I aint very keen about gals myself, and I wasn’t then; but, as I said, Enos liked to be with ’em. He spent most all his wages buyin ice cream fer ’em. He said he kinda liked to see ’em lickin it up like nice little pussy cats.
“Yes,” I says, “I guess you would like to be a mouse,” says I, “and listen to what they says.”
“No,” says he, “but they use me like the cat would a mouse.”
Well, he was always talkin about the gals and about gittin married ’till I got e’enamost worn out. So one day I says: “Enos,” says I, “why don’t you advertise?”
“Advertise fer what?” says he.
“Why, fer a wife,” says I.
“Sure,” says he, “where can I do it?”
Sam Harkness and me put our heads together, as you might say, and we wrote an “ad” like this:
“Advertiser wants to marry nice-looking girl about 20. Address with photo, Box 28, Phillipsburg, N. J.”
We sent this with $5.00 to a paper in Chicago that we had seen, and pretty soon Enos began to git letters and photos. The photos was all good lookin; and to some of the best lookers Enos sent hisn. Now, hisn was what you might call a side face, kinda sickly smilin, as if the man that took it had said: “Now look smilin!”