e do not belong to
the pity push. Willie, if the gentleman kicks bore a tunnel through
his cerebellum, near the medusa, and I will jump in his alimentary
canal and take a swim--ping-ding-a-zing-a-boom!"

Then, just as these two ferocious members of the Stinger Family rushed
at me, I awoke with a cry for help.

There was not a mosquito in the room.

Thank Heaven, it was only a dream!

At the door, however, was a messenger with a special delivery letter
from my wife.

The letter read, "Dear John, I only want to say that
Cheesehurst-by-the-Sea would be a nice place if a person could wear
armor plate to avoid the mosquitoes. I have rubbed my complexion with
peppermint, and I have worn smoke-sticks in my hair till I burned my
pompadour, but the mosquitoes still look upon me as their meal ticket.
I expect to insult everybody present and leave for home to-morrow.
Lovingly, thy wife."

My dream was out.

I don't want to change the subject too abruptly, but you remember Uncle
William, don't you?

Well, once upon a time, Uncle Bill was clear daffy on the subject of
mosquitoes.

He invented more kerosene tablets to poison 'em and set more traps to
catch 'em than any pest-remover in the business.

I must tell you about the time he was one of a committee of three
appointed by Budweiser College or Anheuser University, or some such
concern, to study the mosquito at close range in its native jungles.

The committee consisted of Professor Kenneth Glueface, Professor Oscar
Soupnoodle, a German gentleman with thistles in his conversation, and
my Uncle, Mr. William Gray.

The committee decided that the best way to study the New Jersey
mosquito would be to live in their gloomy haunts and forsake
civilization for the time being.

In accordance with this idea they had the Carnegie Steel Company build
for them a steel cage, which was placed in the depths of the Hackensack
jungles, and thither they went.

Dr. Soupnoodle was of the opinion that a Jersey mosquito has a
language, and the other two members of the committee agreed to help him
to settle this point.

"My idea is," said Dr. Soupnoodle, "dot der beasts haf a speech vich
dey use, uddervise how can dey find our fairst families in der blue
book und go after deir blue blood?"

"Do you hold, Doctor, that the mosquito speaks with a guttural
inflection on the vowels?" inquired Uncle William.

"More likely with a stringency on the last syllable of the diphthong,"
sugg