Now, I don’t spoze you would believe it—most anybody wouldn’t—but the very next mornin’ Josiah Allen resoomed and took up that conversation agin, that I fondly hoped he had thrown down for good when he so suddenly departed to the horse barn.
But if you can believe it, before I got breakfast ready, while he was a wipin’ his hands to the sink on the roller towel, he broke out agin as fresh seemingly in debate as ever.
If I had mistrusted it ahead I should have made extra preparation for breakfast, for the purpose of quellin’ him down, but I hadn’t dreamed of his resoomin’ it agin; and I only got my common run of brekfasses, though it wuz very good and appetizin’.
I had some potatoes warmed up in cream, and some lamb-chops broiled brown and yet juicy, some hot muffins light as a feather, and some delicious coffee—it wuz good enough for a King or a Zar—but then it wuzn’t one of my choice efforts, for principle’s sake, which I often have to make in the cookin’ line, and—good land!—which every other human woman has to make who has a man to deal with.
We can’t vote, and we have to do sunthin’ or other to get our own way.
Wall, as I wuz a sayin’, he broke out anew, and sez he:
“I am sick as a dog of all this talk about the Race Problem.”
And then agin I uttered them wise words I had spoken the night before; they wuz jest heavy with wisdom if he had only known it; and sez I:
“What makes you keep a bringin’ it up, then and a talkin’ about it?”