Joe. And the birds sing out “Cash, cash!” don’t they? O fiddle-de-dee! the store is fifty miles off,—fifty miles; and six days! Another day gone?—well, don’t fret for that. Didn’t you get enough for it? Now, I never fret about letting a piece of goods go, if I get the worth of it.
Ned. Really, Joseph, I don’t see what selling goods has to do with the subject.
Joe. Why, you’ve let your day go. Old Time took it. He buys up a good many of ’em; but he pays. You got the value of your article: you took your pay in taking comfort. Fair trade enough.
Ned. Well, you may talk; but the day is gone, and it will never return (sighs).
Joe. But, if we live till to-morrow, there’ll another one come: leastways, I hope so; for I’ve a plan ahead. (Earnestly.) I’ll do it: I will! I certainly will, dogs or no dogs,—unless the sea dries up; and then I’ll walk. But how was river-fishing?
Ned. Oh, fair! that is to say, reasonably fair, for the first attempt.
Joe. Fine day you had.
Ned. Charming day. In the morning we rowed up stream, with Nature smiling all around us,—of course I mean the dewy fields, sprinkled with flowers; and anon we glided through the leafy woods, where the birds sang melodiously. All was fair and lovely.
Joe. Having fair wind’s the main thing: the rest is well enough. So you made an all-day trip of it?
Ned. Yes: a really charming little excursion, and the presence of the fair sex—hem!