High Life in New York: A series of letters to Mr. Zephariah Slick, Justice of the Peace, and Deacon of the church over to Weathersfield in the state of ConnecticutStephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
General
High Life in New York: A series of letters to Mr. Zephariah Slick, Justice of the Peace, and Deacon of the church over to Weathersfield in the state of Connecticut
Stephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century
Cousin John warn't to be put off so, and at last he cum his soft sodder
over me, till I agreed to get another suit of clothes, New York cut, for
parties and meetings. So we shook hands, and he turned and went back to
his store agin, for he was a coming up to my office; and I jest turned
into a narrer street, and took a short cut across to the Express Office.
The Editors give me some money, for they aint no ways mean about paying
me for what I write for their paper; and they put on the soft sodder
purty strong about my letters. They said that everybody was a reading
them and a trying to find out something about me, and that lots of young
ladies had seen my picter and were a dying to git acquainted with me. I
warn't much surprised at it. Arter putting the poetry into my letters so
strong, I was sartin that all the gals would be a talking about me.
Nothing takes with them like poetry. I had my eye teeth cut when I wrote
that, I can tell you. I couldn't help but feel tickled to hear them
praising me so; but somehow one gits used to being puffed up, and arter
a little while a feller don't seem to care so much about it.
Wal, I pocketed the cash and went to the tailors' store; it was a plaguy
harnsome place, and there were two or three spruce-looking chaps
standing about; but they looked at me kinder slanting, as if they
thought I didn't want to buy anything; and I could see one on them
looking arnestly at my coat, as if he didn't like the fit on't. I
declare I begun to get ashamed of the old blue, when I cum to see the
harnsome coats and vests and trousers hanging around.
"Have you got any first rate superfine broadcloth coats and trousers to
sell here?" sez I, a chinking the loose change in my trousers' pocket a
leetle, jest to show them that I was as good as the city banks, and held
out specie payments yit.
"Yes," sez one of the clerks, a bowing. "What color do you wish to look
at?"
"Wal," sez I, "I ruther think I'll take that color that looks so much
like burnt coffee, or else a rale indigo blue, I aint particular, only I
want it in the tip of the fashion--a rale harnsome fit, and all that,
for I'm a going to a swarry and a conversationanny, and I want to shine
like a new pin."
While I was a talking, a knowing sort of a feller cum out of the back
room, and when he see me a looking at a coat that I seemed to take a
notion tu he cum up and begun to talk about it--he pinted out the silk
lining and the way it was stuffed and quilted under the arms, and would
have me try it on. So I stripped off the old coat and put the new one
on. I can tell you it sot as slick as grease; there warn't a wrinkle or
a pucker in it, from the top of the velvet collar to the eend of the
flap. I looked as trim and as genteel as could be in it--when it was
buttoned over tight it seemed to me that I warn't bigger round than a
quart cup.
Sez the gentleman, sez he, "that's a capital fit, sir, you won't du
better than to take it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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