And Elburtus, not wantin' to hurt his feelin's, drinked about 3 quarts. It made him deathly sick, for it went aginst his stomach from the first: he never loved it. And Miss Bobbet duz fix it dretful sickish,—sweetens it with sale mollasses for one thing.
Oh, how sick that feller wus when he come in to supper! had to lay right down on the lounge.
Says I, “Elburtus, what made you drink it, when it went aginst your stomach?” says I.
“Why,” says he in a faint voice, and pale round his lips as any thing, “I didn't want to hurt his feelin's by refusin'.”
Says I, out to one side, “Did you ever, Josiah Allen, see such goodness in your life?”
“I never see such dumb foolishness,” says he. “I'd love to have anybody ketch me a drinkin' three or four quarts of such stuff out of politeness.”
“No,” says I coldly: “you hain't good enough.”
Wall, that night his bed got a fire. It seemed as if every thing under the sun wus a goin' to happen to that man while he wus here. You see, the house wus all tore up a repairing and I had to put him up-stairs: and the bed had been moved out by carpenters, to plaster a spot behind the bed; and, unbeknown to me, they had set it too near the stove-pipe. And the hot pipe run right up by the side of it, right by the bed-clothes. It took fire from the piller-case.