Gus was heart-broken, to think that I would leave him behind and as he had performed valiant service as caretaker of Pedro, our pedigreed bull, and the cows and chickens during many years as Whiz Bang farm hand, I granted his plea to accompany me. We landed safe, sound and, as usual, sick in the McAlpin in New York City. It was Gus’ longest train ride and incidentally his first visit to the big village. At the outset he refused to remove his overalls, rubber collar and red necktie, which was quite embarrassing to me. We had a swell room on the tenth flight, with carpets on the floor and brass buttoned fellows to wait on us. We were informed we could get no liquor in New York unless we were Enright. Gus promptly formed the advance guard on the Great White Way, or whatever you call it, and soon we were both in right. After an eye opener or two, my hired man asked the genial barkeep for the location of the wash-room. He was shown an ante-room which bore the sign: “Gentlemen.” He walked right in anyway. Nothing in New York seemed to deter this faithful, simple Minnesota farm-hand. That night we received a telegram from Robbinsdale cautioning us to make reservations in the Schlitz Hotel at Atlantic City, as that institution might be full on account of the convention. Gus read the message to me, threw it in the waste basket as he nonchalantly remarked: “If the Schlitz Hotel is full it has nothing on me.” The next day it was Atlantic City or bust. We arrived in rather good shape and were assigned a pleasant room overlooking the Atlantic and the famous boardwalk. I induced Gus to take a bath, although he insisted he didn’t need one and that anyway it wasn’t the right time of the month. A little bribe, however, brought him around to his senses and after his plunge, I handed him a ten dollar bill to go about and enjoy himself. Before leaving the room he was strictly cautioned to beware of pickpockets. Gus returned several hours later and, I am sorry to relate, was a little the worse for wear. He had a puzzled, sorrowful look on his face. After a few moments of hesitation he confessed—he had been “touched.” The mystery of the missing mazuma was cleared later that night when I coaxed him to take off his socks before crawling into bed. There in the dark recess of his left light blue stocking was hidden a five and a two dollar bill. “Gosh, but I forgot all about hiding it,” he exclaimed with a sigh of relief. Next day we “dolled up” as pretty as possible so as to be somewhat presentable at the convention banquet. We had just started to leave the room when Gus became so grief stricken that I was forced to cancel the engagement and remain by his bedside. The shock came in the form of a telegram from Maggie, the hired girl, and read as follows: