“Ah, hah!” exulted the intoxicated one, with the air of having led an unwilling witness into a damaging admission. “You say you know Jerome Lawrence and you say you know his brother Oscar that looks so mush like him? Well, then, if you know so mush, you tell me thish: Whish one of ’em looks the most alike?” § 65 Before or After Taking? A well-dressed party, who was far overtaken in alcoholic stimulant, stumbled into a restaurant, slumped into a handy chair at a table and gave unmistakable evidence that he was about to enjoy a refreshing slumber. A waitress shook him by the arm. “What is it you want?” she asked. “Dearie,” he said drowsily, “what have you?” “Almost anything in the food line.” “Ver’ well, then,” he said, “bring me almost anything in the food line.” “How about a nice salad?” she asked, on a venture. “That’d be lovely, dearie,” he assented. “Glad you thought of it—shows you got a good mind—quick thinker, everything like that. Bring me nice salad.” “What sort of a salad?” “That, dearie, I leave to your superior judgment,” he said. “You been here longer than I have.” The girl went away, returning presently with a bowl of hearts of lettuce and sliced tomatoes, with an abundance of Russian dressing poured over the combination. The patron was now sound asleep. She slipped the order past his elbow and left it there where his eyes would fall upon it when he opened them. Presently he did open his eyes. As though spellbound he contemplated that which confronted him. He took a fork and gently he stirred the contents of the bowl. Then with his free hand he beckoned the young woman to his side. “Dearie,” he said, “drunk or sober or drinking, as is the case at present, my aim is ever to be a gen’man. Far be it from me to do anythin’ which would bring reproach upon me as a gen’man or upon the fair and unsullied name of thish noble ’stablishment. But, dearie, in justish to all concerned, it becomes nes’ary for me to ash you a queshun.” “What’s your question?” she said snappily. “Well,” he said, “I drift off in slumber. I wake up, and right here under my nose I find thish.” And again with his fork he daintily agitated a frond of dressing-soaked lettuce. “So, therefore, dearie, the queshun is as follows: Do I eat this—or DID I?” § 66 A Time for All Things It was an irate Iowa farmer of the old-fashioned type who sat him down, pen in hand, and wrote an indignant letter to a concern which made a specialty of selling plumbing supplies to rural patrons. “I have got a kick to make,”—thus the farmer wrote. “Early last spring your agent came through this district taking orders for your patent porcelain bath tub. Some of the neighbors give him their names and so nothing would do but that my wife and daughter should have one for our house and they kept after me until I give your man my name too and told him to send me one of his tubs.