I tell you, my friend, it ain't doing this town one bit of good.

The idea of a passel of strong, husky young men settin' around on porches in their white pants and calling it 'passing the summer.' _I_ ain't never found time to pass any summers." The wanderer expressed a proper regret for this decadence.

Mr.Keyts reverted bitterly to the Bon Ton market:-- "Good name for a tooth powder, or a patent necktie, or an egg-beater.
But a butcher-shop!--why, it's a _hell_ of a name for a butcher-shop!" The wanderer expressed perfect sympathy with this view of the shop legend, and remarked, "By the way, whose big house is that with the columns in front, up where the Prouse and old Blake houses used to be ?" The face of Mr.Keyts became pleasanter.
"Oh, that ?--that's Cal Blake's--Major Blake's, you know.

He married a girl that come in here from the South with her mother.

I guess that was after you got out of here.