"You wern't never in Cincinnatty, I guess?"
"No, I never was," says the old gent.
"Never was? Well, I cal'lated not. Never been in a Pork-haouse?"
"Never, unless you may call this a Pork-house?"
"The-is? Pork-haouse?" says Yankee. "Well, I reckon not—don't begin—'tain't nothin' like—not a speck in a puddle to a Pork-haouse—a Cincinnatty Pork-haouse!"
"I've hearn that they carry on the Pork business pooty stiff, out there," says the old gentleman.
"Pooty stiff? Good gravy, but don't they? 'Pears to me, I knew yeou somewhere?" says our Yankee.
"You might," cautiously answers the old gent.
"'Tain't 'Squire Smith, of Maoun-Peelier?"
"N'no, my name's Johnson, sir."