Mrs. B. Oh my nerves, they’re twitchin’ forty ways for Sunday.
Mrs. T. Pattie Baggs, can’t you keep still? This is a serious time.
Sol. I. Mine frent, vat becomes of dot goose?
Jim F. Oh the goose, that was the strangest thing ever heard of. The cyclone blew that barn all to fliggets and scattered it over half the county and it actooally left that old goose settin’ on the same spot with not a feather on her, an’ nary an egg under her.
Adolph. Did you evah heah the like?
Mrs. T. (To Pattie.) Jim Funk couldn’t stop tellin’ stories if old Nick was at the back door; he had ought to be ashamed of himself.
Sol. I. (Taking out note book to write.) Dot was a stranche (strange) phenomenon. I will write dem insurance gombanies to stop wridin’ bolicies on parns oont wride dem on gooses. Der gombany safes monies oont I get a gommission.
Jim F. A capital idea! Why, it blew so hard last time—
Mrs. T. (Petulantly.) Major Townsley, can’t you men stop talkin’. It’s a solemn occasion.
Town. Madam, I haven’t said a word.