"Oh, we all know that your were a gay dog an' a warnin' to the righteous
when you were young," rejoined Solomon, in an apologetic manner, "an'
it must be a deal of satisfaction to be able to look back on a sinful
past when you've grown old and repented. I've been a pious, God-fearing
soul from my birth, as you all know, friends, but sad to relate, I ain't
found the solid comfort in a life of virtue that I'd hoped for, an'
that's the truth."

"The trouble with it, Solomon," replied old Adam, pushing a log back on
the andirons with his rough, thick soled boot to which shreds of manure
were clinging, "the trouble with it is that good or bad porridge, it all
leaves the same taste in the mouth arter you've once swallowed it. I've
had my pleasant trespasses in the past, but when I look backward on 'em
now, to save my life, I can't remember anything about 'em but some small
painful mishap that al'ays went along with 'em an' sp'iled the pleasure.
Thar was the evening I dressed up in my best clothes an' ran off to
Applegate to take a yellow haired circus lady, in pink skirts, out to
supper. It ought to have been a fine, glorious bit of wickedness to
remember, but the truth was that I'd put on a new pair of boots, an' one
of 'em pinched so in the toes that I couldn't think of another thing
the whole blessed evening. 'Tis al'ays that way in my experience of
life--when you glance back or glance befo' 'tis pleasant enough to the
eye, but at the moment while you're linin' it thar's al'ays the damn
shoe that pinches."

"Ah, you're right, you're right, Mr. Doolittle," remarked William Ming,
who had lingered in the doorway to follow the conversation.

"It's life, that's what it is," commented Solomon, heaving a sigh that
burst a button hole in his blue shirt. "An' what's mo' than life, it's