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ROAMIN' IN THE GLOAMIN' 291
reminds me of a laughable incident which occurred in my dressing-room last year at Washington, D. C. A certain wellknown Congressman (you couldn't get his name from me if you paid me a dollar!) came round to have a chat and from his hip pocket he produced what we would call in Glasgow a half-mutchkin. There were no glasses in the room but I had two paper tumblers and into these he poured the contents of his flask. Just as we were about to say "Here's how!" there was a knock at the door and another visitor came in, but not before we had concealed the tumblers behind a looking-glass. You see we didn't want to tantalize the newcomer and, moreover, we didn't feel like sharing the "blessing" with him. So we waited until he went away and then jointly dashed for the "hidie-hole." To our united horror we found that the paper tumblers had absorbed all the whisky — in fact they were practically eaten away ! There they lay, wilted, drunken and repulsive objects !
At Sweetgrass on the Alberta-Dakota border our train was boarded one night by the U. S. prohibition officers. Tom, I believe, had instructed all the members of our company to come right across with the truth about any liquor they might have in their trunks or hand-bags. They all did so with the exception of the trombone player who swore he had nothing at all to declare. On leaving the train the chief officer called Tom aside and remarked, "That guy in lower-eight berth had four bottles of hooch beneath his bed. Now he ain't got any. I've got two and you'll find a couple in your small grip. See an' stick to 'em. Honesty's the best policy!"
Musicians as a class are the most extraordinary men you can meet with anywhere. I always say that every musician is a genius and it is an accepted axiom that genius is akin to madness. We had one fellow travel with us who manufactured his own gin. How he did it nobody ever found out but when we were in a place for any length of time he used to lock himself up in his room for hours on end. Sometimes