Wall, the days went along, one after another, as days will, droppin’ off, droppin’ off the rosary Time counts its beads on, and the time pretty near elapsted for us to embark on our trip to Europe.
The tickets wuz bought, the nightcaps wuz packed, and the time drawed near.
But as the time aproached, the thought of the deepness of the water in the Atlantic growed more and more apparient to me.
I took down my old Atlas.
I took down my old Atlas and Gography from the cupboard over the suller way and poured over ’em, and sithed, and sithed and poured.
The distance looked fearful between shore and shore, and my reason told me, also experience, that the reality wuz jest as much worse as black water is worse than yeller paper.
The ocean wuz painted on this old Atlas bright yeller.
And the last time Al Faizi came back from quite a long trip he had took to Washington and New York he found me a-pourin’ over the old Atlas; while the nightcaps and dressin’-gown, all done up, lay on a stand by my side.
As I mentioned more formally, I’d made a nice flannel dressin’-gown for myself, and it satisfied my desires for comfort and also my pride; though I didn’t act over it as my pardner did over hisen. No; a sense of dignity and propriety restrained me.