Then one day she had the misfortune to be walking on a railroad track and she met a train—that, is, the train met her. Of course, there was no regular introduction; they just came together as people and trains will. Well, the train met her and now she’s got a cork—she’s got a corker. [Slap leg with hand.] Well, as I say, I met the corker—I mean the girl—and she told me she was engaged to be led to the slaughter—I mean sled to the halter—I mean led to the altar; going to be murdered—married; and she invited me to bring presents—I mean to be present at the wedding. There wasn’t many people knew she had a corker. The fellow that was going to board her for life didn’t know she had a corker, either. The day before the wedding the gloom—that is, the groom—you know, the fellow that was going to marry the corker—I mean the girl—well, he was kind of a diffident fellow; he asked me to go to the parsley—the parsnips—the parson with him, and I went with the victim. The parson charged him $5.00 to tie the connubial nit—the connubial knot. The parson said: “My dear sir; I will charge you $5.00 to set you sailing on the sea of matrimony.” My friend said: “Well, what’ll you charge for a round-trip ticket?” You see he didn’t know about the corker, but he was a corker. He says: “I’ll save you $4.00 to tie the conjugal knit-knot”—not knit but knot. But the parson refused. He said: “$5.00 or knot—nit.” The parson would not take any less than $5.00 for the imposition—the operation. He belonged to the “union.” So my friend that was engaged to the corker paid him the flea—the fee to knit the knot—I mean tie the knot. Well, the next day we all went to the church to see the fight—the wedding. The young couple stood up in front of the parson and the parson opened a jackpot—I mean the Bible, looked all around the church and said: “Is there anybody here to give the bride away?” I jumped up and said: “Yes, I can, but I won’t!” Then the queer—I mean the choir sang queer—that is, the queer choir sang “Take Me Just as I Am.” And the young fellow did. Of course, he didn’t know anything about the corker until—— Well, an old woman, 78 or 48, who lived in the town died one day. Of course, that isn’t strange, because old women die every day. But this particular old lady—but she couldn’t have been particular, either, or she wouldn’t have died. But anyhow she died, with a will, or against her will; that is, she had a will or left a will when she died. In the will she bequeathed to the corker—I mean the girl who married the fellow that didn’t know she had a corker—she bequeathed to her an old arm-chair.