"Is the deacon well?" asked John, with a ludicrous assumption of interest.
"He's pooty smart," answered Mrs. Grimes, "though he's troubled sometimes with a pain in the back."
"So am I," said John; "but I know what to do for it."
"What do you do?"
"Have somebody rub me down with a brick-bat."
"The deacon wouldn't allow no one to do that," said the old lady, accepting the remedy in good faith.
"Can I sell you a silk necktie this morning, ma'am?" asked John.
"No; I want some handkerchers for the deacon; red silk ones he wants."
"We haven't any of that kind. Here's some nice cotton ones, a good deal cheaper."
"Will they wash?" asked Mrs. Grimes cautiously.