ce he xclaimed: "Oh!
the Devil!"

"Yes, Sir," sez I, "tis the Devil."

Then, tellin the driver to stop the horses, he lifted up his foot and
gin me a kick wot landed rite on ma's pachwurk quilt, and sed: "Go to
the devil."

I guess he's mad at me, only he purtends not to be, but that's put
on, cos he's frade I'll gin the hull thing away, and then the religus
edittur and Mr. Wilson'll hav the laff on him.

The sosighety edittur's report in this mornins _Buster_ says:

"The Parisien Greasette was conseeded by everybodie present to take
the onhers of belle of the ball. The knowin ones claim that it was Miss
Ellen Terrier, the latest artistick importashun from England, and that
Mr. Vandybilt, as the Texas brig-gand, seen her home. If this is a
fact, there'll likely be sum domestick thunder flyin round in a uptown
manshun."

CHAPTER XIX.

THE HORSE REPORTER WANTS A COMPAGNON DE VOYAGE.--THE
STRAPPIN YUNG WIDDER, WOT AIN'T ON THE MASH.--SWEET-FORTY
MAKES A NUTHER MINNYSTEERIAL SKANDAL.

Our horse reporter is a reglar wimmin hater, and he'd walk round a hull
blok, fore he'd meet a gal, wat'd try to flert with him. I guess he's
a grass widder that used to hav a woman, wot maid him tow a chock line,
and he aint never got no divorse from her yet. His affeckshuns is all
lavished on good lookin horses, and he'd giv more for one of them, than
he wuld for Lillie Lan-kry or the hull curboodel of perfesshunal buties.

I alwus did think it was a pitty, for a good lookin man like him, not to
hav sum wimmin, wot was brakin there harts, and everything for him, so
this mornin I sent out notes to a cuppel of gals, wot I thot was warntin
to get mashed, tellin them to call at the _Buster_ offis, & ast for
the Horse Reporter, 'cos he was ded struk on them, and warnted there
compinny, on a trip to Boston tonite.

Bout one 'clock, a grate stout woman, wot looked like a reglar bruisir,
cum inter the offis and enquired for the Horse Reporter. I show'd her
into his room, and shut the dore, just enuf so as I could see all wot
went on.

"Air yer the spalpeen, wot calls hisself the Maire Reporter? sez she.

"I am the horse reporter, madame. Has your mare got the glanders?"

"Me ma got the glanders, yer inserlent puppie, is that fhat yer say?
Me ma wots ben neeth the old sod fer ten yers. Don't cast any
miscomplementry reflecshuns, yung man, on my ma wot dide of
anty-consumpshun, or I'll plant the fore end of me toe