Humorous stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
SIR--I suppose you are mayor of this whole town, and if so you are the
mayor of the hosspitals as well as of the municipality of New York. I am
a citizen of this place that has always been square towards every man
and paid my bills as they accrewed. I now ask you, in return for same,
to intervene and protect me in my rights. The millishy has never been
called out to suppress me. I have never been guilty of rebellyun or open
difyance off the law, and yet I am unable to get a square deal and I
write this brief note and enclose a two-cent stamp, to ascertain
whether, as mayor, you are for me or agin me.
[Illustration: ... _I was in a large, cool hosspital which smelt strong
of some forrin substans. The hed doctor had been breathing on me and so
I come too_ (Page 163)]
Three years ago I entered your town from a westerly direction. I done so
quietly and I presume that few will remember the sircumstans, yet such
was so. I had not been here two weeks when I was run into, knocked over
and tromped onto by the bay team of a purse-proud producer of beer. I
was dashed to earth and knocked galley west on Broadway st. looking
north by sed horses and I was wrecked while peasably on my way to my
place of business. When I come to myself I was in a large, cool
hosspital which smelt strong of some forrin substans. The hed doctor had
been breathing on me and so I come too. When I looked around me I
decided to murmur "Where am I at?" which I did.
I soon learned that I was in a hosspital, and that kind friends had
removed one of my legs. I will not take up your time, sir, by touching
on my sufferings. Suphice it to say that I went foarth at last a blasted
man, with a cork leg that don't look no more like my own once leg which
I was torn away from, in spite of the Old Harry. It is too late to
repine over a wooden leg, unless it is a pine leg, but I come to you,
sir, to interfear on behalf of another matter which I will now aprooch.
Sorrows at that time come on me thick and fast. During that fall I lost
my wife and two dogs by deth. This was the third wife I have been called
on to bury. It has been my blessed privilidge to mourn the loss of three
as good wives as I ever shook a stick at. I have got them all in one
cool, roomy toom, with a verse on the door of same and their address, so
that they will not delay the resurrection. Under the verse that was
engraved on the slab, some low cuss has wrote three verses of poetry
with a chorus to each verse which winds up with the words:
Tit, tat, toe, three in a row.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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