Sez I calmly, “I hain’t said that I wuzn’t suited with it.” And sez I with still more severe axents, for I see he looked disappointed, “I will say further, Josiah, that it meets my expectations fully; it is jest what I should expect a male pardner to write.”
“Wall,” sez he, lookin’ pleaseder and more satisfieder, “I thought you would appreciate it after you thought it over for a spell.”
“I do, Josiah,” sez I, turnin’ over the sock I wuz a mendin’ and attacktin’ a new weak spot in the heel, “I do appreciate it fully.”
Josiah looked real tickled and sort o’ proud, and I kep’ on in calm axents and a darnin’ too, for the hole wuz big, and night wuz a descendin’ down onto us. And I could hear Aunt Mela’s preparations for supper down below, and I wanted to get the sock done before I went down-stairs. So I sez, sez I:
“I have thought about it sometimes too, Josiah, and I have got it kinder fixed out in my mind what I would have on your tombstun—if I lived through it,” sez I with a deep sithe.
“What wuz it?” sez he in a contented tone, for he knows I love him. “It is poetry, hain’t it?”
“Yes,” sez I calmly, “I laid out to end it with a verse of poetry; it wuz to run as follers: ‘Here lies Josiah Allen, husband of Samantha Allen, and—’”
“Hold on!” sez Josiah, gettin’ right up and lookin’ threatenin’. “Hold on right there where you be; no such words as them is a goin’ on my tombstun while I have a breath left in my body. Husband of— Josiah, husband of— I won’t have no such truck as that, and I can tell you that I won’t.”
“Be calm, Josiah,” sez I, “be calm and set down,” for he looked so bad and voyalent that I feared apperplexy or some other fit. Sez I, “Be calm, or you will bring sunthin’ onto yourself.”
“I won’t be calm, and I don’t care what I bring on, and I tell you I ruther bring it on than not, a good deal ruther. The idee! Josiah Allen, husband of— It has got to a great pass if a man has got down to that—to be a husband of—”