The Copper Country Evening News

HAD A CHRONIC THIRST.

Eleven Cocktails Were Not Enough to Satisfy the Eisenberg Appetite.

A young man named Eisenberg, a beer drummer for the Anheuser-Busch brewery, can thank the proprietor of a saloon near the Wainwright building that he is not a cold, lank corpse. He wanted to be judged by his actions, and it took some trouble, too, to turn him aside from his purpose. An evening or two ago Eisenberg, accompanied by his friend, Dick Fleming, who is a well-known employe of the city government, dropped into the barroom mentioned.

They had several drinks, and then Eisenberg began to boast of his bibulous abilities. He could drink more than anybody and was willing to bet on it.

Fleming did not want to enter a swilling contest, but he was entirely willing to wager with Eisenberg that he was not nearly as much of a go-as-you-please guzzler as he thought he was.

After much haggling a bet was arranged, which provided that eleven whisky cocktails, man's size, and with the usual jigger of whisky in each, should be prepared and set on the bar.

Eisenberg was to drink them, one after another, with only such pause between gulps as would enable him to set down one glass and pick up the next one. The loser was to pay for the drinks used in the test, and for whatever other liquors the onlookers consumed.

The drinks were mixed and set on the counter. Eisenberg began with grace and he soon had six under his belt.

Then they seemed to come a little slower, but they were not held long enough to cause him to violate the true conditions of the contract. The eleven drinks were finished as per program and Eisenberg declared the winner.

"Now," said he, "I'll bet you I can drink eleven more."

"I'll bet you anything you like you can't," was the answer.

"What will you bet?" said Eisenberg.

"One hundred dollars. How will that suit you?"

"That's all right. I've not that much money with me, but I'll bet this watch which cost $300, against your pile."

"It's a go," said the other man, and the barkeeper mixed eleven cocktails more and set them on the counter.

By this time Eisenberg began to show the effects of his liberal previous libations. He manifested evidences of nausea, and his friends advised him not to tackle the new test.

Mr. Fleming good-naturedly offered to call the thing off, and, although Eisenberg protested at first, he finally agreed. The drinks were thrown away.

He was not as well as he might be next day, but he is all right now. Meanwhile he thinks he can lay just claim to being the cocktail champion of St. Louis.—Star Sayings.