“Yees didn't, yer rech; is that the way your after crawlin outer it, after try in to ruin a respectibel widdy like meself? Praps yer don't think I'm good lookin enuf for yer, yer babby-faced, downey-lipped, banged-haired, slim-legged, tite-laced, corset-cased, monkey-taled sun of a noospaper doode. If my Pat was livin he'd giv yer a lessin next time yer tride to mash a yung widdy like meself, moind that now, will yer!” She hadn't hardly got outer the door wen a tall, lone, lank maidin, wot had seen bout forty sommers and too numerous to menshun winters, cum salin in, with a slitely ellyvated skurt wot exposed to vue a couple of wite and blue shafts wot might have been pipe-stems if they hadn't bin her ankels. Bowin sweetly to the law reporter, she requested to be shown into the horse reporter's offis. Soon as I'd showd her in she tuk a chare, wot was purty close to the Horse Reporters, & sed to him: “Here I am Georgie, dere. I do feel so nurvus, you kno. I'm so very yung and inexperienced, and my ma sez a yung and innocent gal lik me ortent to trust myself to go to Boston with a man. But then, Georgie dere, you dont look one bit norty. Wont we have a nice time, darlin.” Then she reched over and kissed him rite on his mouth, and blushed wen she sed, “Don't Georgie, yer orternter kiss me till we're better aquainted.” Kissing him agen she sot rite down on his knee, and ex-clamed, in a horryfied tone: “You horrid, norty boy, if yer do that again, I'll strik you with a fether, reel hard, so I will.” All this time the horse reporter was the pikter of despare. Suddenly espying a up town divine waitin for the Manergin Edit-tur, in the room opposite, he sed: “My dere madam, your sweetness is all waisted on me, cos I'm a marreed man, wot had twins last nite. See, in yonder room, is the Horse Reporter, the man youre looking for.” By the time she was on the preechers nee, and was goin thru the kissing per-formanse, the Horse Reporter had the hull staff, lookin thru the half opened dore, and the fust day the _Busters_ stock of scandals runs out, we hav one all reddy, bout the minnysteer kissin the madin of forty. CHAPTER XX. THE DEVIL IN CHURCH.--A TERRIFICK. XPLOSHUN, AND FLYIN DEBRIS GIVES MR. TALMIG A XCELLENT SUBJECT.--FASHUN AND STILE OF LONG AGO.--GET THE BEHIND ME SATAN. Today is Sunday. I kno I ortenter rite in you today Mr. Diry, but, as I've had to rite up a serio commick, religus report, I dont see no big objeckshun ter givin it ter you. Urley this mornin, the Religus edittur called up to our house, and sed he'd giv me a quarter, if I'd go over to Brooklin sted of him, and report a surmon, cos he warnted to go to the little church round the corner, and make it up with the quire singer, wot was goin to sue him for breech of promise. I was 'greed so I went over, and the ushur showd me inter one of the front seets, and didn't collect no admishun fee offen me, cos, I guess he knowd I had a ded hed ticket.