“If the storm continues there’ll be a mess underfoot, hay?”
“Yay.”
“If I may be so bold, kind sir, what’s the price of that pecooler kind of wesket you wear, includin’ trimmin’s?”
“Yay.”
I pawsed a minit, and, thinkin’ I’d be faseshus with him and see how that would go, I slapt him on the shoulder, burst into a hearty larf, and told him that as a yayer he had no livin’ ekel.
He jumped up as if bilin’ water had been squirted into his ears, groaned, rolled his eyes up tords the sealin’ and sed:
“You’re a man of sin!”
He then walked out of the room.
Directly thar cum in two young Shakeresses, as putty and slick lookin’ galls as I ever met. It is troo they was drest in meal-bags like the old one I’d met previsly, and their shiny, silky hair was hid from sight by long, white caps, such as I spose female gosts wear; but their eyes sparkled like diamonds, their cheeks was like roses, and they was charmin’ enuff to make a man throw stuns at his grandmother, if they axed him to. They commenst clearing away the dishes, casting shy glances at me all the time. I got excited. I forget Betsey Jane in my rapter, and sez I:
“My pretty dears, how air you?”