“We have room for but one soul loyalty and that is loyalty to the American People.”—Theodore Roosevelt.
Copyright 1921
By W. H. Fawcett
Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and dedicated to the fighting forces of the United States
Drippings From the Fawcett
A few months ago a newspaper friend of mine in New Orleans wrote about having taken a drink of the Louisiana brand and then backing against a bale of cotton as he said: “Come on, boy, let’s go.” I didn’t appreciate his humor very much at that time because I had been on the wagon for several months. I had not touched the “fiery flare” that “stealeth away the mind” principally because the morning after the night before found me in such condition that it seemed to take months of the “tapering off” process to get back in shape.
However, the devil got the upper hand again and, as usual, there was the devil to pay. Somebody presented me with a nice, new-appearing black bottle bearing a shiny, greenish colored label. The alleged bonded stamp had a peculiar shade and indicated a bourbon of twelve summers. The contents, however, bore the taste of a reverse action to an old maid’s age. But the cayenne pepper, ether and tobasco sauce got in its damnable work.