"Why," says I, "they're going to boil that cabbage your father raised."
After a little while he told me his name was Percival Reginald Van Dusenberry. He was an actor, but he had been walking longer than I.
When we struck the town of Grafton, we got off our Pullman, and began looking for the graft.
Percy went up to a cottage and rapped at the door, intending to ask for some cold victuals.
A hand shoved out and gave him a roll of green-backs. Percy was dumfounded, but took to his heels.
When we were about two miles away, Percy looked at me, and said:
"Those lobsters took me for the landlord."
We located a restaurant presently, and sat waiting at a table for an hour and a half.
Finally, Percy said to the fellow behind the desk: