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"If ever I'd 'ad a grizzler I'd up and 'it 'er on the 'ed with sumpthin' pretty quick. I don't think I could abide a grizzler," said Uncle Pentstemon. "I'd liefer 'ave a lump-about like that other gal. I would indeed. I lay I'd make 'er stop laughing after a bit for all 'er airs. And mind where her clumsy great feet went....
Marriage seems to change the very natures in 'em through and through. You can't tell what they won't turn into nohow. "I seen the nicest girls go wrong," said Uncle Pentstemon, and added with unusual thoughtfulness, "Not that I mean you got one of that sort." He sent another crumb on to its long home with a sucking, encouraging noise. "The wust sort's the grizzler," Uncle Pentstemon resumed.
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