JOHN HENRY GETS A PARTNER.

"Seven weeks and then the wedding bells will get busy for you, eh,
Bunch?" I chuckled.

"Surest thing you know," my old pal Jefferson replied, somewhat
dolefully.

"I must dig up a few old shoes and have a plate of cold rice
pudding on the doorstep," I went on. "It's going to afford me a
bunch of keen delight to soak you in the midriff with a rusty
patent leather and then push a few rice fritters in under your coat
collar, believe me!"

Bunch tried to pull a smile, but his face didn't feel like working,
and the finish was a mournful sigh.

"John," he said, after the waiter had crowded the sizz-water into
the wood alcohol, "I'm a plain case of shrimp!"

"Oh, sush!" I said; "you'll get over that, Bunch. Isn't it a hit
how we young fellows begin to warm wise to ourselves the moment we
get a flash of the orange blossoms. We think of the beautiful
little lady we are leading to the altar and then we think of the
many beautiful souses we have led by the hand, and we begin to ask
ourselves if we are worthy. Before we can get the right answer the
preacher has dropped the flag, the ceremonies are over, and after
that the struggle to supply three squares a day puts the boots to
every other worry; am I right, Gonsalvo?"