than he is. Well, after a tick gets his place picked out he
burrows in under the skin, then dies and festers. You wouldn't
catch a bedbug standing for that martyr game.

There should be some kind of a law against gnats. About two
hundred of them will stay right in front of your eyes until one
of them gets an opening; then he'll cut in and land a jab, and
the other hundred and ninety-nine will give you the Big Minnehaha.
I had so many lumps on me when I got back to St. Paul that they
called me Pneumatic Willie.

Talk about your sylvan dells and sweet-scented fragrance! Why,
an asphalt street has a sylvan dell skinned to death, and a
twelve-percent soap factory is sweet enough for me.

Yours as ever,

Billy.

P. S.--Good night. I'm for the sleeps.



ONE NIGHT

A Kind of a Preface

The Baxter Letters are written in the up-to-date slang of the
day, by one who has seen several of the sides of life, and who
has also come in contact with a few of the corners.