the day of the wedding. 'Twas a little country kind of a town, smaller
by a good deal than Orham, and so we cal'lated that perhaps after all,
the affair wouldn't be so everlasting tony. But when we hove in sight of
Dillamead--Ebenezer's place--we shortened sail and pretty nigh drew
out of the race. 'Twas up on a high bank over the river, and the
house itself was bigger than four Old Homes spliced together. It had a
fair-sized township around it in the shape of land, with a high
stone wall for trimming on the edges. There was trees, and places for
flower-beds in summer, and the land knows what. We see right off
that this was the real Cashmere-on-the-Hudson; the village folks were
stranded on the flats--old Dillaway filled the whole ship channel.

"Well," I says to Jonadab, "it looks to me as if we was getting out of
soundings. What do you say to coming about and making a quick run for
Orham again?"

But he wouldn't hear of it. "S'pose I've spent all that money on duds
for nothing?" he says. "No, sir, by thunder! I ain't scared of Peter
Brown, nor her that's going to be his wife; and I ain't scared of
Ebenezer neither; no matter if he does live in the Manufacturers'
Building, with two or three thousand fathom of front fence," he says.

Some years ago Jonadab got reckless and went on a cut-rate excursion to
the World's Fair out in Chicago, and ever sence then he's been comparing
things with the "Manufacturers' Building" or the "Palace of Agriculture"
or "Streets of Cairo," or some other outlandish place.

"All right," says I. "Darn the torpedoes! Keep her as she is! You can
fire when ready, Gridley!"