Nothing was left undone to rally him, and cause him to forget the fearful
scene through which he had passed. Only once did he partially come to
himself, and show an interest in worldly affairs, and that was when it was
found that he had sat down on some raspberry jam with his white pants on.
When told of it, he smiled a ghastly smile, and said they were all welcome
to his share of the jam.

They tried to interest him in conversation by drawing war maps with
three-tined folks on the jam, but he never showed that he knew what they
were about until Mr. Moak, of Watertown, took a brush, made of cauliflower
preserved in mustard, and shaded the lines of the war map on Mr. Chapin's
trousers, which Mr. Butterfield had drawn in the jam. Then his artistic
eye took in the incongruity of the colors, and he gasped for breath, and
said:

"Moak, that is played out. People will notice it."

But he relapsed again into semi-unconsciousness, and never spoke again,
not a great deal, till he got home.

He has ordered that there be no more borrowing of sugar and drawings of
tea back and forth between his house and that of the lady who broke his
heart, and be has announced that he will go without saurkraut all
winter rather than borrow a machine for cutting cabbage of a woman that
would destroy the political prospects of a man who had never done a wrong
in his life.

He has written to the chairman of the Democratic State Central Committee
to suspend judgment on his case, until he can explain how it happened that
a dyed-in-the-wood Democrat hurrahed for Garfield.