Four men fell out of the Oshkosh jail the other day. If Oshkosh would only
imitate Fond du lac, and paper the county jail with wall paper, it might
become safe.
THE KNIGHT AND THE BRIDAL CHAMBER.
There was one of those things occurred at a Chicago hotel during the
conclave that is so near a fight and yet so ridiculously laughable that
you don't know whether you are on foot or a horseback. Of course some of
the Knights in attendance were from the backwoods, and while they were
well up in all the secret workings of the order, they were awful "new" in
regard to city ways.
There was one Sir Knight from the Wisconsin pineries, who had never been
to a large town before, and his freshness was the subject of remark. He
was a large-hearted gentleman, and a friend that any person might be proud
to have. But he _was_ fresh. He went to the Palmer House Tuesday night,
after the big ball, tired nearly to death, and registered his name and
called for a bed.
The clerk told him that he might have to sleep on a red lounge, in a room
with two other parties, but that was the best that could be done. He said
that was all right, he "had tried to sleep on one of them cots down to
camp, but it nearly broke his back," and he would be mighty glad to strike
a lounge. The clerk called a bell boy and said, "Show the gentleman to
253.
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