“Well,” says I, “we’ll see, when we git there.”
But after we got started off on our tower, and as we drew near Loon Town, (thirteen miles from Melankton Spicer’ses) and I spoke to Josiah about our visit to Uncle Zebulin, he made as strange of it, as if he never had heerd of the idee; said he never had borrowed any trouble about it, never had had an idee of goin’ nigh him.
“Then what made you say so,” says I.
“Say so!” says he in a wanderin’, unbelievin’ tone, “I haint said so,” says he, “you must have dremp it.”
I argued with him for quite a spell, but he stuck to it; said he didn’t blame me any for sayin’ it, for I had most probable dremp it.
It madded me so to hear him go on, that I wouldn’t multiply no more words with him, and I should probable never have sot eyes on Zebulin Coffin, if it hadn’t been for a axident that took place jest as we was a enterin’ Loon Town.
I thought there had been sunthin’ kinder loose and shackly about the buggy for some time, and so I says to Josiah:
“There seems to be sunthin’ wrong about the buggy Josiah Allen, I believe the whiffletrys are loose.”
“The whiffletrys are all right. You are notional Samantha—wimmen always be, not havin’ such strong firm minds as we men have they git the hypo.”
Says I, almost coldly, “After you throw us out, and kill both on us, mebby you wont twit me of havin’ the hypo.”