He'd a found his way out of the hole in the fence a plaguy
sight quicker than he came in, I reckon."
"His manner," said I, "was certainly rather unceremonious at times,
but he was so honest and so straightforward, that no person was,
I believe, ever seriously offended at him. IT WAS HIS WAY."
"Then his way was so plaguy rough," continued the Clockmaker, "that
he'd been the better, if it had been hammered and mauled down
smoother. I'd a levelled him as flat as a flounder."
"Pray what was his offence?" said I.
"Bad enough you may depend. The hon'ble Alden Gobble was dyspeptic,
and he suffered great on easiness arter eatin', so he gees to
Abemethy for advice. 'What's the matter with you?' said the
Doctor--jist that way, without even passing the time o' day with
him--'what's the matter with you?' said he. 'Why,' says Alden, 'I
presume I have the Dyspepsy.' 'Ah!' said he, 'I see; a Yankee
swallowed more dollars and cents than he can digest.' 'I am an
American citizen,' says Alden, with great dignity; 'I am Secretary to
our Legation at the Court of St. James.' 'The devil you are,' said
Abernethy; "then you'll soon get rid of your dyspepsy.' 'I don't see
that 'ere inference,' said Alden, 'it don't follow from what you
predicate at all; it ain't a natural consequence, I guess, that a man
should cease to be ill because he is called by the voice of a free
and enlightened people to fill an important office.
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