99 Kegs of Beer on the Floor

Kitty Russell was furious.  Her latest delivery was sitting in the Long Branch occupying every square inch of floor space she had.  The idiots at the supply house had sent her one hundred kegs of beer and twenty bottles of whiskey.  It was supposed to be twenty kegs of beer and one hundred bottles of whiskey.  “Sam, have you found that invoice yet?!” she yelled as she tried to make her way to the bar through the piles of kegs.  
She could hear his muffled voice from her office, “I’ve got it.” 
He half handed half flew the piece of paper to her and she read through it.  Sure enough it read 100 kegs of beer and 20 bottles of whiskey in her own hand writing.  Now she was really agitated and with a sigh of disgust she rubbed her temple to try to soothe the headache that was quickly getting to her.  “I ordered it that way,” she admitted ruefully.  “But it doesn’t change the fact that there’s no where to put all this beer.”
“You could give it away,” Sam said jokingly but her go straight to hell and die a horrid death look withered his smile.  He tried again, “Maybe you could sell it to some of the other saloon owners.”
That was a good idea.  It was the only one that might work anyway, “Maybe they’d trade beer for whiskey.  Twenty bottles won’t last a week unless we water it down.”
Sam stiffened, “Miss Kitty, I’d rather give my notice than serve one drop of watered whiskey.”
Kitty shook her head, patted him on the arm, “Don’t worry, we’ll not sell any at all if it comes to it.”
Sam was relieved.  They both had too much pride in what Kitty Russell had turned the Long Branch into: the best saloon west of the Mississippi.  Kitty looked about and decided she’d better start hawking her wares if she wanted to get any business done.
“I’ll start with the Lady Gay and work my way around.  Meanwhile if anyone comes in wanting to buy a keg sell it to them at cost,” she decided and grabbed her drawstring purse and hat.  

“Obie are you sure you don’t want more?” Kitty cajoled.
The short proprietor of the Bull’s Head shook his head, “No ma’am. I’m stretching now to take the two I’m getting.  I’ve not got near the room you do and my order arrived today too.”
Kitty nodded, “I know.  Everyone’s order arrived today.  Thanks for doing what you could to help.  I’ll have your kegs sent over this afternoon.”
With a last sip of the bar rye Obie’d given her she left the last place she had to try on that side of town.  She must have walked three miles and been treated to a good dozen drinks.  Feeling a little woozy from it all and the headache she’d started out with getting worse, Kitty decided to head for home.  
Passing Doc Adams and Chester without saying a word and stepping into the path of an oncoming stage, Kitty would have been run over if the stage driver hadn’t steered the horses to miss her.  As it was it startled her enough so that she jumped back and ended up falling in a mud puddle.  Doc and Chester ran toward her, “Kitty? Miss Kitty?  Are you all right?”
Half of Dodge crowded around to look at the saloon owner sitting dazedly in the mud.  She hiccupped.  Chester was aghast.  “She’s drunk!”
“Shut up,” Doc growled and then added more quietly, “You know Kitty doesn’t drink this early.  Help me get her up.”  Turning to look at the crowd of people he said, “She’s all right, just fell that’s all.”
They were halfway to Doc’s office when Matt Dillon came running, “Jake said Kitty got hit by the stage.”
“I’m all right,” she insisted but it was obvious that she wasn’t.  She swayed a little and Dillon could smell the alcohol on her breath.  A good portion of the street was watching as he scooped her off her feet and carried her up to Doc’s.  

Doc handed Matt the second cup of coffee he poured.  Kitty was drinking the first.  
“So you’re swamped with beer,” Dillon clarified after she’d told what she was doing.  
“But haven’t got enough whiskey to last till I get more in,” she finished.  “Meanwhile I’ve not got anywhere for the customers to sit when I do sell the beer.  I was trying to hawk it to the other saloons and beer joints but they couldn’t help me much.”
“Except get you drunk before lunch,” Doc harrumphed.  
She shook her head a little too fast and grabbed hold of the exam table, “I’m not so much drunk as it’s this headache.” 
“Headache huh?” Doc asked and looked close at his favorite redhead.  Her eyebrows were knitted together and she squinted at the bright light that was reflected on the wall.  
Chester Goode’s telltale limp up the stairs interrupted the doctor’s thoughts.  He’d been sent to fetch Kitty some clean clothes.  He burst in talking, “I’ll swan I’ve never seen so much beer…”
Matt nodded, “Yeah, well I’ve got to check on a wire I sent.  You sure she’s gonna be all right?”
	“Fine just fine.  I want to see about this headache though,” Doc said and gave Matt and Chester a get lost look.  Dillon caught it, “Come on Chester, I’ll help Kitty get rid of some of her overstock.”
“Thanks Matt, “she said with a weak smile.  
After the men were gone, Kitty got up to put on the clean clothes.  She went behind the screen Doc had in the office. Doc started the questions, “So why the mix up with the order?”
Kitty shrugged, “I don’t know.  Careless I guess.  I probably marked the order blank wrong.”
“So it’s a form you fill out not just a blank page you write on?”
	“Yeah why?”
Doc twitched his nose, “Just curious.  Just a slip of the pen.” 
“Must’ve been,” she answered and stepped out from behind the screen, “Can you button me up?”
“Sure,” he said and started on them. 
Kitty admired a picture on the wall.  “That’s a pretty picture, when did you get it?”
Doc wasn’t sure what she was talking about.  The only picture was a colored drawing of diseased organs that he had hanging so he could check quickly while operating.  Kitty was only five feet from it and should have realized what it was easily.  Her reaction confirmed his fear.  “Kitty you do a lot of reading and book work at night don’t you?”
	“Yeah,” she answered as she straightened the petticoats.  “So?”
“Kitty, that’s not a pretty picture.  It’s one of my medical posters of diseased organs, but you can’t see that clearly can you?”
Her shoulders slumped, “No.”
“And you couldn’t read the order form either could you?”
“Not too well, but I was tired and it was late…” she defended.  
“And your eyes couldn’t focus because you can’t read small print anymore,” Doc replied a little gruffly.  Kitty puffed up, “Look I don’t need you yelling at me.  I’ve been doing exercises to help with them.”
“Exercises?  Next you’ll be telling me you’re swilling that carrot alcohol tonic that patent medicine man was selling last month!”
	Her inability to look him in the eye told the tale.  He was disappointed down to the socks.  “I never thought I’d see the day when Kitty Russell would rather trust some quack than me.”
Kitty felt awful, “I do trust you Doc.  It’s just… well it’s silly.” She cried, “Who wants to buy booze off a girl in glasses anyway?”
Doc was mad now, “That is the silliest, most asinine thing I’ve heard today and it wasn’t from Chester!”
All the fight was out of her, “So if I wear glasses I’ll be able to see?”
“Yes.  Can you see objects all right?” he asked.
“Sure, it’s just reading and writing I have trouble with mostly.”
“Let me give you an eye exam.  Might be you just need them to read with.  Then you won’t have to draw beer with them on.”
Kitty brightened, “Really?”
“Really, and from what you’ve said, you’ve got a hell of a lot of beer to pour.”
“Tell me about it,” she groaned and went over to sit down so he could look at her eyes.  She was still worried, “I wonder what Matt’ll say.”
Doc was serious, “He’d better say you’ve got the prettiest blue eyes he’s ever seen or I’ll personally stand on one of those beer kegs and punch him in the nose.” 
Kitty laughed, “Thanks Doc.”