CHAPTER VII.
Wall, after dinner I sot sail for James G. Blains'es, a walkin' afoot, and carryin' Dorlesky's errent. I was determined to do that errent before I slept. I am very obleegin', and am called so.
When I got to Mr. Blaines'es, I was considerably tired; for though Dorlesky's errent might not be heavy as weighed by the steelyards, yet it was very hefty and wearin' on the moral feelin's. And my firm, unalterable determination to carry it straight, and tend to it, to the very utmost of my ability, strained on me.
I was fagged.
But I don't believe Mr. Blaine see the fag. I shook hands with him, and there was calmness in that shake. I passed the compliments of the day (how do you do, etc.), and there was peace and dignity in them compliments.
He was most probable, glad I had come. But he didn't seem quite so over-rejoiced as he probable would if he hadn't been so busy. I can't be so highly tickled when company comes, when I am washin' and cleanin' house.
He had piles and piles of papers on the table before him. And there was a gentleman a settin' at the end of the room a readin'.
I like James G. Blaines'es looks middlin' well. Although, like myself, he don't set up for a professional beauty. It seems as if some of the strength of the mountain pines round his old home is a holdin' up his backbone, and some of the bracin' air of the pine woods of Maine has blowed into James'es intellect, and braced it.