“I take it, my good man, that you are the Boniface of this hostelry.”
“Wall, I’m runnin’ this here tavern, ef so be that’s whut you mean.”
“Exactly so. It is even as I suspected. And what are your lowest terms for members of my profession?”
“Which?”
“I say, what are your lowest terms for actors?”
“Liars, loafers and dead-beats!”
§ 127 Glass of Fashion and Mould of Form!
In the last year of the Civil War a company of Federal soldiers were encamped in the Tennessee foothills. They had pitched their tents in a meadow belonging to a farmer whose log house stood in a grove at the edge of the field. Through the meadow ran a good-sized creek. The soldiers lost no time in pulling off their dusty garments and bathing in the stream.
That same evening the owner of the farm, a whiskered gentleman, called upon the young lieutenant in command of the detachment. He began by saying that his sympathies were with the Union and he felt upon this account if upon no other he was entitled to consideration. He had a complaint to make. He had no objection to the use of his meadow as a camp ground but he did wish to protest again the action of the men in swimming within sight of his domicile because, as he explained, he had two half-grown daughters.
The officer saw the point of the farmer’s position and promised him that he would take steps. Immediately he issued an order that thereafter men wishing to bathe or swim should repair to a point at the far side of the meadow.