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When he had eaten he sat down to write to his mother. He would tell her all about the new cabin and the city folks. But before he had written more than to express himself "that it was too darned bad a girl had to stay up in the woods without no other wimmin-folks around," he became drowsy. The letter remained unfinished. He would finish it to-morrow. He would smoke awhile and then go to bed.
I'm no hand at understandin' wimmin-folks, but I know the mother of a strappin' young fella in this town that says she would sooner see her boy dead in her front yard than for him to go off and fight for foreigners. She don't know what this country's got to fight for pretty quick or she wouldn't talk like that. And she ain't the only one. Now, when wimmin talks that way, what do you expect of men?
Now, takin' such folks one at a time, out back of the store, mebby, where they ain't no wimmin-folks, I reckon I could make 'em think different. But I can't lick the county. I ain't no angel. I never found that tellin' the truth kep' me awake nights. And I sleep pretty good. Now, I writ to Torrance, tellin' him just how things was headed. What do you think he writ back?"
"Wall, you're hankerin' for somethin', that's a fac'! You jest shet up with them ghost stories! The Cunnel don't want nothin' like that, scarin' the wimmin-folks! I wa'n't sheriff nine year ago, no-how," he thoughtfully fingered his chin, "an' I reckon if the statters of limintation was looked up we'd find they'd done run out on that old fracas."
Miss Lizzie was peepin' out 'twixt dem white lace curtains an' I was right b'hin' 'er. I 'spec' Seventh Street was lined wid wimmin-folks doin' jus' what us doin', 'cause dey husban's, sons, an' sweethearts was out dere in dat march-line. "Well, dat night ended all de troubles. De line done stop at Mr. Theodore Sturges' house' fore it git out far as us. 'Course, ever'body know Mr.
I 'xpect he carries too many guns to be steered by a woman; 'tis a kinder pity you a'n't a man, Sally; mebbe you'd argufy him round then; it's plain as the Gulf you can't crook his v'yage; he's too stiff for wimmin-folks, that is a fact!" Oh, Long Snapps! Long Snapps! how many wives, in how many ports, went to the knowledge of feminine nature that dictated that speech? Sally set her lips.
I was raised up by men-folks. My mammy she wa'n't there long after I come. Reckon that's why I never was much of a hand with wimmin-folks. I wa'n't used to 'em. And I don't care how old and ornery a man is; the first time he gets a present from a gal, it kind of hits him where he breathes.
"I do'no'," said Long, meditatively; "he's pooty stiff, that 'are feller. He's sot on dooty, I see; an' that means suthin', when a man that oughter be called a man sez it. Wimmin-folks, now, don't sail on that tack. When a gal sets to talkin' about her dooty, it's allers suthin' she wants ter do and han't got no grand excuse for't.
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