After I had collected my thoughts and the other parts of my anatomy, I found I was several parts of anatomy shy; so I went up to the conductor and I asked him if he had any old anatomy of mine hanging to him; that is, if I had anything coming that I had not got. He raised his foot—his large, massive right foot. I looked at it. It was too large for me; it wasn’t my size. I knew as soon as I looked at it it wouldn’t fit me, so I began to wend my way. I found it was cheaper to wend my way than to pay my way. When I got to the next station I went into a balloon—I mean salome—so long—saloon; I always did forget that word. Well, on the wall was one of those strong—wrong long-distance telephones—nickel-in-the-slit—slop—slap—slot machine. I thought I’d call up the doctor and tell him what I thought of him. I didn’t think much of him—only about five cents’ worth. So I slipped up to the slot and slipped a nickel in the slot to get a connection with the slope I had just slipped from. Just then the keeper of the life-shaving—life-saving station, the bar-slender—sender—tender, asked me what I wanted; I said I thought I’d take a gee whiz—a ginfizz. He said I had another thunk coming, so I told him I would take a glass of Schlitz before I heard from the slope. So I slanted a glass of Schlitz in the slot in my face and slowly sopped—sipped the Schlitz. Just then the telephone-bell rang; I went to the rang and rung the ring. The doctor says: “Who are you?” I says: “I’m the fellow that took your prescription.” He says: “Well, what are you calling me up for?” I says: “I ain’t calling you up; I’m calling you down.” He says: “I think you sloped from the slope with my child, you slob, and if ever I see you again I’ll puncture your——” Just then the barfender—bender—lender—tender asked me to have another Schlitz, so I dropped the fender—the sender to sip the Schlitz. Just as I sized up the Schlitz to seize it the bartender told me to settle for the last Schlitz. I couldn’t settle, so the bartender settled me. He gave me a sassy slap in the slats and spilled all the Schlitz that I had sipped. Then I got desperate and commenced dropping nickels in the Schlitz and Schlitzes in the slots, then I got some more slaps in the slats; the doctor was trying to call me and I was calling the bartender—something I can’t repeat here, and—well, I finally got out and after a while, about thirty days after, I reached home—my old home. My father and mother said it was the home of my birth. Well, if “my birth” owned that home he never got any rent for it. The first person I met was a girl. Of course I met three politicians; but she was the first person. She was a singular person; she was the first person singular—singular because she wasn’t married. But that wasn’t so singular, because she was born with only one good eye. In the other one she got in a crockery store—kind of a bum pair of lamps.