THE SODA FOUNTAIN.
“There it goes again!” said Mrs. Partington, as she
became conscious of the sublimity of a soda fountain one
warm day. “There it goes again, I declare, fizzin
away like a blessed old locomoco on the railroad. Don't
say anything about Nigary now, — that is n't nothin in
caparison to this, — and it a'n't bad beer nuther; but
how in natur they can draw so many kinds out of one
fassit, that 's the wonderment to me!” and she reädjusted
her specs, and took a new survey of the mystery,
while Ike, unwatched, was weighing his knife and five
jackstones in the bright brass scale on the other
counter.
