In Winter Quarters 



personal reasons, or in order that they 

 may become generous providers for 

 others. Many of these unfortunately 

 act upon the principle that all time 

 spent in play is wasted, insisting, in 

 the face of the universal experience, in 

 riding their respective hobbies straight 

 into hospitals. I have personal knowl- 

 edge of the case of one, who after 

 hoeing a row some thirty years long, 

 with infrequent stops, finally found 

 himself one day with hypodermic 

 needles loaded with strychnine in his 

 arms, and a trained nurse trailing his 

 dragging steps. Needless to add, his 

 hoe then had one long extended rest. 

 It is again in commission, nominally 

 at least, but is not now worked over- 

 time. 



That unrivaled painter, piper and 

 poet of the wayside, woods and skies, 

 king of all the Romanys living or 

 dead, to whom I have already paid my 

 homage, aided and abetted more or 

 less by such people as Hesiod and 

 [186] 



