"Sold again
And got the tin,
And sucked another Dutchman in!"

He paid out of a fat pocketbook, staggering, and pointing at me and
looking like a tipsy imp of some sort; and finally he started over
toward me, saying, "Hey, Dutchman! Wait a minute an' I'll tell you how
you got sucked in!"

I grew suddenly very angry; and slammed the door in his face to prevent
myself from doing him harm. I had not yet seen why I ought to do him
harm; and along the road to Iowa, I was all the time wondering why I got
madder and madder at Jackway; and that rhyme kept running through my
mind, oftener and oftener, as I drew nearer and nearer my journey's end:

"Sold again
And got the tin,
And sucked another Dutchman in!"

It was in the latter part of March. There were snowdrifts in places
along the road, and when I reached a place about where Mt. Horeb now is,
I had to stop and lie up for three days for a snow-storm. I was ahead
of the stream of immigrants that poured over that road in the spring of
1855 in a steady tide.

As I made my start from Madison I saw Rucker and Alice standing at the
door of the tavern seemingly making sure that I was really getting out
of town. He dodged back into the house when I glanced at them; but she
walked out into the street and stopped me, as bold as brass.