“Yes,” says he.
Says I firmly, “Who is the man to go to, to advise the Nation through in this matter? Never! never! did my mission as a Advisor soar up before me more promiscously. Who is the man Josiah Allen?”
Says Josiah, “I have heerd that Gen. Hawley is the head one. But it haint his doin’s; he has been tewed at, night and day.”
I drawed my companion onwards, almost wildly, he a hangin’ back and in pitiful axents, sayin’ to me:
“Do less go back to the tarvern Samantha and git sunthin’ to eat before we traipse off any further; do you want me to faint away on your hands?”
Says I, “You must have a different appetite from what I have, Josiah Allen, if you can swaller your conscience and set down at your ease, while the Nation is a destroyin’ herself. I must advise her about this matter instantly and at once, before it is too late. But you can go home if you want to. Principle will be my pardner, and go a lockin’ arms with me.”
“I shall go if you do,” says he in a cross surly voice. “I s’pose I can starve it out;” and then he says almost mekanically, (as it were,) “Gen. Hawley is a handsome feller, they say.”
“Well,” says I in a almost dry tone, “you needn’t worry about that; what if he is? I should be ashamed of myself Josiah Allen, to go to bein’ jealous in such a time as this.”
“Who said I was?” says he.
I didn’t multiply no more words, and a policeman happenin’ to come along that minute, I says to him: