§ 281 The Evils of Intemperance
A certain newspaper proprietor in New York who always was—and still is, even in these prohibition days—a total abstainer, dropped into the office just before press time, and found the assistant managing editor in charge.
“Where’s Blank?” he asked, naming the managing editor.
“Off on one of those periodical tears of his,” answered the assistant.
“Where’s the city editor?”
“Pie-eyed—down in Perry’s bar.”
“I didn’t see the make-up editor as I came through the composing-room. What’s become of him?”
“He’s in a Turkish bath over in Brooklyn, getting a bun boiled out of him.”
The proprietor dropped into a chair, shaking his head sadly.
“Well,” he said, “for a person who never touches a drop I seem to suffer more from the effects of drunkenness than any man in this town.”