“When I’m elected to Congress I’m goin’ to wear my hat the hull time.”
I thought a minute, and then sez I, “Wall, I guess I’m safe in not objectin’ to it.”
Sez he, “You mean by that, that I won’t git there, but you’ll see, mom. The minute I git home I’m a-goin’ to organize the farmers. I’ll organize Ury the first one, and then I’ll organize old Gowdey. Uncle Sime Bentley I can depend on.” Sez he, “If Arch and Burt and Macdonald, all on ’em workin’ men, can git into Parliament, what is to hender Josiah Allen from shinin’ in Congress?”
Sez I mildly, “Nater broke that up from the start.”
Sez he, “Do you mean that I can’t git in?”
Sez I, still more tenderly, “I alluded to shinin’, Josiah; but,” sez I soothin’ly, for I see that his liniment begun to darken—sez I, “I won’t say a word agin your wearin’ your hat under them circumstances.” Sez I in affectionate axents, “Mebby I’ve been too harsh with you about takin’ it off in cold weather; mebby I hain’t made allowance as I should for the weakness of the place exposed; mebby etiket has ruled me too clost.”
Sez he, “You and etiket has been almost the death of me time and agin.”
One thing that is sure to strike the tourist and beholder with wonder is the extreme smallness of the House of Commons.
How five hundred and sixty folks could ever git into that room is a wonder to me, and the guide told us that there had been as many as that a-standin’ there time and agin—a-standin’, of course, for there wuzn’t no room for ’em to set.
It struck Josiah, too, though, as usual, our meditations wuz fur different.