Arrivin before my domisil, the leeder sung out and says: 

“Now boys (hic!) let’s rattle up bald head, (hic!) if old 2-and-ninepence don’t (hic!) shell out with his ’freshments, we’ll (hic!) smash this ’ere borrered tea sarvice over his (hic!) figger head.”  Sayin which he gives the door bell a yank, which was enuff to pull the roof off from over our heads.

Slippin on my red nite cap, I poked my head out of my winder, and in fained cerprise, Bays to ’em: 

“My good peeple, what’s the meanin of this demon-stration?”

“A lot of fellers, who you hired to come and pay you a visit, has got here.  So come down and let us in, old hoss,” says a voice.

I went down stairs, with doubts in my mind as to the way the thing would turn out.

Unboltin the door, the assemblige filed in.  A casual glance convinced me that I was not receivin into the buzzum of my family manshon a deputashun from the Skeensboro Lodge of Good Templers, for a skalier lot of whiskey-soked human beins I never sot eyes on.

There was JOB BIGLER, who useter leed the Skeensboro brick meetin house quire, tryin to pick his teeth with the corner of a pictur-frame, while standin before the lookin glass was WILLYAM DUNBAR vainly endevorin to ascertain if he was the Siameese Twins, or else was the lookin-glass a double-plated one.

Old JIM SPENCER insisted on standin with his cow-hide butes on top the mahogony senter table, for the purpuss of presentin me with the tea sarvice, while his son-in-law had no sorter hesitation, whatsomever, of planten his muddy feet into my wife’s work basket, which was settin on a stool in the sou’-west corner of the front room.  Others had piled theirselfs in heeps, in various parts of the room, presentin a picter which JOHN B. GOFF could work up to sich an affectin pitch, that tears could be got out of the eyes of a perfessional grave-digger.

“SQUIRE GREEN, yer (hic!) feller sitisens, wishin to do the square thing by you, hereby (hic!) take this opportunity of presentin you with this (hic!) tea sarvice, which you hired down to GRIZ’LES jooliry (hic!) store, for this momentous occassion.  Take it and be ’appy.  Now trot out yer (hic!) benzeen,” says SPENCER.  At this pint I give the signle, and the foldin doors was throde quickly open, revealin my 3 gals in a classic tabloo.  I then said: 

“Feller Sitizens:  When I say I’me hily pleased at this onexpected cerprise, I but reiterate the pent up feelins of an overflowin heart.”—­

“Oh, cork up on that ere spoutin, and sound yer supper bell,” said JOE BIGLER, interuptin me.  I again went on.

“As I casts my eyes about me, I see the smillen faces of my feller sitizens, who have been tride and not found wantin—­”

“That’s a lie!  We are wantin some vittles, with a little (hic!) opedildock to wash her down.  When you hired us to do this job, you (hic!) ’greed to fill up,” says a voice.