day, by one who has seen several of the sides of life, and who 
has also come in contact with a few of the corners.

We will mail "One Night" to any address in North America upon 
receipt of four cents* in postage. Do not lick stamps and attach 
to letter of request, as at some future date we may wish to use 
same, and the Government foolishly requires a whole stamp. 

As there are several people in the United States with whom we 
are not personally acquainted, and not being mind-readers, we 
ask that all signatures be written plainly.

* This offer is superseded by the publication of this volume.

Admiral Dewey's Letter

In November, 1898 we sent Admiral Dewey a copy of "One Night." 
The appended letter is photographed from the original reply 
addressed to the president of our company, which was received 
March 9, 1899.

Flagship Olympia
Manila,

Jan'y 28/99

Dear Sir,

Accept my best thanks for the book (One Night) which you were 
good enough to send me.

Very truly

George Dewey

We also sent a copy to His Royal Highness, Albert, Prince of 
Wales, and, having heard nothing from him, it now looks as 
though Al were going to snob us. Under the circumstances, when 
he runs for King we can't be for him.

One Night

Pittsburg, PA., August, 189-.

Dear Jim:

You remember I wrote you about a sack suit I ordered last week. 
Well, it came yesterday, and you know the finish. Why can't a 
fellow put on a new suit, make a few calls, and go home like a 
gentleman? The minute I got into that suit, I fell off the water 
wagon with an awful bump, although I hadn't touched a drink for 
thirty-seven days. Oh! But I got a lovely bun on. That's the last. 
No more for me. There's nothing in it. If anybody says, "Have 
something, Billy," you'll see your Uncle Bill take to the trees. 

Yesterday at 2:30 I had a hundred and ten dollars; this morning 
I'm there with a dollar eighty, and that's the draw out of a 
two-dollar touch. If there is any truth in the old saying that 
money talks, I am certainly deaf and dumb to-day. Besides I have 
a card in my pocket which says I've opened up a running account 
of thirty-two forty at George's place. I wonder if this George 
is on the level, because I'll swear I don't think I was in there 
at all. I'll bet he stuck the forty on anyway. You know me, Jim; 
I am one of those bright people who tries to keep up with a lot 
of guys who have nothing to do but blow their coin. I stood around 
yesterday and looked wise, and licked up about four high-balls; 
then I kind of stretched. Whenever I give one of those little 
stretches and swell up a bit that's a sign I am commencing to 
get wealthy. I switched over and took a couple of gin fizzes, 
and then it hit me I was richer than Jay Gould ever was; I had 
the Rothschilds backed clear off the board; and I made William 
H. Vanderbilt look like a hundred-to-one shot. You understand, 
Jim, this was yesterday. I got a little red spot in each cheek, 
and then I leaned over the bar and whispered, "Mr. Bartender, 
break a bottle of that Pommery." Ordinarily I call the booze 
clerk by his first name, but when you are cutting into the grape 
at four dollars per, you always want to say Mr. Bartender, and 
you should always whisper, or just nod your head each time you 
open a new bottle, as it makes it appear as though you were 
accustomed to ordering wine. You see, Jim, that's where I go off 
my dip. That wine affair is an awful stunt for a fellow who makes 
not over two thousand a year, carries ten thousand life, and rooms 
in a flat that's fifteen a month stronger than he can stand. But 
to continue, I lost the push I started out with, and got mixed 
up with a fellow named Thorne, or Thorpe, or something like that, 
and we got along great for a while. He knew a lot of fellows in 
Boston that I did, and every time we struck a new mutual friend 
we opened another bottle. I don't know just what the total 
population of Boston is, but we must have known everybody there. 
Finally Thorne got to crying because his mother had died. You 
know I am a good fellow, so I cried, too. I always cry some time 
during a bat, and there was an opening for your life. I cried so 
hard that the bartender had to ask me to stop three different 
times. I made Niobe look like a two spot. Between sobs I asked 
him about the sad affair, and found that his mother had died 
when he was born. I guess it had just struck him. Then there 
were doings.

I had wasted a wad of cries that would float the Maine, and I was 
sore for fair. A fat fellow cut into the argument, and some one 
soaked him in the eye, and then, as they say in Texas, "there was 
three minutes rough house." In the general bustle a seedy looking 
man pinched the Fresh Air Fund, box and all. You know I'm not much 
for the bat cave, and to avoid such after-complications as patrol 
wagons and things, I blew the bunch and started up street. I guess 
the wind must have been against me, as I was tacking.

