The Prescott daily news., 1914-09-14
THE UNSCIENTIFIC SCIENTIST
 Scotty Goes Swimming.

You remember about Neptune? He was the old fellow who lived in the sea and wore a crown and carried trident and came up to blow every so often-of course you can't blame him for that, he was King of the Sea, or something, and he had license to blowl I would, too, if 1 had a job like that-and who was always at tended by swell looking danes whose neither extremities, however, were somewhat disappointing. Frankly, just between you and me, think the 1914-model merimaids have the mythological ones beaten four ways from the jack. It's open season for them all the year round here, too. We've got some of the late models working at the San Diego Exposition. Yep. I know. I saw 'em in the bay last Saturday afternoon. Honest, Herb. this isn't such poor place to work.
 But I was going to tell you about "Neptune's Wonderland" It's an a. quarium on the "Isthmus" here, and whale of big one. It holds some thing like a million fish-or maybe it was only a thousand-I forget-any- way, it's some aquarium! 1 give you my word you begin to feel as if it were running in strong competition with the ocean when you see all those things swimming and squirming and crawling around in there l call them things" to be on the same side-that describes most anything. l started to make a list of their names, but most of them I couldn't spell-and they didn't sound like regular names anyway--and what l did write was about as interesting as page 209 of my prize dictionary (paid the last in- stallment on it this month, didn't take that cash discount), so desisted,
 One thing in there is an old ac- quaintance--a stingaree. Vividly l recalled my introduction to it. Un- willingly 1 stepped on it in the surf willingly, it threw its tail up over my foot (10hB-no, that's the size of my silk hose) hurridly but effective ly, and still carry the scar. Well, the memory made me sad Whenever I feel sad want to write poetry. So l wrote you poem about it. At least 1 called it poem, and my up- to-date stenographer she called it poem. But the Boss he called it Well, anyway, it didn't get by; so Pm afraid you'll never see it, until my Memoirs are published. 1 named it 'The Tail of the Stingaree." You could sing it to the tune of the "Tale of the Bumblebee'-if you felt musi- cal. I played it on the piano--with one hand-I had to use the other to beat time-and say! It's a bear! Sweetly sad Cor sadly sweet, either way) sentiment, tool But you'll have to wait for the Memoirs-this local Board of Censorship is awful Grained in Chicago and acts as if he's pround of it.)
 The auditor came in to my office the other day and handed me the cheek for my monthly stipend. (He's got quite job, that fellow; nothing to do but count money and dole it out in the smallest possible amounts) And he asked: "Scotty, what do you write that fool stuff to Herb for?"
 l waved the pink slip in his face coquettishly and said: "For this" '" Then he looked kind of sad-hes not a self-separator at all-and he asked me if I wasn't ashamed to take the money. I said I was, but that I'd rather be ashamed than. not get it. He could see the sense to that all right-it didn't leave much room for argument-but I still maintain that his soul harbors none of the divinus afflatus, whatever that is. Aside from that, I like him. But DON'T MISS NEPTUNE'S WONDERLAND.
 Yours by the glad sea waves,
 SCOTTY.
 P. s. Truly, Herb, there's nothing to compare with the human form divine