I never got over the ground and sensed it any less than I did then. When I am mad, I tell you I always step pretty lively. Josiah was jest startin’ fer Jonesville, when I got home. I jest walked right through the kitchen and went straight to the buro-draw in my bed-room, and took out 2 shillin’s and sez I: “Go to the book-store and get me the last number of that magazine.”
“Why, where is your’n?” sez he.
“There is where it is!” sez I, showin’ him the danglin’ leaves. “There is where it is!” sez I, displayin’ the mutylated picture. “There is where it is!” sez I, p’intin’ out the grease-spot.
“Wal,” sez he, “I wish you would button up my shirtsleeves.”
“You take it pretty cool,” sez I, as I threw off my shawl and complied with his request.
“I knew just how it would be when you let her have it. You might ha’ known better than to let it go.” He spoke with aggravatin’ coolness.
“Wal, you might ha’ known better than to let old Peedick have your horse-rake, and tear it all to bits,” sez I, aggravatin’ in turn.
“Throw that old rake in my face agin, will you?” sez he.
“How do you expect, Josiah Allen, that I am goin’ to button your shirt-sleeves, if you don’t stand still,” sez I.