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"Heah, you kin look ovah last week's paper tell the men folks gits in. We air mighty proud o' that paper. It's the fust evah printed in Kaintuck. Mason an' Henry sets up tell nigh onto nine o'clock readin' it, the fust night aftah it comes. It's printed at Lexin'ton by John Bradford.
"What fo' yo' goin'?" say de cat. "Ah bleeged to go home," say Lijah, an' he out's thu dat doh quicker'n nothin' wid de cat aftah him. Lijah, he run fo' his life. Bambye he catched up wid a rabbit a-lopin' along. "Outa' my way, rabbit," sez Lijah, "an' let somebody run wat kin run." An' all de time dat cat kep' right aftah him, an' he mos' feel its claws on his back.
He live hyeah in Noo Yo'k, an' dey tell me whaih I 'quiahed dat I li'ble to fin' somebody hyeah dat know him. So I jes' drapped in." "I know a good many young men from the South. What's your son's name?" "Well, he named aftah my ol' mastah, Zachariah Priestley Shackelford."
"I do not know whethah I understand the case exactly," said the colonel, "but Mr. Fulkerson may command me to the extent of my ability." "You don't understand it aftah what Ah've said?" cried the girl. "Then Ah don't see but what you'll have to explain it you'self, Mr. Fulkerson."
"Not very good," sez Lijah. "Ah don' seem to have no luck." "Mebbe yo' luck will change," says Aunt Maria, smilin'-like. An' sho'nuf, Lijah, he don' have no bad luck no mo'. But he wuz allays perlite aftah dat, an' he don' say nothin' disrespectfu' 'bout hoodoos an' ha'nts. Hortense sat thoughtfully. "We don't know anybody to give anything to because of Tom and Jerry," said she.
"But sometimes it is a trump, my dear young lady," said the Colonel, with unabated gallantry; "and when yo' mothah uses yarn, it is worsteds. But I respect worsteds even under the name of yarn: our ladies my own mothah and sistahs had to knit the socks we wore all we could get in the woe." "Yes, and aftah the woe," his daughter put in. "The knitting has not stopped yet in some places.
Why, whut you spec' I's doin' hyeah ef I hadn' winned? W'y, ef I'd 'a' let dat Scott maih beat my 'June Boy' I'd 'a' drowned myse'f in Bull Skin Crick. "Yes, suh, I winned; w'y, at de finish I come down dat track lak hit was de Jedgment Day an' I was de las' one up! Ef I didn't race dat maih's tail clean off, I 'low I made hit do a lot o' switchin'. An' aftah dat my wife Mandy she ma'ed me.
Well, seems like we hit out across the Llano, aftah all. Let's get a move on, amigo! We've got work to do." The Texan's face, as he swung himself into the saddle, was set and hard. "Oh, I'm goin' back to the Rio Grande! The Rio! For most a yeah, I've been away, And I'm lonesome now fo' me Old Lone Stah! The Rio! Wheah the gila monsters play!"
You ought to 've heard how Miss Hattie talked about him. She said he 's been her friend for a long while." "Her frien', yes, an' his own inimy. You need n' pattern aftah dat gal, Kit. She ruint Joe, an' she 's aftah you now." "But nowadays everybody thinks stage people respectable up here."
It came on me soon aftah I come out of the wah, an' it growed on me like jim'son weeds in a hog-pen. My appetite's quit on me two pints of whiskey an' wild-cherry bark a day, suh, don't seem to help it at all, suh. I cyant tell whut the devil's the matter with my stomach. Nothin' I eat or drink seems to agree with me but whiskey.