no, thet's Bourbon--the reel corn juice--ten years in wood--"

"Mixed across the street at the drug store--ha! ha! ha!"
interrupted some one.

"Don't be faceshus, Sam; this ain't no sody-fountin."

"Where'd that feller cum frum with his steam pianer,--Syr'cuse?"

"Naw! Chicago."

"Great cranberries! you don't say so,--all the way from Chicago!
When did he start?"

"Day 'fore yesterday," replied the old man, and we could hear him
putting back the bottles; a chorus of voices,--

"What!"

"Holy Mo--"

"Day afore yester--say, look here, you're jokin'."

"Mebbe I am, but if you don't believe it, ask him."

"Why Chicago is further'n Buf'lo--an' that's faster'n a train."

"Yes," drawled the old man; "he passed the Empire Express th'
other side Syr'cuse."