I didn’t used to be a demperance man myself vonce. I vos a hard case, and used to go into a beer saloon, rap against my umbrella mit de gounter, und holler oud: “Gif me a lemonade straight—mid no water.”
But I haf seen de error of my vays.
Von night ven I vas in a hodel, swigging down cider und vichy, and German seltzer, und all of dose thoroughbred drinks, und hafing lods of fun mit de gang, a gentleman come ub to me.
He vos aboud half full, und dere vos a tear as big as a balloon on de end of his nose as he caught me by de throat, und whispered:
“I vant to see you alone for aboud a veek.”
I said “all righd,” and he took me to one gorner of de room, and said:
“You vos a nice young man.”
I dold him he vos kerrect, dot vos vhat all de spielers said—dey said dot I vos too sweet to live.
“It vos a shame,” he continued, mit emotion und beer in his voice, “to see you ruining of yourself mit lemonade and such shadows of strong drinks.”
I said dot I guessed so too.