"I sha'n't do nothin' of the sort." "Ne' mind," said David cheerfully, "_I'll_ tell ye, Mis' Cullom." "Dave Harum!" expostulated Mrs.Bixbee, but he proceeded without heed of her protest.
"Polly an' I," he said, "went down to New York one spring some years ago.

Her nerves was some wore out 'long of diff'rences with Sairy about clearin' up the woodshed, an' bread risin's, an' not bein' able to suit herself up to Purse's in the qual'ty of silk velvit she wanted fer a Sunday-go-to-meetin' gown, an' I thought a spell off 'd do her good.
Wa'al, the day after we got there I says to her while we was havin' breakfust--it was picked-up el'phant on toast, near 's I c'n remember, wa'n't it, Polly ?" "That's as near the truth as most o' the rest on't so fur," said Polly with a sniff.
"Wa'al, I says to her," he proceeded, untouched by her scorn, "'How'd you like to go t' the theater?
You hain't never ben,' I says, 'an' now you're down here you may jest as well see somethin' while you got a chanst,' I says.

Up to that _time_" he remarked, as it were in passing, "she'd ben somewhat pre_juced_ 'ginst theaters, an'-- --" "Wa'al," Mrs.Bixbee broke in, "I guess what we see that night was cal'lated----" "You hold on," he interposed.

"I'm tellin' this story.

You had a chanst to an' wouldn't.