A party of Louisville ladies, en route to a Canadian summer resort, was
delayed on the border by the usual customs examination. To the question
as to what her suitcase contained, the fairest and youngest replied:
“Nothing but wearing apparel.”
Now, tucked carefully away in one of the corners of that suitcase the
efficient official brought to light a tiny vial (evidence of a thoughtful
mother’s “safety first” measure) filled to the neck with nothing less
than a generous swallow of the once justly famed “Kentucky Dew.”
The officer frowned to conceal his amusement. “Didn’t I understand you to
say that this valise contained only wearing apparel?” he asked.
The fair Kentuckian nodded an affirmative, no whit abashed by the
contradictory nature of the official’s find. “Well, will you tell me what
you call this?” persisted the inquisitor, holding to view the diminutive
bottle, whose very contents seemed blushing for its owner’s disregard for
the truth.
“Oh, that?” came the reply in a soft, Southern drawl. “In Kentucky we
call that a nightcap.”
* * * * *