So, as I say, he jest hovered over that satchel and heaved 2 or 3 deep sithes of relief as the Custom House officer released it from his hand.
And, oh! how lovin’ly he folded the rep folds, and laid the tossels down caressin’ly.
My baggage was soon and hurridly gone through—in the words of a old adage concernin’ a horse, changed to suit the occasion—“A short satchel is soon hurried.”
The Spaniards are a lazy set—I guess they would have examined our things closter, if they wuzn’t so slow and slack.
I see one of the officials take up my sheep’s-head nightcap.
A smile of admiration swep’ over his dark visage.
I see one of the officials take up one of my sheep’s-head nightcaps that lay on top—so’s to not muss the agin’—he took it up, and a smile of admiration swep’ over his dark visage. I believe, if he hadn’t been so lazy, he would have asked me for the pattern on’t. More’n as likely as not, so lackin’ is Spain in some of the first elements of the ingregiencies of civilization, I shouldn’t wonder a mite if them two wuz the only sheep’s-head nightcaps in Spain.
But this last fact (his laziness) conquered his gropin’s after sunthin’ new and better than he and his companion had known in the way of nightcaps. He laid it down with another smile of admiration, and closed up my satchel.