In St. Louis there is one ward that is full of breweries and Germans. In a recent election a local option question was up.
After the election some Germans were counting the votes. One German was calling off and another taking down the option votes. The first German, running rapidly through the ballots, said: “Vet, vet, vet, vet,…” Suddenly he stopped. “Mein Gott!” he cried: “Dry!”
Then he went on—”Vet, vet, vet, vet,…”
Presently he stopped again and mopped his brow. “Himmel!” he said. “Der son of a gun repeated!”
