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Updated: May 6, 2025
Just then who should come buzzing along but a wasp, a regular gorgeous fellow, all black and gold, and with such a thin waist that he looked almost cut in two. "Now then, old spiketail," said the starling, "keep your distance; none of your stinging tricks here, or I'll cut that waist of yours in two with one snip." "Who wants to sting, old peck-path?" said the wasp.
He leads me over to the corner of the room, aside of the fireplace. Dang me, if there wasn't our two old saddles, wore slick and shiny! Old Man Wright stands there in his spiketail coat, and he runs his hand down that old stirrup leather a time or two; and for a little while he can't say nothing at all me neither. "Ain't she some girl, Curly?" says he after a while.
"I know that," says I; "but don't muss up my new necktie, for I worked about a hour on that this morning, and at that it's a little on one side and some low. But I'm coming on," says I. Now, Old Man Wright, when he wore his spiketail coat, he had the same trouble with his tie that I had with mine.
"That settles it!" says he; and that afternoon him and me went down to a tailor. What he done to each of us was several suits of clothes. Old Man Wright said he wanted one suit each of every kind of clothes that anybody ever had been knew to wear in the history of the world. I was more moderate. I never was in a spiketail in my whole life and I told him I'd die first.
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