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An elderly man was on his way home by train from a session of three days
at a convention of his political party. (This was antedating the era of
prohibition.) The man's personal preferences had been gratified in the
nominations at the convention, and he had celebrated in a way only too
common in the bibulous period of our history. His absorption in other
things and of other things had led him to neglect shaving throughout the
three days. Now, as he chanced to move his hand over his chin, it
encountered the long growth of white bristles, and he was aroused to a
realization of his neglect. To determine just how badly he needed a
shave, the elderly gentleman opened his handbag, and fumbled in it for a
mirror. In his confused condition, he seized on a silver-backed
hair-brush of the same set, pulled it forth, and held it up to his face
with the bristles toward him. He studied these with great care, groaned
and muttered:

"I look worse than I thought for. Whatever will Sarah Ann say!"





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