SILVER LININ', AND

ED OLD SNOOZER QUAK

OT THE

, cos it seems like I'd done sumthi

w of 'scape in case a mine 'xploded. Jest as I got in the press-room I hearn a muffelled voice say: "Georgie, my boy, is that you?" I answered: "Yes, sir." Then I seen the edittur r

run outer town. Tell him I've gone to Coney Ileland to fite a duhell with Sullivan, or s

e I own'd the hull bisness, and I seen his oner walk-in' up and down, swar

cot site of

oked-knoes son of a ded beet? Show me him till I pulverise him so fine that his rema

you remar

ttel puppy wot sed I was a re

ee the edittur. I'l

wot goes up inter the composin

intervue him. Tell him he'd better lode up his dubble-barrl'd, breech-lodin bl

old the man that the edit

rite off

called to pay for your valuabel paper. Tell the edittur my hole family culd

v minnits to each a trane in. Mr. Gilley was listenin' to the hull conversashun, an', wen

nher to your perfeshun. Sum day you'll be a Puls

gettin' the wood reddy for winter. I guess I must be a hero, cos the sportin' edittur, wen he hurd wot I did, took me to the fotograf ga