Mike and Pat were telling stories. During the conversation a fly lit on
Pat’s nose.
“What kind of a fly is that, Moike?” asked Pat.
“Why, that’s a horse-fly, Pat.”
“Begorra, Moike, and what’s a horse-fly?”
“Why, a horse-fly, Pat, is a fly that lights on a horse’s neck.”
“You don’t mean to say O’im a horse’s neck, do you, you dirty blaggard?”
“No, Pat, but you can’t fool a fly.”
_India’s September Morns_
_In this article, Reverend Morrill tells of the “royal baths”
of East India, where men and women recognize no sex. In the
February number of the WHIZ BANG, the traveler-author will take
our readers on a brief expedition to South America, which,
“Golightly” assures us, is “the white slave market of the world.”
Night scenes in Rio de Janeiro, “the Gomorrah,” and Buenos Aires,
“the Sodom of South America,” will be depicted as only Reverend
Morrill can do._