You would think our owning stock in Standard Oil, The Radio Corporation of America and Wrigley's Gum (Clove Division) would allow us here at Horsingham Downs a certain amount of freedom from the rickets-infested, uni-toothed street ruffians that haunt our more disreputable local saloons and bawdy houses. Sadly, this week's episode proves that personal sovereignty is more elusive these days than is the formation of a League of Nations.
Not even our newly opened and freshly moppet-staffed Buggy Whip mill upstate in Westchester county can shield us from the immigrant related and thoroughly mud-caked indignities we have had to endure this week.
We are ensconced tick-like here in the clubhouse with the gas lamps turned down low and the shutters securely themselved until the neighborhood undergoes a fresh infusion of ethically malleable, and whistle-happy constables equipped with clubs of the truncheon, billy, and nightstick varieties.
God bless the now well paid and swat-prone men in blue.
To quote Teddy Roosevelt: "I won't shoot that poor bear but I will box it's ears until it gives up its honey stash."
Words to live by.
Bully! (See Link)
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