“Hello, Geordie! Well agen?” said the first feller I stopped to see.
Oh, my! when I get big enuff I hope my mustaches won’t be waxed like his ’n! He’s in a store, ’n’ I got him to give me a nice cravat, ’n’ he ast me, “Was my sisters well?” so I fished out his photograph and gave it to him.
It was the one that had “Conseated Fop” written on the back. The girls had drawed his mustaches out twict as long with a pencil, ’n’ made him smile all acrost his face. He got as red as fire, ’n’ then he scowled at me.[[4]]
“Who did that, you little rascal?” “I guess the spirits done it” I said, as onest as a owl--’n’ then went away real quick ’cause he looked mad.
The next place I come to was a grocery store, where a nuther young man lived. He had red hair, an’ freckles, but he seemed to think hisself a beauty. I said:
“Hello, Peters!”
He said: “The same yourself, Master George. Do you like raisins? Help yourself.”
Boys wot has three pretty sisters allers does get treated well, I notiss. I took a big handful o’ raisins, ’n’ a few peanuts, ’n’ sot on the counter eating ’em, till all at onst, as if I jest tho’t of it, I took out his photograph an’ squinted at it, an sez:
“I do declare it looks like you.”
“Let’s see it,” sez he.