"What do you want to know for?" sez she, sort of softly. "Oh, not much of anything; I should kinder like to know, that's all," sez I. With that, think sez I, I'll try and make her jealous a leetle, and sez I,-- "Do you know, Miss Miles, that they've been a printing my picter clear off in Michigan and down in Cincinnati? I guess I shall go out there one of these days and see how I like the folks out West, I begin to git eenamost tired of York." I warn't wrong; that brought her to her senses purty quick. "You don't really intend to leave the city," sez she, a looking at me as arnest as could be. "Wal, I don't know," sez I, "them Western editors want me to come dreadfully. One on 'em sent me word that they had a grist of harnsome gals in his State." "Is the picter out West so very well painted?" sez she. "Wal," sez I, "it's a purty good likeness, considering it was took in my old clothes," (and with that I took out the paper and I showed it to her). "I ruther think it will be best for me to go on there," sez I, a putting up the picter; "that are Count will think I want to cut him out, I'm afeard." I looked straight at her as I said this, but she begun to smooth down the fur on her muff with her little hand, and when she did speak I had to bend my head down to hear what she was a saying. Afore I could make out what she meant to say, a couple of harnsome young gals cum along and they stopped as if they were tickled to death to see her; I thought there warn't much chance for me to git another word in edgeways; so I cut for the office and left them a talking as they went along. Think sez I, as I was a going along through the Park, arter all, human natur is purty much the same in all places. I don't see as there's much difference between our gals there in Weathersfield, that wear calico frocks and straw bonnets, and these York tippies that go out all furbelowed off in their silks and satins. They are six of one and half a dozen of t'other the world over. If it hadn't been for that are Count I should not have been much at a loss to know how to take Miss Miles. When a gal begins to talk down her throat, and fingers her muff as she did, it's a purty sure symptom that there'll be a change of weather in her heart afore long, but somehow that tarnal Count, consarn him, put me all out on my natural reckoning. But who cares? sez I to myself. I'll bet a cookey if there warn't but two men in the world, and them were that darned feller and Jonathan Slick, and she'd got to marry one or t'other, she wouldn't be long a making up her mind whether to take a chap for what he's got in his head or for the hair that grows outside on it; for a gal with half an eye might see that when a feller's brains all run to hair, he can't have much sense left.