THE LOST JOKE 
“Is there, is there balm in Gilead? tell me, tell me I implore!”’ 
Quoth the Raven, ‘‘ Nevermore.’’ 
EpGAR ALLAN POE. 
It was cold that morning and the wind was blowing a 
gale. As I opened the dining-room door the waitress 
glanced up and then called to the cook through the 
slide, ‘‘Put on three extra batter cakes,’’ so 1 knew she 
saw me. We had steak, broiled teal, fried potatoes, 
toast, and coffee. It’s always well to have a good hearty 
breakfast tucked away under your ribs on cold days 
when you’re duck shooting, so I topped off with six 
large batter cakes. 
The gale had upset our plans for the day. Glasses 
in hand I climbed to the crow’s nest on top of the house 
and scanned the marshes. The tall dead marsh tules 
were bent by the wind in great billowing waves, sweep- 
ing one after the other, a yellow sea of gold. The wind 
came in quick gusts that grew stronger every minute. 
To go out on the lake was impossible, it was a smother 
of foam. Jimmy drily remarked, “‘Jerusalem! You won’t 
catch me out on that water, I’m going to be a member 
of the Naval Reserve to-day and stay on dry land.”’ 
The southeast wind had blown a lot of water from the 
east to the west side of the lake, as always happens in 
these large shallow lakes. The soft mud and scattered 
pools of water on the east side, in the lee of the land, 
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