"May the trade of this town always be trodden under foot!"
Drunk? Oh, no, he wasn't drunk. You see they had a dozen big carpet manufacturies there, and——
Dear, dear, dear! Why, here's a hole in my coat. That puts me in mind of Sunday school—you know we learned long ago when we were good little boys and went to Sunday school, that the prophet rent his clothes. I guess he must have been a poor man and couldn't afford to buy 'em. That's nothing against old Elijah, is it?
Say, did you ever get up against the first-class lunatic who is forever telling us about the city man's smartness and the country man's dullness?
Let me tell you an experience of mine that gives the lie direct to such an idea.
It happened one night as I was standing near the ticket box of a swell Eastern theatre.
The play was "The Forty Thieves."
A big, raw-boned Jerseyman strode into the place, as though he had made up his mind to squander some of his hard-earned cash in order to see the really gorgeous performance.
