San Antonio Daily Light

BISHOP AND DRUMMER.

In This Case the Drummer Was Bashful and the Bishop Had Good Horse Sense.

They were seated in the smoking compartment of the sleeper—the bold, bad drummer and the portly and dignified bishop of northern Oshkosh, who had taken temporary respite there while his berth was being made up.

The drummer, for once in his life, was not exactly at his ease. He had an idea that he was out of his class, and besides he felt the need of his morning bracer, and also felt afraid of shocking the worthy bishop by drinking in his presence.

The dignitary of the church was, however, unconscious of his companion's sufferings, and chatted affably with him as the miles flew by.

Finally he remarked somewhat abruptly, but in his most saintly tones: "I suppose, my dear young friend, that, like most travelling men, you are in the habit of carrying a flask of whisky or brandy with you on the road?"

"Oh, thunder!" thought the bold, bad drummer. "Now I'm in for a temperance lecture, sure!"

But he faltered feebly: "Y-e-s; that is—er—sometimes."

"And have you anything of the sort with you now?" persisted the bishop.

The drummer admitted he had.

"Then if I may trespass upon your hospitality—"

"Why, certainly, certainly!" cried the delighted drummer. "I'd have asked you to join me long ago, if I hadn't thought—"

"I know, my son," said the bishop, with a lordly wave of his hand. "But I am afraid I caught a bad cold last night. The result of the inadequacy of a four-foot blanket for a six-foot man.

"Now, sir, how much will you have?" said the drummer a moment later, as he turned the mouth of his flask towards the glass. "You needn't be afraid of it: it's pure."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of it," said the bishop. "Fill her up, my son, fill her up. I'm getting as hoarse as a frog, and I've got to preach to-morrow."—Brooklyn Life.