me to tell him he was a horrid rech, and she was goin to sue him for breech of promis, so she was.

   On my way hum to dinner, the manergin edittur overtuk me, and laffed and sed that was a purty good joke I'd fixed up on the religus edittur. I told him I didnt meen nothin by it enyway, cos I didnt xpect eny gurl'd think he was good lookin enuf to marry him.

   Now our mannergin edittur jest got marreed last week, and hee's bordin at the Metrypollytan hotel. Just fore we got there he giv me a ten-center, and sed, thats for the laff him and his wife'd hav wen he tole her bout the joke.

   I guess he got all the laffin he wanted, cos he'd no sooner got inter the hotel dore, before every man, woman, and child run up to him, and tride to giv him a baby, wot they sed was his. Baby's was lyin round permiskusly, all over the desks, floors, and barroom. The rooms, up stairs, was chock full of baby's. Xtra cots was lade out in the halls, and every cot, had half a dozen baby's on to it, and every baby had a card pinned on its does, wot red:—Tom Wilson, Susie Wilson, Paddy Wilson, Biddy Wilson, and every Wilson you could think of. Eight pages of the reges-ter was filled with there names, and every page was hedded with the Editturs own name, John Wilson, Father.

   Wen he got to his own room, he found his wife cryin, lik her heart was brok. Soon as she cot site of him she let out a shreek wot brot everybodie in the hotel to there room, and sung out: "John Wilson youre a monsteer, youre a vaggerbone, youre a rech, youre a inferrnus skoundrel. Take me back to my mama, rite away, and if youve got a spark of manhood about you, you'll go and make wot little restertushin you can, to the mothers of these wurse than orfans."

   Quicker'an litenin, Mr. Wilson tumbelled, and laffin a fiendish grin, he sung out in axcents wild: "Get me a Gatlin Gun, and lode it down to the mussle with thirty-leven charges of dannymite, and let me get a shot, at that incorragerbel imp of Haydes, the

    Buster's

   Devil."

   Then carmin down a littel, he took this mornins paper outen his pocket and red out loud to the crowd: "Wanted; a fine, helthy infant for adopshun. No questshuns ast. Leeve it at the Metrypolytan hotel for John Wilson, mannergin edittur

    Daily Buster

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