Printed in the United States of America
CHAPTER ONE [1]
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Such were the stranes that smote the air as Mr. Harold Withersquash drew near to the humbel home of his Selia. She was just a low born girl but none could beat her at playing the piano.
Mr. Withersquash mutered: “She will do,” and wrapt the door with a clatter.
Now Selia’s ma had shortly done her days wash, being Tuesday, and she came and opened the door in a forbidable stile, not being in the best of moods.
[2] ]“What is it now?” snapt she at our hero, and sniffled in her nose, for she was a rum lady and corshus as well as cross.
“Ah, good-morning, good-morning,” lisped Mr. Withersquash in rather a sloppy mode for to make no mystery she had cut the land from his feet by her plane ways.
“Selia!” the good woman borled, “Come on out and never mind your hair-curlers, it’s only young Withersquash again.” She knew no better than to be so plane, not having edducation.