in the ash-heep, in our back-yard.
Menny a silent teer did I shed over the cold and clammy remanes of
hundreds of cockroaches, whose young and usefull lives came to such a
sad and untimely end, in there brave efferts to 'xplore the mystear-ious
and fathemless depths of the "Buster's" paste-pot.

I guess I muster forgot to wash my hands 'fore supper, cos pa's down in
the sellar settin' a trap for a polecat, and ma she swares she's goin'
to have a carpinter take up the dinin'-room flure tomorrer mornin', and
hunt up the rat wot crawled under there and died.

CHAPTER III.

THE XCHANGE FYEND.--SHEECARGO ALL QUIETT.--THE FYEND GOES
ABROAD.--HIS GRATE SPERIT APALLED.--THE BERRIED HOPES OF A
RUMATIICK POET.

Our offis has got wot is called a xchange fyend wot comes in every
mornin wen we get the male and looks over all the papers, cos he's too
meen to buy his own readin matter. I knovv'd by the way the edittur
looks at him, he'd like to kick him down 3 flites of steep steps, but I
guess he borrowed a dime from him, bout ten years ago, and he's
'frade he'll 'tach the offis furniture for it. I alwus like to help my
'mployers outer a tite place, so, this mornin, I run 'cross a paper that
was printed this day sevral yares ago, so I lade it down on the tabil
where the Fyend'd strike it the first thing, and then I got orful busy
dustin the book-case. Wen he cum in, he picked up the paper and looked
down the hed-lines. I seen he was gettin orful xcited, then he snatched
up his hat and segar stump, and run like he was chased by litenin.
Purty soon, there was more an 5,000 peepel on the street in front of the
offis, and the edittur got orful scared, cos he thought they was goin
to run him outer town, on account of the big soshill scandell wot he
published yesterday, so he sent me to the door to see wot they all
wanted. Wen I got there the peeple was most crazey for noose from the
Sheecargo fire. I told em to hold on and we'd hav out an xtra in a
few minits, and then I showed the edittur the paper wot the Fyend was
reedin, wot gave a big account of the Sheecargo fire. Wen we got out our
extra, we sold 'bout 10,000 coppies, with a artickel, wot red like this:

"The latest despaches from that city report Sheecargo all quiett, thanks
to the forethort of the Mayor, in swarein in a large number of extra
perlice, for service durin the sittin of the Youmorists Conven-shun, and
the grate precaushuns taken by Common Cou