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The second was Dorcas Doolittle, aunt to Jabe Slocum; she didn't know enough to make soap, Dorcas didn't.... Then there was Delia Weeks, from the lower corner.... She didn't live long.... There was some thin' wrong with Delia.... She was one o' the thin-blooded, white-livered kind.... You couldn't get her warm, no matter how hard you tried. ... She'd set over a roarin' fire in the cook-stove even in the prickliest o' the dog-days. ... The mill-folks used to say the Whittens burnt more cut-roun's 'n' stickens 'n any three fam'lies in the village. ... Well, after Delia died, then come Huldy's turn, 'n' it's she, after all, that's drawed the pension.... Huldy took Joel's death consid'able hard, but I guess she'll perk up, now she's come int' this money. ... She's awful leaky-minded, Huldy is, but she's got tender feelin's.... One day she happened in at noon-time, 'n' set down to the table with Si 'n' I.... All of a suddent she bust right out cryin' when Si was offerin' her a piece o' tripe, 'n' then it come out that she couldn't never bear the sight o' tripe, it reminded her so of Joel!
They done th' best they cud f'r th' Connock man back iv th' dumps, give him all th' honors, th' A-ho-aitches ma-archin' behind th' hearse an' th' band playin' th' Dead March, 'Twas almost as good a turnout as Grogan had, though th' Saint Vincents had betther hats an' looked more like their fam'lies kept a cow. "But they was two hacks back iv th' pall-bearers.
"Ef it's a man you call him kaytuh; ef it's a lady, she's a kaytliss. She does kaytun fer all lem blue-vein fam'lies in town. She make ref'eshmuns, bring waituhs 'at's kaytun. You' maw give big dinnuh, she have Fanny kaytuh, an' don't take no trouble 'tall herself. Fanny take all 'at trouble." "I see," said Jane. "But I don't see how her bein' a kaytliss started you to dressin' so high, Genesis."
Fust thar's the few very rich fam'lies that hev big farms over in the Blue Grass with lots o' niggers ter work 'em. Then thar's the middle class like the Fortners an' the Brills thet hev small farms in the creek vallies, an' wharever thar's good land on the mounting sides; who hev no niggers, an' who try ter lead God-fearin', hard-workin' lives, an' support ther fam'lies decently.
But, as time wint by, changes come over it. Th' Hannigans an' Leonidases an' Caseys moved out, havin' made their pile. Some iv th' grandest iv th' heroes died, an' their fam'lies were broke up. Polish Jews an' Swedes an' Germans an' Hollanders swarmed in, settlin' down on th' sacred sites, I says.
Rent-day, announced Pugsy, fell on the last day of the month. "I rubbered around," he said, "and did de sleut' act, and I finds t'ings out. Dere's a feller comes round 'bout supper time dat day, an' den it's up to de fam'lies what lives in de tenements to dig down into deir jeans fer de stuff, or out dey goes dat same night." "Evidently a hustler, our nameless friend," said Psmith.
I asked in perfect good faith. The colonel was on his feet in a moment. "Any advantage? Major, I am surprised at you! A place settled mo' than one hundred years ago, belongin' to one of the vehy fust fam'lies of Virginia, not to be of any advantage to a new enterprise like this! Why, suh, it will give an air of respectability to the whole thing that nothin' else could ever do.
Brandt had always an encouraging word for the hunter. "Greasewood's bad fer huntin'. Joel says it don't pay to look fer quail in the brush when he does fetch 'em down." "Like enough. I dunno, ma'am. Reckon I've had a good many shots at the little wild critters, but they allus turn their heads so kind o' innocent like. A man as has been blowed up oncet hisself ain't much at separatin' fam'lies.
Yes'm, my mammy, she spin the cotton, yes'm picked right on the plantation, yes'm, cotton picking was fun, believe me! As I was saying, Mammy she spin and she wears the cloth, and she cut it out and she make our clothes. That's where I git my taste to sew, I reckon. When I first come to Baltimore, I done dressmaking, 'deed I did. I sewed for the best fam'lies in this yere town.
We've never heard the end of one of his stories, an' he's be'n talkin' for twenty years." "All right," rejoined his companion, with a broad grin at the idea. "I'm willin', if you are; but who's goin' to tell our fam'lies the reason we've deserted 'em? I bate yer we shan't budge till the crack o' doom.
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