they were over in a corner somewhere biting their nails.

   While the porter was cooking up my attack of insomnia I went out in the smoking-room to drown my sorrow, but I found such a bunch of sorrow killers out there ahead of me that I had to hold the comb and brush in my lap and sit up on the towel rack while I took a little smoke.

   Did you ever notice on your travels that peculiar hog on the train who pays two dollars for a berth and always displaces eight dollars' worth of space in the smoking car?

   If he would bite the end of a piece of rope and light up occasionally it wouldn't be so bad, but nix on the smoke for him.

   He simply sits there with a face like a fish and keeps George Nicotine and all the real rag burners from enjoying a smoke.

   If ever a statue is needed of the patriot Buttinski I would suggest a model in the person of the smokeless smoker who always travels in the smoking-car.

   Two busy gazabes were discussing politics when I squeezed into the smoker on this particular occasion, and I judge they both had lower berths, otherwise their minds would have been busy with dark and personal fears of the future.

   "Well," exclaimed the gabby one from Kansas City, "what

    is

   politics? Well, what is it?"

   "Politics," replied Wise Willie from Providence, "politics is where we get it—sometimes in the bank, sometimes in the neck!"

   Everybody present peeled the cover off a loud laugh and the smokeless hog at the window stole four inches extra space so that he could shake more when he giggled.

   "Well," resumed the inquisitive person from Kansas City, "what is a politician? Do you know? Eh, well, what is a politician?"

   "A politician," replied the fat man from Providence, "a politician is the reason we have so much politics."

   Much applause left the hands of those present, and the smokeless hog turned sideways so that he could make the others more uncomfortable.

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