Sez I, “Josiah Allen, I shall not stay here till twelve P. M., but, if I wuz goin’, I should go as myself, and not as anybody else.”
“Why,” sez he, “the fancy dress is goin’ to be first. We can jine in that and then go home, for I don’t want to dance,” sez he.
“I should think as much,” sez I coldly; “a deacon, and most dead with rheumatiz, to say nothin’ of the grandchildren, why,” sez I, “one pigeon wing, or one goin’ down through the middle, or all hands round, would crumple you right up and be the death of you.”
“Well, I told you explicitly that I didn’t lay out to dance, nor didn’t ask you to.”
Sez I coldly, “If you did it would be a outlay of politeness that would be throwed away. Dance!” sez I, “when I can’t git up or set down without groanin’, and my principles like iron.”
“Well, well, who said they wuzn’t? I told you we wouldn’t dance this evenin’, but,” sez he impressively, “we can dress up fancy, or I can, and swing out for once and be fashionable and gay.”
“I would like to know where you can git your things to swing out in, and what character you would represent and what dress you would go in.”
“Well,” sez he, crossin’ his legs and lookin’ real contented and happy, “I thought I would go as a child.”
“As a child!” sez I, astounded at his idee.