had anything on that. Why say, there was canned chicken, and corned-beef hash, and sweet potatoes, and chop suey, real regular Chinese style, and pickled pig's feet, and elegant mackerel, and a canned fruit salad that say, I'll bet it'd make the eyes of even a French chef bung right out—slices of peaches and pears and apples and cherries, in fact, two kinds of cherries—say, no Chicago hotel could shake you up a better fruit salad.
And he had crackers and real genuwine Scranton pretzels, too. Um! And so, as I say, we had a swell feed, and it was then, while we were sitting around feeding, that Mack McMack told us this story that I started to tell you.
Well! I'm afraid I've taken kind of a long time getting down to the story itself, but I wanted you to understand the background, so you'd understand the story better, and it's kind of a funny thing about me: I always did have a what the newspapers call a Dramatic Instinct.
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