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Dey'll hev a plenty to pay, ef dey begins dat game, won't dey? Dey'll hev ter dig down inter de Gov'ment breeches pocket pretty deep, dat dey will. Doan' see how de Pres'dent gwine ter do it out'n what dey 'lows him, less'n dey 'lows him mighty big pocket money." "'Tain't the President, Matt," said one of the crowd. "It's the Nation." "Oh, it's de Nation!" said Matt. "De Nation. Well, Mr.
My grandfather, who's the easiest gent to get along with in matters of mere detail, is agree'ble; an' as neither him nor Witherspoon has brought their weepons, the two vice pres'dents, who's goin' to act as seconds the pres'dent by mootual consent dealin' the game as referee rummages about air' borrys a brace of Looeyville rifles from members of the Black B'ar Glee Club they're the barytone an' tenor an' my grandfather an' the scandal-mongerin' Witherspoon is stood up.
This boy Captain hails from some'ers up 'round Waco, an' thar ain't a handsomer or braver in all Pres'dent Davis's army. This Captain whose name is Edson, an' me, bein' we-all is both young, works ourse'fs into a clost friendship for each other; I feels about him like he's my brother.
"He ain' goin' back," he said. "'Ain' nobody kin make 'at dog go back. I 'ain' had him mo'n two weeks, but I don' b'lieve Pres'dent United States kin make 'at dog go back! I show you." And, wheeling suddenly, he made ferocious gestures, shouting. "G'on back, dog!"
"'Bein' in the lines, Mister Pres'dent, says Boggs, 'of previous assertion, an' for the purpose of bringin' the question squar' before this house, I now moves you this yere Yallerhouse party has the smallpox.
Only don't ask me to be pres'dent. Nor good enough. Goo' night, boys; don't cut my throat by mistake. Gor bless you all." "No, no, don't go to sleep, Cloud," they shouted. "Lamb's the cause of all this. He says we're drunk that's the way Lamb repays our hospitality. We were firing to wake you up, old Cap, to have a drink " "A drink yes," assented the Captain hoarsely.
Dey was kin' an' went 'bout mongst de slaves a-lookin' after 'em. Dey give out food an' clo'es an' shoes. Marse D.D. Withers was my young marster. He was a little man, but ever'body stepped when he come 'roun'. "Don' rightly know how it come 'bout. Lemme see! De bes' I 'member my nex' Marster was Pres'dent Jefferson Davis hisse'f. Only he warnt no pres'dent den.
An' ef yer doan' fin' yo'se'f marchin' on ter Wash'n'ton city an' a-talkin' to de Pres'dent an' de Senators, de whole kit an' bilin' of 'em, Marse Thomas ain't de buz'ness gen'l'man what I believe he is." Rupert lay still and looked straight before him, apparently at a bluebird balanced on a twig, but it was not the bird he was thinking of.
""Gents," says the pres'dent, "the words will be, 'Fire-one-two- three-stop. It's incumbent on you-all to blaze away anywhere between the words 'Fire' an' 'Stop'. My partin' injunctions is, 'May heaven defend the right, an' be shore an' see your hindsights as you onhooks your guns." "'At the word, my grandfather an' Witherspoon responds prompt an' gay.
"'You don't have to put that motion, Mister Pres'dent, says Jack; 'I've been cirelin' the idee some myse'f, an' I reckons it's my dooty to take charge of this Yallerhouse gent. You can bet anythin' which gets sawed onto me as my dooty goes, an' don't make no doubt about it. Yere's how I trails out on this: If it ain't my dooty to take care of this person, whose dooty is it? 'Tain't nobody's.
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