“I did see it,” says he, jest as brazen as a brass candlestick.
Says I firmly, “You didn’t.”
Says he, “I did.”
Says I with dignity, “Don’t you tell me that again, or I’ll know the reason why. You never see John Rogers a goin’ to git married. John was burnt up years ago; and if he wasn’t, do you think he was a man to go and try to git married again when he had a wife and nine childern, and one at the breast? Never! John Rogers’es morals was sound; I guess it will take more than you to break ’em down at this late day.”
The young feller’s face looked awful red and he glanced up at the young woman and tried to turn it off in a laugh and says he:
“This is John Rogers Jr., old John Rogers’es boy.”
“Why how you talk!” says I in agitated tones:
“Which one is it; is it the one at the breast?”
“No!” says he. “It is the seventh boy, named after his father. I am well acquainted with him,” says he takin’ out his watch: “I have an appointment to meet him in about half an hour, and I’ll introduce you to him. You’d love to see his ‘Goin’ to the Parson,’ it is a beautiful statute.”
“Oh,” says I, “then he is a Statuary by trade! why didn’t you say so in the first on’t.”