 | Bones in Love |  |
BONES IN LOVE.
BY J. HARRY CARLETON.
Interlocutor. I say, Bones, were you ever in love?
Bones. I wasn't nothin' else, old hoss.
Interlocutor. What kind of a girl was she?
Bones. She was highly polished; yes, indeed. Her fadder was a varnish-maker, and, what's better still, she was devoted to her own sweet Pomp.
Interlocutor. What do you mean by that? She must have been a spicy girl.
Bones. Yes, dat's de reason she was so fond of me. She was a poickess, too.
Interlocutor. A poetess, you mean.
Bones. Yes, she used to write verses for de newspapers
Interlocutor. Is that so, Bones?
Bones. Yes, saw. De day I went to de house, I — golly! — I dressed myself to kill, and my ole trunk was empty. Well, just as de gal seed me, she cove right in — she was a gone coon. When I left, she edged up to me and whispered, "you're too sweet to live." Next day I got a billy-doo.
Interlocutor. How do you know it was a billet-doux?
Bones. 'Cause Billy Doo was de name of de boy dat brought it. It smelt all over like a doctor's shop. I opened it, and found dese words:
Thy heart must teach alone!
Two cabbages wid a single stalk,
Two beets that are as one!
Interlocutor. Well, Bones, you responded?
Bones. Yes, sir.
Interlocutor. What did you say?
Bones. You see, her fadder was a gardener, so I wrote what I call very appropriate lines:
Dare are nofin any finer;
Your tongue is sweeter than a parrot's.
Your hair hangs like a bunch of carrots,
And though of flattery I'm a hater,
I lubs you like a sweet potater!
Interlocutor. That was very nice, Bones.
Bones. Yes, I thought so. So delicate was her constitution, dat it nearly killed her. So terrible was de concussion, dat de next time I went to see her was was dissolved in tears.
Interlocutor. What! weeping?
Bones. Yes, wid tears in her eyes and a big knife in the other. She raised it as I approached.
Interlocutor. Rash girl!
Bones. Yes.
Interlocutor. What was she about to do? Commit suicide?
Bones. No; she was peeling onions to stuff a goose wid!
| Bones in Love | |