Soon as we got started he tuk me on his knee, & got to huggin me round the piller slips & sheets and kissin my left eer, and gettin otherwise fermillyer, so I seen the moment had cum for me to be myself, so I lifted up my masque. Soon as he cot site of my face he xclaimed: “Oh! the Devil!”
“Yes, Sir,” sez I, “tis the Devil.”
Then, tellin the driver to stop the horses, he lifted up his foot and gin me a kick wot landed rite on ma's pachwurk quilt, and sed: “Go to the devil.”
I guess he's mad at me, only he purtends not to be, but that's put on, cos he's frade I'll gin the hull thing away, and then the religus edittur and Mr. Wilson'll hav the laff on him.
The sosighety edittur's report in this mornins Buster says:
“The Parisien Greasette was conseeded by everybodie present to take the onhers of belle of the ball. The knowin ones claim that it was Miss Ellen Terrier, the latest artistick importashun from England, and that Mr. Vandybilt, as the Texas brig-gand, seen her home. If this is a fact, there'll likely be sum domestick thunder flyin round in a uptown manshun.”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE HORSE REPORTER WANTS A COMPAGNON DE VOYAGE.—THE
STRAPPIN YUNG WIDDER, WOT AIN'T ON THE MASH.—SWEET-FORTY
MAKES A NUTHER MINNYSTEERIAL SKANDAL.
Our horse reporter is a reglar wimmin hater, and he'd walk round a hull blok, fore he'd meet a gal, wat'd try to flert with him. I guess he's a grass widder that used to hav a woman, wot maid him tow a chock line, and he aint never got no divorse from her yet. His affeckshuns is all lavished on good lookin horses, and he'd giv more for one of them, than he wuld for Lillie Lan-kry or the hull curboodel of perfesshunal buties.