ther you ever
saw this "dame" of Skinny's or not Julie. She lives on the upper east
side of New York and ways about 275 plus in her bathin suit; believe
you me, she ought to marry a traffic cop as he's the only guy I know
of that can handle a crowd. I'll bet 10 cents against Bryan's chance
of being Pres. Skinny can wear one of her stockins for a sweater. If
she ever wore a striped waist she'd look like the awning over a greek
candy store, she never knows when she needs a shine, fer, like Bill
the Twospot, she can't see de feat.

Believe you me, angel face she looks like a model fer a tent.

When Her and Skinny walks along Broadway the newsies yell, "Hully
Gee! Here goes the claronet and the bass drum, where's the rest of the
band?" I'm tellin Skinny I can't see anything attractive about her,
and he says "I know you can't see anything but she's got it in the
bank all-rite, all-rite."

Speaking about this William Jennins Bryan, I'm readin in the papers
about a bull chasin him half way across a field. Imagine Julie, a bull
doin that to Theo. Rusevelt, it wouldn't go ten feet before Theo would
turn round, grab it by the tale and throw it. When it comes to throwin
the bull Theo. has any Spainnard or Mex lashed to the mast howling for
mercy.

Yours until Eva Tanguay quits singin "I don't care."

BARNEY.

P.S. Tell your ol' man not to lose any sleep over the four bits I owe
him on that last peaknuckle game, for if anything happens to me here
you can give it to him out of the l.i. policy.

NOWHERE IN FRANCE.

Dere Julie:

At last we are in the land made famous by Joan of Ark, and notorious
by N. Bonaparty. The little burg we are billeted in is about as big as
a pound of choclates after a Yale-Harvard football game. It's so small
you can stand on the corner of Rue de Main and spit into the country.
It looks like the ornament on a birthday cake or a picture post office
card.

We have been hear about 1 week, and would have written sooner but for
the second time in the life of yours truly, I am recovering from "Mal
dee Mear" (the name is bad enuff, but the disease is worse) Third
Class passengers call it sea-sickness, but if you have a first class
cabin, you are supposed to call it mal dee mear.

They say its only about 30 miles from Dover to Callay; maybe it is on
a calm day, but believe you me derie, we went up the hills of water to
the tune of about a hundred miles. It was all-rite goin up, but Julie
goin d