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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"The Boss of Little Arcady"

What can they think of me?"
"They don't know what to think now," I said, "and if you are wise, you
will never let them know."
"The Colonel was proud of that punch," she mused.
"I dare say he had reasons," I answered grimly.
"Especially after Cousin Looshe Peavey came to spend Christmas with us
one time. The Colonel had always considered Cousin Looshe rather
arrogant about this punch, and it may have been a special brew. I know
that Cousin had an immense respect for it after he was able--that
is--afterwards--"
"I can easily believe it."
"Cherry brandy--Jamaica rum--pint of Madeira--gill of port--a bit of
cordial--some sherry--I forget if there's anything else."
I grasped the chair in which I sat.
"Heaven forbid!" I cried; "and don't tell me, anyway--I'm reeling now."
"But of course there are lemons and oranges and cherries and tea and
_quantities_ of ice to weaken it--"
"The whole frozen polar sea itself couldn't weaken that mixture of
elemental forces. See to it," I went on sternly, "that you remember only
the innocent parts of it if you are ever asked for the recipe." She
actually cowered.
"Also as to mint juleps--remember that you have forgotten, if you ever
knew how they are made.


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