“Out of two handkerchiefs!” sez I mockin’ly.
“No; I wuz jest a-layin’ out the work and gittin’ a view of its nater;” sez he, “I wuz a-layin’ out to use two bags.”
“Bags?” sez I.
“Yes, meal bags,” sez he; “take them bags, and dip ’em into starch to stiffen ’em, and then paint and varnish ’em, and there you are as fur as the wind is concerned; the music,” sez he, “I believe could be rigged up some way with a mouth-organ or sunthin’, or mebbe our old accordeun; fix the bags onto both ends on’t and then draw ’em out, or shet ’em up, with wind accordin’.
“What a sensation it would create in Jonesville! How it would stir the people up!” sez he.
“What a sensation it would create in Jonesville!”
“And I might on occasions, on 4th of July and sech, wear the Tarten costume. I could take that old plaid overskirt of yours, Samantha, it’s dressy, you know—red and green—cut it off a little above my knees, and my own red stockin’s would look all right. And the old rooster would furnish very stylish feathers—I should look beautiful! And of course,” sez he, “I should sing with it.”
“Yes,” sez I, “your rumatic old knees would look beautiful bare naked, and them bags and accordeun, and your singin’ would empty Jonesville as soon as a cyclone would, or a water-spout.” And, in the name of duty, I said further, “Your singin’ is like thumb-screws and gullotines, and with that bagpipe added, it would cry to Heaven!”
“There it is! there it is!” sez he! “throw cold water on it.”