“There is also a coon in St. Paul named Johnson,” Casey explained, “who got very drunk and was placed under arrest.” To the police judge’s inquiry as to how and where he obtained the liquor, the negro replied: “I found it in a corn-field, your honor.” “Did you ever get anything from Henderson?” asked the magistrate. “No, sah. Nevah got nothin’ from him.” “From Mrs. Henderson?” “No, sah, not from Mrs. Henderson.” “Nor from Miss Henderson?” “Jes’ a minute, jedge—is you’ all still talkin’ ’bout booze?” * * * * * New Year’s morning, bright and early, Gus, the hired man, wanted to start off right, so he whispered to my 8-year-old son to go and find something with whiskey in it. The lad, in boyish innocence, replied: “Just a minute, Gus, an’ I’ll go and wake up father.” * * * * * I remember the only time I ever was in New York. I was still a commissioned officer in the army and had registered at a Broadway hotel as “Captain Gunn.” I immediately got loaded; dreamed I was discharged and awakened to find myself shot to the devil. My brother Harvey, who was a buck private in the tank corps at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, met me at the Marlborough hotel while he was A. W. O. Ling in New York. Evidently on account of the lack of tanks in the tank corps, Harvey decided to bring one back to Gettysburg. And, believe me, boys, it was a mogul tank he had when last I saw him. Of course, he’ll say the same about me—in fact, he accused me of being so rash as to pat a colonel on the back in the Pennsylvania depot with the salutation of “Hello, old trapper, this is a heluva war.” But I really don’t believe I did anything of the kind. At least I can’t remember having done so. On the return to Camp Lee, I carried along a goodly supply of medicine. Somehow or other, I managed to land in an upper berth and when I awoke in Richmond next morning, my faithful satchel and contents were safely in bed beside me. I cannot recall having ever awakened with a more pleasant companion than that old grip. I carefully peeked through the curtains to see if the coast was clear before partaking of a morning’s nip. I shall always have a good word for New York. After all, our likes or dislikes for a city depend entirely on how we enjoy ourselves and the friends we are fortunate enough to meet. I was treated with a reckless abandon and true western spirit of congeniality. At first, their language was difficult to fathom, but later I became used to the lack of the letter “R.” If it ever happens that Ford cars go up in price so I can sell my 1915 model, I’ll surely sneak away from friend wife for a week or two of bright lights and green witches. _The Vampire’s Fool_ Hello, Tom! Glad to see you. What was that crowd I saw as I came aboard ship? Looked to me like an accident. Suicide! Young Parmerly killed himself, and for a woman!