With love I am yours until my wrist watch goes 24 hrs without takin a recess,

Barney.

P.S.  How about my other shirt, did you get it from the Chinks?

Nowhere in France the morning after a night in Paris.

Dere Julie: 

So this is Paris.  Believe you me, Julie, I don’t see why they wanna keep Wilhelm the Twicer away from this burg; give him 48 hrs. in Paree like the once around the clock we had here and it would be fare-thee-well Wilhelm.  There would be nothin left to say but “don’t he look natural.”

Speaking of funerals, Julie reminds me that was the first thing we met up with when we arrove in Paree!  Flowers, paul-bearers, an everything.  Skinny lowed as how it must be some high and mitey who had joined his 4 fathers, and asked a Frenchy standing on the curb of the “bull-yard” who the big guy wuz?  Shrugging his shoulders, he pipes up with sumpin which sounded like “Monsewer Jennyseepah.”  Well, we didn’t ever here of the poor boob, so we went over onto the next Rue (make that Julie.  I’m getting along fine), and we runs slap bang! into a other funeral more elegant than the first; and Skinny not wantin to let anything get by him, again asked the name of the guy ridin in the head waggin and he got the same answer “Monsewer Jennyseepah.”  “Yer a liar,” yelled Skinny, “we just saw his funeral on the other street.”  Well, Julie, I don’t blame Skinny, I was a little sore myself on the way this guy tried to string us.

[Illustration:  Me an’ Skinny seen the toom of Napoleon the Wunst.]

We got along seem the sights without much trouble; the toom of Napoleon the Wunst, the bridge over the Sane, the 4th of July colum and Champ de Lizzie; feelin hungry we drifted into a swell lookin feedin place with good lookin she waiters.  Now don’t be nervous Julie, there ain’t nothin gonna happen with me and them Jane’s; for believe you me star of my heart, I don’t care what anybody says to me, but you can bet every dollar that Hetty Green ever gave to charity, that when I do marry, I’m gonna get a dame who bawls me out in language that I understand.  Well, luckily we struck a she waiter who spoke a little American; to put it as she said “I speek a leetle of what Monsewer calls ze Anglaise.”  The first thing we ordered was soop.  The Jane brought it in a bowl and had her thum jabbed into it, when Skinny pointed to her thum in the soop, she grinned and sed “Zats all rite, Monsewer, it is not hot.”  We got along very well (considerin that Skinny kept her mind offen her business by trying to send her a eye wireless) and got down to the desert.  You know me Julie, Me for the good old fashioned pies like my ol’ lady makes.  Gettin a lamp at what looked like a juicy huckleberry pie, I pointed to it and said in my company tone of voice “Please give me a big dose of that huckleberry pie.”  Puttin on her prettiest smile and rollin her eyes, and arching her shoulders she cum back with “if Monsewer will pleese brush off ze flies, he will find it is custard pie—­not ze huckleberry.”