Wall, the next mornin' I sent Dorlesky's errents by Bub Smith to William Wallace, for I felt a good deal fagged out. Bub did 'em well, and I know it.
But William Wallace sent him to Gen. Logan.
And Gen. Logan said Grover Cleveland was the one to go to: he wuz a sot man, and would do as he agreed. And Mr. Cleveland sent him to Mr. Edmunds.
And Mr. Edmunds told him to go to Samuel G. Tilden, or Roswell P. Flower.
And Mr. Flower sent him to William Walter Phelps.
And Mr. Phelps said that Benjamin P. Butler or Mr. Bayard was the one to do the errent.
And Mr. Bayard sent him to somebody else, and somebody else sent him to another one. And so it went on; and Bub Smith traipsed round, a carryin' them errents, from one man to another, till he was most dead.
Why, he carried them errents round all day, walkin' afoot.
Bub said most every one of 'em said the errents wuz just and right, but they couldn't do 'em, and wouldn't tell their reasons.
One or two, Bub said, opposed it, because they said right out plain, “that they wanted to drink. They wanted to drink every thing they could, and everywhere they could,—hard cider and beer, and brandy and whisky, and every thing.”