Tom was a confirmed dyspeptic, too, and when the operator was taking an X-ray photograph of the seat of his troubles, this waggish brother of mine, with a ghastly attempt to be facetious, said:
"This, I suppose, is what might be called taking light exercise on an empty stomach."
Perhaps it may surprise you to hear me say that some years ago I was connected with the newspaper business.
I don't tell this to everybody, you know, but there are some little things connected with my experience that drive away the blues in these times when the ghost refuses to walk regularly on pay day.
It was out in old Kaintuck, the Blue Grass country famous for its fast horses, fair women and old Bourbon.
Say, have you ever been in the land of Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett, the original Tennessee Congressmen?
You don't know what you've missed then—grand scenery, splendid cooking, and the most original people in the mountains, where they make that moonshine whiskey you've heard about.
I used to hustle right lively looking for news, and during the course of my journeyings I ran across a grizzled old farmer from the back settlements, who looked like he might be a good judge of double distilled mountain dew that had paid no revenue to Uncle Sam.