AT NEW YORK, ASTERS’ES TAVERN.
The cars didn’t bust up nor break down, which surprised me some, but which I felt was indeed a blessin’, and at ½ past six Betsey and me stood on the platform of the depott at New York village. As we stood there I would have swapped my last new cross barred muslin night cap in my satchel bag on my arm for a pair of iron ears. I should have been glad of the loan of a old pair for 16 seconds, if I couldn’t got ’em no longer, the noise was so distractin’ and awful.
Says I to myself, “Am I Josiah Allen’s wife, or am I not?” some of the time I thought I was Josiah, I was so destracted. But though inwardly so tosted up and down, I kep’ a cool demeaniour outside of me. I stood stun still, firmly graspin’ my satchel bag, my umberell and my green cap box—with my best head dress in it, till I had collected myself together, recolected what my name was, and where I was a goin’. When my senses come back I thought to myself truly Josiah wasn’t so far out of the way when he worried over old Tammany, for of all the shameless and brazen set, on the face of the earth, that set a howlin’ round Betsey Bobbet and me was the shamelessest and brazenest.
Now I am naturaily pretty offish and retirin’ in my ways, with strange men folks. I think it is becomin’ in a woman to be so, instead of bold. Now when we sot sail from Jonesville, after we got well to ridin’, a man came through the cars, a perfect stranger to me, but he reached out his hand to shake hands with me, jest as friendly and famelier as if I was his step mother. But I didn’t ketch holt of his hand, as some wimmen would, I jest folded up my arms, and says I, coolly,
“You have got the advantage of me.”
But he never took the hint, there he stood stun still in front of me holdin’ out his hand. And seein’ there was a lot of folks lookin’ on, and not wantin’ to act odd, I kinder took holt of his hand and shook it slightly, but at the same time says,
“Who under the sun you are I don’t know—but you seem determined to get acquainted with me. Mebby you are some of his folks I haint never seen—are you related to Josiah on the Allen side or on the Daggett side?” Josiah’s mother was a Daggett.
But before I could say any more he spoke up and said all he wanted was my ticket. I was glad then I had acted offish. For as I say, I don’t believe in wimmen puttin’ themselves forward and actin’ bold. Not that that stands in the way of their modistly claimin’ their honest rights. I have seen enough boldness used by a passel of girls at one huskin’ bee, or apple cut, to supply 4 presedential elections, and the same number of female caurkusses, and then have 5 or 6 baskets full left. Havein’ these modest and reserved feelin’s in my soul—as firm as firm iron—what was my feelin’s as I stood there on that platform, when a great tall villian walked up to me and yelled right up close to my bunnet,
“Will you have a bus mom?”
If that man had the privilege of livin’ several hundred years, he would say at the last 100, that he never forgot the look I gave him as he uttered these infamous words to me. It was a look calculated to scorch a man to his very soul. It was a look calculated and designed to make a man sigh for some small knot hole to creep through and hide him from the gaze of wimmen. I’ll bet 2 cents that he won’t insult another women in that way very soon. I give him a piece of my mind that he won’t forget in a hurry. I told him plainly, “That if I wasn’t a married women and a Methodist, and, was free to kiss who I was a mind to, I had jest as lives kiss a anacondy, or a boyconstructor, as him,” and I says in conclusion, “mebby you think because Josiah haint here to protect me, you can talk to me as you are a mind to. But,” says I, “if I haint got Josiah with me I have got a good stout umberell.” He quailed silently, and while he was a quailin’ I turned to Betsey, and asked her if she was ready to start along, for as true as I live and breathe, I was afraid Betsey was so of that clingin turn, that she would be a kissen’ some of them men in spite of my teeth, for thier was a lot of ’em besettin’ her for a bus. A yellin’ round her “have a bus? Have a bus?” Jest as if that was jest what Betsey and me had come from Jonesville for. The miserable—lowlived creeters.