with a
spending possibility of $2 a Minute is told by a Specialist to drink
plenty of Hot Water, the Words seem almost Ironic.

His Operating Expenses kept running up, and yet it looked like sheer
Waste to lavish so much Collateral on the upkeep of a Physical Swab.

To show you how he worked at recouping his Health, once he spent a
whole Summer in Merrie England. He had been told by a Globe-Trotter
that One lodging within a mile of Trafalgar Square could hoist
unlimited Scotch and yet sidestep the Day After.

The Explanation offered by members of the Royal Alcoholic Society is
that the Moisture in the Atmosphere counterbalances or nullifies, so
to speak, the interior Wetness.

Also, the normal state of Melancholy is such that even a case of
Katzenjammer merely blends in with the surrounding Drabness.

He experimented sincerely with the Caledonian Cure, acquiring a rich
sunset Glow, much affected by half-pay Majors and the elderly Toffs
who ride in the Row. He began to wear his Arteries on the outside,
just like a true son of Albion. This cherry-ripe Facial Tint proves
that the Britisher is the most rugged Chap in the World--except when
he is in Stockholm.

In fact, if the New York Duds worn by the Yank had been less of a Fit,
and he could have schooled himself to look at a Herring without
shuddering, he might have rung in as a Resident of the tight little
Isle, for he was often Tight.

He learned to like the Smoky Taste and could even take it warm, but
still he felt Rocky, and up to 3 P.M. was only about 30 per cent.
Human.

One evening in a polite Pub he heard about the wonderful Vin Ordinaire
of Sunny France. He was told that the Peasants who irrigated
themselves with a brunette Fluid resembling diluted Ink were husky as
Beeves and simply staggering with Health.

So he went motoring in the Grape and Chateau District and played
Claret both ways from the Middle. Every time the Petrol chariot pulled
up in front of a Brasserie, he would call for a Flagon of some rare
old Vintage squeezed out the day before.

Then he would go riding at the rate of 82 Kilos an Hour, scooping up
the Climate as he scooted along.

Notwithstanding all these brave Efforts to overtake Health, he would
feel like a frost-nipped Rutabaga when the matutinal Chanticleer told
him that another blue Dawn was sneaking over the Hills.

He began to figure himself a Candidate for a plain white Cot in the
Nerve Garage, when he heard of the won