1934 Irvin S Cobb's own Recipe Book

half asleep in his shade-dappled dooryard; and you sent your best wishes after a sunburnt youngster on a single– footin' boss racking down a sandy road for to see his true love.

Oh, vanished lady! Oh, darky music! Oh, my Old Ken– tucky Home! IT took my uncle a full twenty minutes of measuring and blending and stirring and decorating, to fabricate your julep for you. And by that time your tongue hung down on your chest like a pink plush necktie, and your mouth ; atered until no longer could you control your own ripa– rian rights, and if, instead of being about the most glamor– ous mi;:cture that ever was mixed, that which, with a courtly bow from the hips he now bestowed upon you, had been an infusion of poison-ivy juice and old rubber galoshes, 28