On reaching the lock at Oldtown it was apparent that there would not be room between the gates to accommodate both the canal boat and "Sometub," and the skipper cast us off in a fashion so uncermonious that we floated in his wake feeling like unbidden guests at a feast. The big freight boat glided away, leaving us on the wrong side of the gate. You know how sometimes you turn and drive away the homeless dog that sheepishly follows you down the street? Well, we felt placed in the situation of the homeless dog. It was the first time in my life that I experienced a sincere desire to embrace the teachings of anarchy. After the canal boat had started on its way Mr. Carter, the lockmaster, returned to inquire into our wants. "What are you going to do with us?" I asked him. "Lock you through," he answered. "Give me your line and I'll tow you in. Then you can tie up over there and stop at my house all night. My wife will have a nice hot supper for you. The gentleman who runs the store up on the hill has an automobile and knows a lot about gas engines. I know he'll be delighted to fix up your machine." It was hard to believe that he meant what he said. He had enunciated that kind of hospitality which I had thought no longer existed except in books that sell at $1.08. My wife, however, did not share my skepticism. Here was good old-fashioned southern hospitality and she emphasized the fact with some pride that we were now well over the Mason & Dixon line and might expect cordiality to be something more than a meaningless phrase. She rushed across the towpath to chat with the lockmaster's wife and daughters while Mr. Carter towed "Sometub" through the lock and found a suitable place to tie up on the berm bank of the short level. * * * * * OLDTOWN, I believe, was called Oldtown even in its younger days. I believe also that now in its boast of municipal veneration it looks younger than it did in its youth. The wrinkled visage of great age is in strange contrast with its modern affectations. Personify it and you would have the picture of a centenarian doing a fox trot. Oldtown is one of the oldest settlements in western Maryland and it dwelt on in a kind of proud senility until West Virginia went "dry." Being on the border Oldtown possessed a situation of peculiar strategic value. It afforded the opportunity for the establishment of an exceedingly "wet" outpost, and the opportunity did not go begging. In consequence the chief enterprise of Oldtown is slaking the thirsts of West Virginians from many miles up and down the Potomac. The structures that domicile these establishments form a cluster of new buildings that gives Oldtown something of the appearance of a boom town in the west. A sincere opponent of the liquor traffic would be justified in saying that Oldtown is in its second childhood.