And then, how we both would love to talk about the interests of the world at large! I wuz a-goin’ to compliment her by sayin’ that though the sun never set on her property, while it sot every day on ourn, yet she couldn’t welcome the blazin’ sun of Righteousness and Enlightenment any more gladly than I did. And how first-rate I thought some of her moves had been, and how highly glad and tickled I’d been over ’em; and then I wuz layin’ out to draw her attention to some tangles in the mane and tail of the old Lion of England, a-tellin’ her at the same time that I realized only too well the dirt and onevenness in the feathers of our American Eagle.
I wuz a-goin’ to talk it over with her about the opium trade, and the dretful intemperance and horrible cuttin’s up and actin’s, and the dretful crimes bein’ perpretated way out in Injy.
Dretful thing, indeed, takin’ a woman and ruinin’ her body and soul for time and eternity, and then the goverment a-drawin’ money out of this eternal shame and ruin. I spozed we should talk a sight about that and draw lots of morals from it, too—draw ’em a good ways. And the horrible doin’s in Armenia—I thought more’n as likely as not we should both shed tears over it.
But, as I say, time had went on, and she hadn’t come to see me yet. I asked Martin anxiously what he spozed wuz the reason, and he gin me various and conflictin’ answers.
Once he sed she wuz sick a-bed; and the next hour, in answer to my anxious inquiry, he told me she had gone on a visit to a fur country. And when I reminded him of the descripency in his statements, he come right out and sed she’d broke her legs—both on ’em.
“But,” sez he, “don’t make it public—it’s a State secret.”
Wall, then I worried considerable about her, and sed I ort to go and see her, and carry her some Tincture of Wormwood.
And then Martin sed she wuz entirely well and comfortable and happy, but couldn’t walk.
But I sez, “She might send me word.”
“She did,” sez he; “she tells you that the next time you visit England she hopes to see you.”