'Jerusalem!' said Uncle Eb, rising up suddenly, 'what hev I gone an' done?'
He jumped out of his berth quickly and in the dim light I could see him reaching for several big sheets of paper adhering to the back of his shirt and trousers. I went quickly to his assistance and began stripping off the broadsheets which, covered with some strongly adhesive substance, had laid a firm hold upon him. I rang the bell and ordered a light.
'Consam it all! what be they—plasters?' said Uncle Eb, quite out of patience.
'Pieces of brown paper, covered with—West India molasses, I should think,' said I.
'West Injy molasses!' he exclaimed. 'By mighty! That makes me hotter'n a pancake. What's it on the bed fer?'
'To catch flies,' I answered.
'An' ketched me,' said Uncle Eb, as he flung the sheet he was examining into a corner. 'My extry good suit' too!'
He took off his trousers, then, holding them up to the light.
'They're sp'ilt,' said he mournfully. 'Hed 'em fer more'n ten year, too.'
'That's long enough,' I suggested.