My reported captur by the North American savijis of Utah, led my wide circle of friends and creditors to think that I had bid adoo to earthly things and was a angel playin' on a golden harp. Hents my rival home was on expected.
It was 11, P.M., when I reached my homestid and knockt a healthy knock on the door thereof.
A nightcap thrusted itself out of the front chamber winder. (It was my Betsy's nightcap.) And a voice said:
"Who is it?"
"It is a Man!" I answered, in a gruff vois.
"I don't b'lieve it!" she sed.
"Then come down and search me," I replied.
Then resumin' my nat'ral voice, I said, "It is your own A. W., Betsy! Sweet lady, wake! Ever of thou!"
"Oh," she said, "it's you, is it? I thought I smelt something."
But the old girl was glad to see me.