“Stranger,” said the hospitable barkeep, “you’ve had a blamed close call and we’re goin’ to celebrate. This round is on the house. What are you goin’ to have? I’d suggest a hot whiskey punch—or maybe you’d rather have a hot Tom-and-Jerry?” The stranger considered for a moment. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I think I’ll take a seltzer lemonade.” “What’s that?” cried the stupefied barkeeper. “I think I’d like to have a seltzer lemonade.” “Pardner,” stated the barkeeper, “we’re out of lemons and likewise we’re shy on seltzer. But I want you to feel at home; I tell you what I’ll do; I’ll just run upstairs to my trunk and get you a nice pair of white duck pants to wear.” § 121 Not Vouched For as Absolutely Authentic This story probably isn’t true. The more I think it over, the more am I convinced that somewhere it lacks plausibility. But in spite of this defect I deem it worthy to be included in this collection, because, if it serves no other good purpose, it may give the visiting foreigner and notably the visiting Briton an idea of the size of this country and the variations of weather to be found within our boundaries at one time. As the story runs, a Galveston negro, born and reared on the Gulf coast, was offered a job one winter in St. Paul. Knowing nothing of the climatic changes he might, and undoubtedly would, encounter as he moved north, the colored man, attired in a cotton shirt and a pair of threadbare jeans overalls, boarded a through train for his future theatre of activities. By snuggling close up to the steam pipes he managed to remain fairly comfortable during the journey; but when he stepped off the cars at St. Paul things were different. For he stepped off into the swirling midst of the worst blizzard that had descended upon Minnesota in twenty years. Bewildered by the screeching wind, blinded by stinging particles of snow, the stranger staggered a few yards from the station, growing more congealed every second. Within half a block, becoming absolutely rigid, he fell stiffly over in a snow bank. He was found by a policeman who called the patrol wagon and removed the unfortunate to the nearest police station. There a surgeon, after making a cursory examination of the stiffened frame, diagnosed the case as one of death by freezing. Since there was nothing by which the victim might be identified the desk sergeant entered him on the docket as an unknown person and the physician gave his sanction for the immediate disposal of the ill-fated one’s mortal remains. As interment underground was out of question the police conveyed their burden to an improvised crematory, arriving about midnight. Here an attendant lost no time in consigning the body to the flames and having closed the iron door of the furnace he called it a night and retired.