So the duke and the king went to overhauling our wigwam, to see what the beds was like.

My bed was a straw tick better than Jim's, which was a corn-shuck tick; there's always cobs around about in a shuck tick, and they poke into you and hurt; and when you roll over the dry shucks sound like you was rolling over in a pile of dead leaves; it makes such a rustling that you wake up.

Well, the duke allowed he would take my bed; but the king allowed he wouldn't.

He says: "I should a reckoned the difference in rank would a sejested to you that a corn-shuck bed warn't just fitten for me to sleep on.

Your Grace 'll take the shuck bed yourself." Jim and me was in a sweat again for a minute, being afraid there was going to be some more trouble amongst them; so we was pretty glad when the duke says: "'Tis my fate to be always ground into the mire under the iron heel of oppression.