The result was an excellent view of the back of my head, occupying
three-fourths of the plate, through which could be dimly discerned a
silhouette of my wife and a black streak in mid-air which represented
the cat jumping over the coffeepot.
[Illustration: Poor B. hanging by his pantaloons on a fence-post.]
"I know a fellow, though, who had a worse experience than mine. He
took home a kodak and a 'creme de menthe' jag one night, and, as all
his folks had retired and he was too impatient to wait until morning,
he went out to the stable to flashlight the calf. The calf was too
sleepy to object till the stuff exploded. Then he became imbued with
such sudden and tremendous vitality that he kicked poor B. and his
outfit into the middle of next week. The hired man heard the racket
and found him hanging by his pantaloons on a fence-post. Part of the
tripod was about his neck; his hair was full of ground glass and he
was murmuring something about a trolley-car. They put him to bed and
the first thing he said after he came to, was, 'Did they arrest the
motorman?'
"I hear fellows talking about golf and driving four-in-hand, but, if
anyone wants to experience a real hot time, let him get one of these
easy-working cameras and practice on the family.
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