"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you the truth I was a little conscience-struck and worried. My idea had been to play a joke on Clark—tantalize him by eatin' a square meal that he couldn't touch—and get even for some of the names he'd called me. But now I wa'n't sure that my fun wouldn't turn out serious. When a man with a lame digestion eats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody can be sure what'll come of it.
The Congressman and I washed the dishes and 'twas a pretty average sorrowful job. Only once, when I happened to glance at him and caught a queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more joyful than a funeral. Then the funny side of it struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then we was sorry for it.
Shelton went out when the dish-washin' was over. I cleaned up everything, left a note and some money on Jonathan's table and locked up the house. When I got outside there was a fair to middlin' breeze springin' up. Shelton was settin' on the hummock waitin' for me.
"Where—where's the Major?" I asked, pretty fearful.
"He's over there in the shade—asleep," he whispered.
"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain't dead?"
"Listen," says he.
I listened. If the Major was dead he was a mighty noisy remains.
He woke up, after an hour or so, and come trampin' over to where we was.
"Well," he snaps, "it's blowin' hard enough now, ain't it? Why don't you take us home?"