Sez her husband, “You have to slur men all the time, don’t you? You can’t see or hear anything without findin’ sunthin’ to complain of about men. I despise such a sperit; men don’t have it.”
Now, I love justice, and I hate to see my sect imposed upon, and then whenever or wherever I travel, I always bear with me the honorary title I won honorably. Jest as men take with ’em on sea or land their titles of B. A. or D. D., just so I ever carry the title, won by high minded and strenous effort, Josiah Allen’s wife, P. A. and P. I.—Public Adviser and Private Investigator. Here, I thought, is need for a P. A. So I sez to her, yet in a voice her pardner couldn’t help hearin’:
“I hearn once of a husbands’ meetin’ in a revival, when the minister asked every man to git up who had complaints to make about his wife. Every man sprung to his feet to once, except one lone man by the door. And the 271 minister sez, ‘My friend, you are one man in a million who have no complaints to make about your wife.’ The man sez, ‘That hain’t it; I’m paralyzed, I can’t git up.’”
I d’no as the husband I aimed this at took it kind or not, but he didn’t nag his wife any more in my hearin’.