showing we had been bought up by British gold--and so on.

But I kept neutral. I even turned down an Englishman named Ruggles, that
keeps the U.S. Grill and is well thought of, though he swore that all he
would do was to get off a few comical riddles, and such. He'd just got a
new one that goes: "Why is an elephant like a corkscrew? Because there's
a 'b' in both." I didn't see it at first, till he explained with hearty
laughter--because there's a "b" in both--the word "both." See? Of course
there's no sense to it. He admitted there wasn't, but said it was a
jolly wheeze just the same. I might have took a chance with him, but he
went on to say that he'd sent this wheeze to the brave lads in the
trenches, along with a lot of cigars and tobacco, and had got about
fifty postcards from 'em saying it was the funniest thing they'd heard
since the war begun. And in a minute more he was explaining, with much
feeling, just what low-down nation it was that started the war--it not
being England, by any means--and I saw he wasn't to be trusted on his
feet.

So I smoothed him down till he promised to donate all the lemonade for
Aggie Tuttle, who was to be Rebekkah at the Well; and I smoothed Henry
Lehman till he said he'd let his folks come and buy chances on things,
even if the country was getting overrun by foreigners, with an Italian
barber shop just opened in the same block with his sanitary shaving
parlour; though--thank goodness--the Italian hadn't had much to do yet
but play on a mandolin. And I smoothed Professor Gluckstein down till he
agreed to furnish the music for us and let the war take care of itself.

The Prof's a good old scout when he ain't got his war bonnet on. He was
darned near crying into his meerschaum pipe with a carved fat lady on it
when I got through telling him about the poor soldiers in the wet and
cold without a thing to smoke. He says: "You're right, madam; with Jake
Frost in the trenches and no tobacco, all men should be brothers under
their hides." And I got that printed in the _Recorder_ for a slogan, and
other foreigners come into line; and things looked pretty good.

Also, I got Doc Sulloway, who happened to be in town, to promise he'd
come and tell some funny anecdotes. He ain't a regular doctor--he just
took it up; a guy with long black curls and a big moustache and a big
hat and diamond pin, that goes round selling Indian Snake Oil off a
wagon. Doc said he'd have his musician, Ed Bemis, come,