Haney�s Account of the Ferns.
as much money as was due for his board, and
spend the rest immediately in clothing of which he
is so sorely in want, that he may be without
the means to procure liquor. Then he went to
Shepherd�s room and lay down. I don�t think
there�s any saving him; he�s in the rapids and
drifting with horrible swiftness towards the fall.
I may write of him in the past tense before another
Christmas comes round. Yet I�ll do what I can.
We roused him in time for the next meal,
as he had to go, immediately after it, down-town.
I went to Haney�s, found him in his chilly
room matagrabolizing a Christmas Poem for
745, and not making much headway at it.
Jim Parton won�t be present this year; he says
he should find the contrast with his domestic
hell too much for him. Grace is with her mother
now, coming thither with a story about her tumbling
down stairs and hurting herself � from which
hearers may be expected to infer that she risked
her approaching maternity. Parton discredits
this story; I don�t know why. He pronounces Grace
the most vacant-minded, inane of young women,
preferring her younger sister, the (to me and every
body else) highly-objectionable Nelly. (These last
items I had from Matty). Mort Thomson�s
marriage has proved but a Dead Sea apple