"This yere gent has been goin' about casooal, an' his air is a heap
high-flown. He's been pesterin' an' irritatin' about the post-office
for mighty like an hour, when all at once he crosses over to the Red
Light an' squar's up to the bar. He don't invite none of us to
licker--jest himse'f; which onp'liteness is shore received
invidious.

"'Gimme a cocktail,' says this Signal person to the barkeep.

"As they ain't mixin' no drinks at the Red Light for man or beast,
nor yet at Hamilton's hurdy-gurdy, this sport in yooniform don't get
no cocktail.

"'Can't mix no drinks,' says Black Jack.

"'Can't mix no cocktail?' says the Signal sharp. 'Why! what a band
of prairie dogs this yere hamlet is! What's the matter with you-all
that you can't mix no cocktails? Don't you savey enough?'

"'Do we-all savey enough?' says Black Jack, some facetious that a-
way. 'Stranger, we simply suffers with what we saveys. But thar's a
law ag'in cocktails an' all mixin' of drinks. You sees, a Mexican
female over in Tucson is one day mixin' drinks for a gent she's a-
harborin' idees ag'in, an' she rings in the loco onto him, an' he
goes plumb crazy. Then the Legislatoore arouses itse'f to its peril,
that a-way, an' ups an makes a law abatin' of mixed drinks. This
yere bein' gospel trooth, you'll have to drink straight whiskey; an'
you might as well drink it outen a tin cup, too.'