In the mornin' I found that my family were entertainin' a artist from Philadelphy, who was there paintin' some startlin water-falls and mountains, and I morin suspected he had a hankerin' for my oldest dauter.
"Mr. Skimmerhorn, father," sed my dauter.
"Glad to see you, Sir!" I replied in a hospittle vois. "Glad to see you."
"He is an artist, father," sed my child.
"A whichist?"
"An artist. A painter."
"And glazier," I askt. "Air you a painter and glazier, sir?"
My dauter and wife was mad, but I couldn't help it; I felt in a comikil mood.
"It is a wonder to me, Sir," sed the artist, "considerin what a widespread reputation you have, that some of our Eastern managers don't secure you."
"It's a wonder to me," said I to my wife, "that somebody don't secure him with a chain."