what young angels cry for. Why they should sprinkle
so much of it around me, I didn't understand at first, but as I got to
thinking about it I concluded that an Inspector of Offensive Trades
would need it good and plenty, like Tescheron needed his cologne.

It must have been six months, so I then thought, after I had cut my
first set of wings, that I began to think about getting weaned, for I
was a bottle angel and I was getting almighty tired of watery victuals,
and besides, I was losing my appetite for the rubber tap. The reason I
didn't get a cookie or a chicken bone, I figured, was because I was now
handling everything in my crop, and it wouldn't do to crowd it too hard
or I might choke--the overload point being very close to the choker.

Well, I had never in all my worldly career wanted a cracker so badly. If
they had thrown in some sweitzerkase or a Yankee sardine I would have
been pleased; of course, I understood that it would be all out of order
to call for a glass of beer. Still, if there were any soft drinks I
would like a "horse's neck," promising to sip it so as not to get
drowned in it.

By and by, I began to feel an awful thirst for something sour. Would it
be in order for a small angel to have a pickle to cut his wings on? If
so, I prayed, please let me have a jar of the mustard variety, full of
red peppers and other emphatic food.

My eyesight began to improve, and after many years of craving for a
pickle I began to see them in all sorts and sizes, dripping with
delicious vinegar and aromatic of tasty cloves and cinnamon. There was
no way for me to reach them. When I tired of trying I would drop into
nothingness again. By-and-by these lapses seemed to give me strength.
The floating pickles grew smaller and faded away and I began to discern
the dim outline of pillows, bed-clothes and bed-posts, and the four
walls of a narrow room. I burst the chains of bondage one morning by
saying:

"Pickle, please; pickle, pickle!"

A consultation of the house staff and the leading members of the
advisory corps was called immediately, and grouped around my bed they
formally voted that this was excellent for so young an angel. The vote
was not unanimous, as one of the doctors present gallantly led a strong
opposition. He tried hard to have his motion carried. His motion was to
lay the subject on the table (in the operating room) and take time to go
into it deeper before deciding.

When the learned men had gone aw