"
Whereupon the Bookie told him to Back Up and Fade and do a Disappearing
Specialty.
Uncle Brewster Escaped and found himself at a Bar. He decided that he
would take a Drink, because he wouldn't be Home until next Day and by
that time it would be off his Breath.
[Illustration: NON-COMBUSTIBLE]
So he laid his Bosom against the Brass Railing and said to the Man in
White, "You might as well draw me a Glass of Beer."
"We've got it in Bottles," said the Barkeep, regarding Uncle Brewster
without a sign of Enthusiasm.
"What do you git for a Bottle?" asked Uncle Brewster.
"Twenty Cents," was the Reply of the Liquor Clerk.
"Keep it," said Uncle Brewster.
Perceiving that the Race-Track was in the hands of Gougers, Uncle
Brewster walked back to the Hotel. By that Time his New Shoes had
Crippled him, and he decided to take the Afternoon Train for home
instead of Waiting Over.
That Evening he was back at his own Fireside, with the Bunged-Up Feet
resting in Carpet Slippers. As he sat and read the Poultry Magazine,
Aunt Mehely looked at him sidewise, and full of Suspicion said, "I
s'pose you just Played Hob there in the City.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25