“Yes,” said Danks, “it is a case of life and death; I must go.”
And then all of a sudden Josiah Allen bust right out, and oh! what a scene of wild excitement rained down for the next several moments. Josiah riz right up, and hollered out to Danks louder than I most ever hearn him holler,—loud enough to be hearn for half a mile, though Danks was within half a foot of him. Says he, in that loud, scareful, wild tone:
“If you leave this house for half a minute, without takin’ your family with you, I’ll prosecute you, and throw you into jail, and take the law to you.”
It skairt Danks dretfully; it come so unexpected onto him, he fairly jumped. And it started me for a minute, though my principles are so solid and hefty that they hold down my composure and keep it stiddy better’n a iron wedge, makin’ my presence of mind like a ox’es for strength.
Says Josiah, in that awful and almost deafenin’ tone of hisen, and with a mean as wild and delerious as a mean ever looked on earth:
“I hain’t a wet-nurse, and I’ll let you know I hain’t, and Samantha hain’t a horsepittle. Here I have,” says he, in a still more agonizin’ tone, “here I have for week after week kep’ stiddy company with fallin’ fits and historicks. I have been broke to pieces a luggin’ boys! and rode to death by childern! and eat up by tape-worms! And there has got to be a stop put to it, or somebody is goin’ to get hurt.”
He was perfectly delerious, and I says to him soothin’ly:
“Be calm, Josiah!”
“I won’t be calm, Samantha!”
But Danks had got over bein’ skairt, and begun to look cross,—crosser’n a bear. And he spoke out, in a pert, hateful tone, old Danks did, and says he: