“If I can’t try on a pair of your boots without having you sprinkle chloride of lime in them, I’ll take my trade elsewhere,” he bellowed.
It was with much difficulty that I pacified Gus and explained the use of the chalk. So now Gus has a new pair of boots, and without the lime disinfectant.
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A few days ago, for the first time in many moons, I heard sweet strains of “Sweet Adeline” coming in a rich soprano, with bass accompaniment, from a passing automobile on the Whiz Bang farm trail, and it brought me out of my reveries and revived memories of bygone days.
Thoughts of the many times I had heard that song along the trail from town, just after the bars of Robbinsdale and Casey’s roadhouse would close, came to me sweetly.
This brand of choral singing has become a lost art under prohibition. “Sweet Adeline” as sung by a troop of celebrators who wouldn’t know whether they were standing on their feet or their heads, was very beautiful.
To enjoy it thoroughly, one had to be quite drunk himself. Jack would sing the tenor, Bob the bass and I would join in the chorus, in sentimental strain. It was all very touching. With it, nothing can compare.
In my memories I can still picture Jack’s tenor squawking “You’re the flower of my heart” and Bob’s bass refrain “Sweet Adeline,” after which came the grand finale. Ah, those were the happy days.
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