One day while making my rounds with my anti-explosives I dropped into a shoe shop and found the cobbler to be a little, dried-up, sickly old man, who was afflicted with some nervous ailment which kept him from sleeping. In telling me his tale of woe he mentioned the fact that he had not slept any for three nights. I told him, sympathizingly, that I was once troubled in the same way, but was now entirely cured. I further stated that I had a bottle of medicine, and if he wanted it he could have it at just what it cost me, as I had not needed it for several years. Though he would not go to a doctor he was only too glad to get from me something which promised relief. I told him I would just slip around to the hotel and get the bottle; and leaving him went to a druggist, who put me up a sleeping draught, for which he charged me seventy cents. My friend, the cobbler, paid me one dollar, and the next day delightfully told me had just had the best night’s rest he had known for years. In this way I went on, and it was on this trip that I struck a town in a temperance, or “Maine law,” state where the county fair was in progress. I bought a permit to sell temperance drinks on the grounds, for I had found where I could buy a lot of empty beer and whisky bottles. I had a stall or pen for my use, and placing four wash-tubs almost filled with ice in the darkest corner, where they could scarcely be seen, I loaded my bottles with good, strong, cold tea and packed them on ice. In front I had a small stock of pop and some real, red circus lemonade. There is a fortune in the latter itself, if you can only sell enough of it. In temperance towns, when you walk into a drug store and call for “cold tea,” the clerk knows what you mean and winks when he hands you the liquor. When I began to yell, “Right this way, gentlemen, for your cold tea; and here you have your ice cold lemonade. Here you have your California pop, and the coldest tea you ever tackled.” The crowd flocked around, and I did a land office business. Of course, as soon as a man tasted his tea he tumbled to the racket; but as it was a good joke he would smile to himself and not give it away. If some unsuspecting stranger would walk up and call for beer I would tell him, with a wink, “We don’t keep beer nor whiskey, but I have some lemonade and awfully nice ‘cold tea.’ He would tumble, as he supposed, and take cold tea in his’n, stick the bottle in his hip pocket, and walk off with a smile on his face as big as a Kansas City ham. I sold the beer bottles at twenty-five cents each and the whiskey bottles (pints) at fifty. I am afraid to say how much were my profits. You can guess.