you." Steve has been throwing keys at the wall for some time, and he knows how to burn the beefers. "Bit me! bit me!" snarled the old chap; "nothing of the kind, sir! I want you to know, sir, that your pie isn't fit to eat, sir!" "Cut it out!" suggested Steve. "Cut it out, sir! how can I cut it out when I've eaten it, sir? It's an outrage and I shall leave this hotel to-morrow," said Dan. "With the exception of $31.72, balance due, that will be about all from you!" said Steve. "I'll see the proprietor," said the old fellow, moving away with a face on him like an interrupted beef stew. "We get it good and plenty every day," said Steve, and just then Skate Peters grabbed the book and burned his John Hancock on it. I knew his name was Skate because it looked like one on the register. "Bath?" queried Steve. "Only during a hot wave," said Skate. Steve went to the ropes, but he came up smiling, as usual. "American or European?" asked Steve. "Neither," said Skate; "Don't you see I'm from Jersey City." "Going to be with us long?" inquired Steve. "Say, Bub! you're hellanall on asking questions, now aint you?" answered Skate; "you just push me into a stall and lock the gate--I'm tired." "Front! show this gentleman to 49!" said Skate, side-stepping to avoid punishment. Then Sweet William, the Boy Drummer, hopped into the ring for the next round. Willie peddles pickles for the fun he gets of it. It is Willie's joy and delight to get a ginger ale bun on and recite "'Ostler Joe." When trained down to 95 flat Willie can get up and beat the clapper off "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night." When Willie gets a strangle hold on "Sheridan's Ride" you can hear horses galloping outside. It's the rest of the community getting out of harm's way. "Any mail?" inquired Willie. All the mail that Willie ever gets is a postal card from the pickle factory every two weeks asking him if the people along his route have all lost their appetites. "No literature for you," Steve answered. "Strange," said Willie, "my lady friends are very remiss, aren't they?" "Yes; it looks like they were out to drop you behind the piano," said Steve. Willie tore off a short rabbit laugh and then inquired what time the next train left for New York. The pickle factory expects Willie to make Pocomoke City, Squashtown Junction and Nubbinsville before next Sunday, so he tossed the train gag out just to show Steve that he knows there's a place called New York. "At 7.45 over the D. L. & Q," said Steve. "What's the next?" inquired Willie. "At 8.10 over the H. B. & N.," Steve answered. "Which gets there first?" Willie asked. "The engineer," sighed Steve. "Oh, you droll chap!" said the pickle pusher; "give me some toothpicks." Then Sweet William went over to the big window, burrowed into a chair, stuck his feet up on 

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