Despatched

Scatterbrained John Thoening, a youth, wished to come to the U. S. He secured a visaed passport, but when he set out to buy a boat ticket John Thoening found that he had too little money. So he took a jug of water, a string of sausages, some pumpernickel, a hammock and crawled into a big wooden box. A friend nailed up the box and wrote on the top of it an address in West 84th Street, Manhattan. The box was put aboard the Hamburg American liner, Cleveland; by the time that the Cleveland reached the high seas, the inside of the box was a filthy place indeed. John Thoening, its occupant, squirmed and squealed and tried to get out.

Last week, in Manhattan, a checker at the customs pier noticed a large wooden box with a loose board. Thinking it a good chance for performing his function, the checker stood next the box and reached in with one hand. Feeling the touch of some clammy thing, a wolf or a corpse perhaps, he screamed "I am bitten," and ran furiously along the pier. A less timid checker then went gingerly up to the box and pried it open. In the bottom of the box, cold and still alive, was scatterbrained John Thoening. He said he had not eaten for several days, that he was very sleepy, that he had not bitten the hand which had been inserted into his box, but had shaken it rather, with friendly intent.