And I sez, "My own native land, Jonesville, nigh to Loontown, seven milds from Zoar."
"Oh!" sez he.
"Yes," sez I, "Jonesville wuz proud of his doin's, and she thinks a sight of California.
"But in one thing she feels bad: she don't want California to make so much wine; she wishes you'd stop it.
"She's proud of your fruit, your flowers, your big trees, and other products, but she wishes you'd stop makin' so much wine. Jonesville wouldn't care if you made a couple of quarts for sickness or jell, but she feels as if she couldn't bear to see you swing out and make so much." Sez I, "Jonesville and I want you to stop makin' it—we want you to like dogs."
And then sez I, in still firmer axents, "It hain't a-settin' a good example to the schoolchildren in Palo Alto and the United States."
He looked real downcasted and sad, some as if he'd never thought on't in that light before.
He didn't really promise me, but I presoom to say that he won't never make another drop.
But his face looked dretful deprested. I see that he felt it deeply to think I had found fault with him.