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Y' see, I figgers as the only reason why they wants to bust us up at all in this yer crick is to stop up a-sailin' out an' ketchin' that schooner as she passes. Ain' that it, cap'n?" "No doubt of it, Blunt." "Well, then, if so be as it's inland savages as is to do it, they ain't werry fond o' water fightin', they ain't. Don't I know 'em?
When the wind was in the east, it blew the Dust into the Crick, and when it set the other way, the Dust was blown out of it. The Crick was of a warm and passionate temperament, and was devotedly attached to the Dust. "I love you," he whispered. "I am your husband. I protect, surround, defend, cherish you, and house you, you poor fragile Dust. You are my wife.
For what was the use of vanquishing a husband if one could not display the evidence of one's triumph? The new gay paper on the parlor wall witnessed to brother Wully's complete recovery from rheumatism, but the crick in his back, brought on by his brother-in-law's stormy refusal to take old Sandy McLachlan's child into his home was long and persistent.
My husband returned to Crick delighted with the people in County Galway, especially because, when he went out hunting, almost everyone of the small field, both ladies and men, seeing that he was a stranger, were glad to meet him, and went up and spoke to him in a very friendly manner. Over there, hunting is evidently a sport, and not a social function.
"You certainly have a healthy appetite for gossip," sez Chez, laughin'. "But I did hear more about the maid: she came back to that part a few months later to square things up with her lover. He didn't appear willin' to square, an' they found him in his cabin one mornin' with his throat tore out by the roots, an' they found her clothes on the bank o' Devil Crick; so that ends her story.
"'Uh huh, sez Hannibal, 'den I reckon it mus' be some udder nigger w'at meets a 'oman down by de crick in de swamp eve'y Sunday ebenin', ter say nuffin 'bout two er th'ee times a week. "'Yas, hit is ernudder nigger, en you is a liah w'en you say it wuz Jeff. "'Mebbe I is a liah, en mebbe I ain' got good eyes.
Done in a jiffy; and whoop, crick, crack, whack, rumble, bump, whirr, whisk, away we blazed, till, ere we knew it, another change, and another. "Really, H.," said I, "this is not slow. The fact is, we are going ahead. I call this travelling never was so comfortable in my life." "Nor I," quoth she. "And, besides, we are unwinding the Rhone all along."
But 'when we have sich sorry weather as this, Shelbyville seems on t' other side o' nowhar. You've got t' pull through the mud an' swim every branch and crick, an' you're mouty lucky if you git thar in a week." "Why don't you build bridges over the creeks?" asked Si. "Can't do hit when hit's rainin' an they're runnin' over thar banks." "But why don't you do it when the weather's good?"
Get away from here, before I lose my temper and do you damage." The Conductor walked away muttering: "Blasted thieving whelps o' soldiers, what'll they steal next? Lost all my train tools at Lavergne, swiped the bedding at Smyrna, got away with our clothes and dishes at Antioch, stole stove and lanterns at Overall's Crick, and now they've begun on the cars.
One of them, Joe Sands, had been an able seaman for forty-six years, and, despite a perpetual crick in the back, he insisted that he was still an abler seaman than ninety-five per cent, of the thirty-year-olds who followed the sea for a living. When Captain Trigger announced his resolve to stay on board, where he belonged, these vainglorious old seadogs elected to remain with him to the end.
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