Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and dedicated to the fighting forces of the United States.
Drippings From the Fawcett
The Whiz Bang has been selling rather fair since Christmas, with the result that I was able to scrape together a few hundred bucks to make first payment on a log cabin at Pequot, Minnesota, and 80 acres of cut-over pine land on the shore of Big Pelican Lake. Accompanied by Gus, the hired man, and Andy (not Gump), an oldtime timber cruiser, I journeyed to the northland to view the future summer home of the Whiz Bang.
Upon arriving at the cabin, we were met by Fred La Page, a typical French-Canadian of the old school, and Mrs. La Page. All arrangements were gone through and I was well pleased with the outlook excepting for the lack of a cat. Now, it may seem strange that an ordinary household pet like a cat should in any way be considered, but really, friends, I was somewhat disappointed in not finding Tabby.
Ever since the Persian kitten of pedigreed fame entered into my life, I have had a natural antipathy for the felines. La Page’s excuses for not having a cat were apparently sound logic. “A cat is like a woman,” he said. “She purrs when petted, and scratches and spits venom when things go wrong. She must be contented at all times.” Which brought me back to the lines of
A Persian kitten, perfumed and fair,
Strayed through the kitchen door for air,
When a Tom Cat, lean and lithe and strong