I met Johnny Black, and he was going to keep a date with a couple 
of swell heiresses at one of the hotel dining-rooms. I saw them 
on the street to-day, and they won't do. One of them wore an 
amethyst ring that weighed about sixty carats, and the other 
had on white slippers covered with little beads.

I don't know anything about them, but I'll gamble that they are 
the kind of people that have pictures of the family and wreaths 
in the parlor. They looked fine and daisy last night, though. 
Probably the grape. My girl's name was Estelle. Wouldn't that 
scald you? Estelle handed me a lot of talk about having seen 
me on the street for the last two years, and how she had always 
been dying to meet me, and I got swelled up and bought wine like 
a horse owner. Johnny was shaking his head and motioning for me 
to chop, but what cared I? Estelle was saying, "He done it," 
"I seen it," and "Usen't you?" right along, but the grape stood 
for everything.

Estelle's friend was talking about her piano, and how hard it 
was to get good servants nowadays, and say, Jim, I've heard 
knockers in my time, but Estelle is the original leader of the 
anvil chorus. She just put everybody in town on the pan and 
roasted them to a whisper. She could build the best battleship 
Dewey ever saw with her little hammer. Estelle's friend, after 
much urging, then sang a pathetic ballad entitled, "She Should 
Be Scolded, but Not Turned Adrift," and I sat there with one 
eye shut, so that I could see single, and kept saying, "Per'fly 
beauf'ful."

About this time I commenced to forget. I remember getting an 
awful rise out of Estelle by remarking that her switch didn't 
match her hair. She came up like a human yeast cake. Johnny 
sided with the dame, and said I might at least try to act like 
a gentleman, even if I weren't one. Perhaps the grape wasn't 
getting to Johnny by this time. He was nobby and boss. He was 
dropping his r's like a Southerner, and you know how much of a 
Southerner Johnny is--Johnstown, Pa.; and he was hollering around 
about his little three-year-old, standard-bred, and registered 
bay mare out of Highland Belle, by Homer Wilkes, with a mark of 
twenty-one, that could out-trot any thing of her age that ever 
champed a bit. Did you get that, Jim? That ever champed a bit; 
and still he said at noon to-day that he had had two, possibly 
three, glasses of wine, but no more. The only way that mare of 
Johnny's can go a mile in twenty-one is "In the Baggage Coach 
Ahead."

Say, Jim, I've never said much about it, but you let any of these 
fellows who own horses get a soak on, and they get to be a kind 
of a village pest, with their talk about blowing up in the stretch, 
shoe blisters on the left forearm, etc. Now, since when did a horse 
get an arm? They have got me winging. I can't follow them at all.

But to return to last night. When Johnny threw that thing at me 
about champing the bit, it was all off to Buffalo with little 
Will. I went out of business right there.

When I got up this morning I had to ask the bellboy what hotel 
I was in. I'll see the fellows to-night, and they'll all tell me 
how dirty my face was, and what I called so and so, and make me 
feel as bad as they possibly can. It's a wonder a fellow doesn't 
get used to that, but I never do; I feel meaner each time. Guess 
I'll take the veil.

Don't fail to come down Saturday. Several of us are going yachting 
on the Ohio River. It will be lovely billiards.  

Yours as ever,

Billy.

P. S.--Do you know anything about that George's place?

Horse Sense

Sometimes you eat too much, sometimes you drink too much, and 
sometimes you do both. In any event, you feel like the very old 
scratch the next morning. Too much liquor overheats the blood. 
Too much food, and the liver goes on a strike. The first remedy 
which should suggest itself is a purgative which will act on the 
liver, and cleanse the system of all the indigestible junk with 
which it has been overtaxed. This is positively the foundation 
for permanent relief. The next thing is to cool the blood. Now, 
isn't it common horse sense?

Think it over.

The R--R-- is the only water which acts on the liver. It's base 
is sodium phosphate.

The R--R-- is the only water which cools the blood, Overheated blood is what 
causes the pressure on the head.

The R--R-- is the only pleasant-tasting aperient water of any