There will only be a few
old bald headed roosters and persons with red noses and sore eyes stopping
at the new hotel. A hotel without women would be almost as cheerful as a
reform school.
A MAD MINISTER.
There is probably the maddest minister living at Black River Falls, that
can be found in America to-day. He is a real nice man, and his name is
Burt Wheeler. He preaches good sound sense, and everybody likes him. He
has got friends at Neillsville, and all around there. At Black River Falls
there is no license, and liquor is unknown, while at Neillsville there is
license, and one can have benzine at every meal. The other day the express
took a jug from Neillsville to the Falls, directed to the reverend
gentleman, and on the card attached to the jug handle was the following
notice:
"Old Bourbon--We have license here, and knowing you have none in your town
we thought it but kindness to remember your wants."
When a jug, or a keg arrives at the Falls by express, every citizen
notices it, and they investigate, and when the jug came into the express
office the expressman winked, and in a few minutes half the population of
the darling little village was there. They read the note on the card and
winked at each other. One man as he took a piece of cut sugar out of a
barrel, said he had long suspected that Burt liked his toddy.
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