“Well,” says she, “Sam Snyder’ses wife, she that was Cassandra Bean is a waitin’ for me and I must go.” She looked uneasy, and she told me she would see me the next day, and started off.
And I sot there and waited for Josiah, and when he did come I see he was wore almost completely out, and his mean looked as bad as I ever see a mean look. He didn’t seem to want to talk, but I would make him tell the particulars, and finally he up and told ’em. He said he got into the wrong buildin’—one that had pictures to show off, but didn’t take ’em. But a clever lookin’ feller showed him the way to go to be took, way acrost Agricultural Avenue, and he got into the wrong house there, got into Judges Hall, right where they was a judgin’. He said he never felt so mortified in his life.
“I should think as much,” says I.
But he looked still more deprested, and says he:
“Worse is to come, Samantha.” I see by his looks he had had a tegus time. I see he was completely unstrung, and it was my duty to try to string him up with kindness and sympathy, and so says I almost tenderly, “Tell your pardner all about it Josiah.”
“I hate too,” says he.
Says I firmly, “Josiah, you must.”
“Well,” says he. “I got into another wrong room, where some wimmen was a kinder dressin’ ’em.”
“Josiah Allen!” says I sternly.
“Well, who under the sun would have been a lookin’ out for any such thing. Who would think,” says he with a deeply injured air, “that wimmen would go a prancin’ off so fur from home before they got their dresses hooked up, or anything.”