When we were ready to leave Ypsilanti we walked to the depot, not, of course, because it expensive to ride, but just for exercise, "you know."
On our way, the Doctor happened to think that we must leave orders at the post office to have our mail forwarded.
I accompanied him there. He stepped up to the delivery window and said:
"My name is Doctor ——. If any mail comes for me here, please forward it to Pocahontas."
"Pocahontas?" the clerk queried.
"Yes sir, Pocahontas, Michigan."
"I guess you're mistaken, Doctor,—at least I——"
"Not by a dang sight! I guess I know where I am going," was the Doctor's answer.
I began laughing, and started to leave, when the Doctor saw his blunder and said, excitedly:
"No, no! My mistake; my mistake, Mr. clerk. I mean—I mean—dang it!—Dod blast it! what do I mean?—Where am I going? Where the devil is it? Why you know, don't you? Dang it! where is it? Johnston, you devilish fool! come and tell this man the name of that cussed town. Why it's Poca—no, no; here, Johnston, I knew you would make consummate fools of us. I knew it all the time."