I received your letter about what I owes you. Now be pachent. I
aint forgot you and as soon as foks pays me I’ll pay you.
If this was judgment day and you no more prepared to met your
God than I am your account, your shor going to Hell.
* * * * *
The editor of the “Hardeman Free Press” says:
We fell asleep in a chair at Grand Junction last Wednesday night on our
way home from Memphis in our usual soaked condition and let our train
leave us. The hotel clerk told us to go upstairs and take the room on the
right side of the hall with the lamp burning low. He sed he was crowded
and we would have to double up with a man. We went up and pulled off our
things and went to bed without waking our bedfellow, who was sleeping
sound with the sheet over his head to keep off the muskeeters. Before
we fell into the arms of morphine we seen a young lady and a young gent
come in and set down by the winder. At first they talked so low we could
not hear what they sed. Finally we heard the little miss say: Wallie,
ain’t you ashamed to try to kiss me right here where we air setting up
with a dead person? We felt cureous. We slowly reached over and touched
the nose of the man we wus in bed with, and seen at a glance that he was
dead alright. We riz up instantly, and it was a race to a finish twixt us
three fer the bottom of the steps. It is useless to say we was furst past
the post by two lengths. We didn’t skeer that couple any wuse than the
corpse skeered us. We walked through the country to Bolivar and wired for
our clothes by express.
* * * * *
Hello, is this you, Abe?
Sure, it’s me.
This is Abe Potash I’m talking to?
Yes, yes. What do you want?