’t you climb down out of that wagon and kick him in the stomach?” “Naw, I reckin not. You see, I’m savin’ that up fur the hill yonder.” § 333 Dust to Dust