Arter this we went down into the Cole-hole, wich they had cleaned out for the night and white-washed. Here I own was buties of natur. I always had a liken for water-colar paintin, and sometimes take a sketcht in that way myself. Me and Squire tried to get a good look, but was engulphed in an oshun of hot galls, who kinder steamed again. The gas, close over our heads, nigh made our brains bile over, so sez I, "Let's make tracks out of this, Squire. It ain't civet (Schakspar) here. This parfume of humanity is horrid unhandsome."
"Let's have a cup of corfy," says he, "to repare exhorsted natur."
"A sherry cobbler would be more to the purpose," says I, "but if they hev none of them coolin drinks at art sworricks, here goes for the Moky." (N.B.—This I sed ironical. Korfy at sworricks is usually burnt beans.)
So we med our way into another room, with 2 bar-counters, and a crowd of people pushin and drivin to get forrerd. They knocked and elbered me about till I felt my dander riz. "Come on, Squire," sez I, setting my arms a kimber; "take care, my old coons, of your tendur Korns and Bunyans. Look out for your ribs, for I've crooked my elbers," and forrerd I goes with Squire follerin' in my wake. Bimeby a woman's long skirt gets between my legs, and I spins round and goes kerslash into the stumuck of a fat old gentleman, who was just blowin his third cup. He med a spaired his breath though! kerslap I goes into his wastecote, and kesouse goes his coffy over his shoulders onto hed and neck of a bony old made with a bird of Pardice in her artificial locks.
"Beg your pardon, marm," sez I, as soon as I could speak.
She looked imprekashuns, and turned away ortily, mopping herself down with a laced nose-rag.
The Old gentleman was more cholerick. "Cuss your clumsiness," says he, "can't you come to a graffick without punching your ugly hed Into other people's stumucks?"
"I didn't go for to do it," sez I, "and jest put the Sadll on the right hoss, mister," I continerred. "If this femail behind didn't carry so much slack foresail, she wuddn't hev entangled my spars and careened me over."
Arter this I would try no more of their all-fired corfy. Squire— had had enough of the Sworrick, so we made tracks for the Ho-tell.
"Bring-up a quart of brandy," sez the Squire, "and a bilin o' lemons and sugar. Mr. W.," sez he, "there's not much of me left. Let's liquor up! Let's have a smoke and a cocktail." So we mixes, and had an entertaining discorse on polite literatoor. "Dod-rabbit the sworrick," says Squire. "Say no more about it. I was a fool, Mr Ward, to prefare it to your amusin an inshstructive conversashun."