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A lot er yuther w'ite folks made a bee line fer dat ar dump cyart, but dey warn' 'fo' me, caze w'en dey git dar, dar I wuz a-settin' wid Marse Dan laid out across my knees. Well, dey lemme go dey bleeged ter caze I 'uz gwine anyway en de speckled mule she des laid back 'er years en let fly fer Richmon'. Yes, suh, I ain' never seed sech a mule es dat.
While Lem was buying groceries, Scattergood selected two excellent blankets, carried them out, and put them on the horses. Then he went back into the store to attend to other matters. Presently Lem came in. "Where'd them blankets come from?" he asked. "Hosses looked a mite chilly," said Scattergood, without interest, "so I covered 'em." "Bleeged," said Lem.
If ever you're lookin' for level-headedness, and f'r a man you kin depend on, jest send a call for Mr. Spackles. G'-by, ma'am. G'-by, Mr. Spackles, and much 'bleeged to you." Mr. Spackles was a little bewildered, for he had not the least idea upon what subject he had advised Scattergood, but he was of an acuteness not to pass by any of the advantage that accrued from the situation.
"Sure he is, Jim," answered Max. "But he'd 'a' gone dead on'y for you uns comin' tuh help. Reckon as how we orter be kinder 'bleeged fur doin' this away," went on the boy, awkwardly trying to prove that he knew what gratitude meant. "That's all right, Jim," Max smilingly said. "Perhaps he wouldn't have died on account of his broken leg, but he'd never walked again without a limp.
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