AMERICAN CRAMMERS.

Tuapeka Times, Volume XVII, Issue 1029, 2 April 1884, Page 6

AMERICAN CRAMMERS.

(From the " San Francisco Post.") A well-known fellow citizen now prowling — not to Bay, growling — through Europe, writes us the following touching experience :—": — " I had been for half an hour, he says, sitting on the deck of one of the miserable little packets that ply between Dover and Calais, and exasperating my fellowpassengers by refusing to join in tho carnival of sea sickness going on around me, when a ruddy faced, white whiskered, blufflooking individual, who had been eyeing me for some time, stepped up and said, " Beg pardon, I'm sure, but are you really the American?" " The American ?" I replied; " there are several, I believe." " Oh, of course, to be sure ; I meant the one on board. I saw ' Q-eorge B. Blank, San Francisco, California, U.S.,' painted on some of the baggage, and I picked you out right away . as the owner." And the Btranger inspected me from head to foot with as vivid a curiosity as if I'd been a wild man of the woods. "Well," I finally exclaimed, "lam an American. What can I do for you?" "Wher-er — nothing — that is — no offence I hope, and you are a Californian too ?" he said, rubbing his hands as though he had indeed met a rara avis. "Ever scalped the indians ?" "I think not," I replied " You've scalped some of them, though, haven't you ?" persisted my inquisitor. Concluding that inasmuch as I was in for being made a side show of, I might as well indulge in some of the circus poster sort of thing, I looked my questioner calmly in the eyes and replied, " Some twentysix or seven ; I have the tally nicked in the handle of my other scalping knife. I carry only one bowie in this country. So seldom one runs across any fun over here, you know." " Killed many white men ?" asked the stranger, who appeared to be actually quivering with excitement and curiosity. " Only eight or ten," I replied carelessly. Tou see, in California there is a sort of close season now for shooting white men. 'Taint like the good old man- fore-breakfast times. A fellow is only allowed to run round promiscuous like four months in the year. So its hard work to keep one's hand in, don't you see ?" " Well, I declare !" said the apparently stupefied man, with the chop whiskers; " How about Chinamen ?" " Oh, we kill Chmamen all the year round, when they're fat," I explained. " But, then, there is 43ome sort of an ordinance making it a misdemeanour to shoot a pigtail unless he is on the shady side of the street or gets in your way. Folks are getting too infernally particular over there, for a fact." t "Ever been divorced?" finally said the stranger, whose eyes were now sticking out like pegs on a hat rack. "Nine times, I think," I I said. "In fact, I intended to have been again when I passed Chicago on my way over, but the train only stoped eleven minutes, and there wasn't time to rush it through — takes 22 minutes you know." I thought this had knocked him out, but after a few minutes cogitation he returned to the charge once more. "Ib it true that all Americans wear chest protectors and 'eat nothing but pie?" "Well, you see, the fact is, that Americans are, as you know, such a frightfully busy people that they haven't time to

sit down and eat a square meal like you English. They must have something portable — something they can carry about with them, and nibble on the sly. I tell you, you may see 40 or 50 men hanging on to the straps of a street car with one hand and eating pie with-the other." " I should rather think so," murmured the stranger. " As for the chest" protectors," I- continued, " they are really nothing more than pockets suspended around the neck, and large enough to carry a whole pie, which it keeps warm at the same time. A good hot mince pie stowed away in this manner not only imparts a gentle and grateful warmth to the entire system, but keeps a whole day's rations within the reach of the wearer. Grand idea, isn't it?" "Well I'm blessed," said my paralysed interrogator, gazing at my childlike and ingenuous face with profound awe. " Would you — would you oblige me with one of your cards ?" he said j "I want to show it to my family, or they'll never believe a word of it, never. Thanks, here's mine." As I stepped into my own compartment I glanced at the card of the stranger. I read " Julius K. Judkins, San Francisco, Cal." I have been looking for that man ever since. There will be bloodshed out of this yet, mark my words.