Some was pickled in bottles and some
was stuffed and some was pinned to the walls with
their wings spread out. If you took hold of anything,
it was likely to be a skull and give you the shivers or
some electric contraption and shock you; and if you
tipped over a jar and it broke, enough germs might
get loose to slaughter a hull town. I was helping the
perfessor to unpack a lot of stuff some friends had sent
him, and I noticed a bottle that had onto it, blowed
in the glass:
DANIEL, DUNNE AND COMPANY
"That's funny," says I, out loud.
"What is?" asts the perfessor.
I showed him the bottle and told him how I was
named after the company that made 'em. He
says to look around me. They is all kinds of glass-
ware in that room--bottles and jars and queer-
shaped things with crooked tails and noses--and
nigh every piece of glass the perfessor owns is made
by that company.
"Why," says the perfessor, "their factory is in
this very town."
And nothing would do fur me but I must go and
see that factory. I couldn't till the quarantine was
pried loose from our house. But when it was, I
went down town and hunted up the place and looked
her over.
It was a big factory, and I was kind of proud of
that. I was glad she wasn't no measly, little, old-
fashioned, run-down concern.
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