But says I, interruptin’ of her:
“Hain’t you and Whitfield enjoyin’ good health?”
“Never could be better health than we both have got,” says she. “But,” says she, “folks go for health and pleasure.”
But says I:
“Hain’t you a-takin’ comfort here—solid comfort?”
“Yes,” says she. “Nobody can be happier than Whitfield and I, every day of our life.”
“Wall, then,” says I, coolly, “you had better let well enough alone.”
But says she:
“Folks go for a rest. Whitfield and I thought we would go for a rest.”
“Rest from what?” says I. Says I, “don’t you and Whitfield feel fresh and rested every mornin’, ready to take up the laber of the day with a willin’ heart?” Says I, “Do you either on you have any more work to do than is good for your health to do? Don’t you find plenty of time for rest and recreation, every day as you go along?” Says I, “It is with health jist as it is with cleanin’ house: I don’t believe in lettin’ things get all run down and nasty, and then, once a year, tear everything to pieces, and do up all the hull cleanin’ of a year to once, and then let everything go agin for another year. No! I believe in keepin’ things slick and comfortable day by day, and year by year. In business, have a daily mixture of cleanin’ and comfort—in health, have a daily mixture of laber, recreation and rest.” Says I, takin’ breath: