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The change from the trim blue uniform of a Yankee naval officer to the slouchy jeans jumper and overalls of a North Carolina "cracker" was somewhat amusing, but the disguise was complete. Mounting the captured horse, Howarth rode off in the character of a "poor-white" farmer come in to do his marketing.
A boy of twenty, tall, blond, tousled, rode up from the grove back of the encampment of the Wingate family. "You, Jed?" said his father. "Ride on out and see if Molly's there." "Sure she is!" commented the youth, finding a plug in the pocket of his jeans. "That's her. Two fellers, like usual." "Sam Woodhull, of course," said the mother, still hand over eye.
"I bought a pair of overalls at the store, as you suggested, Cloudy," put in Allison, waving a pair of blue jeans at her and vanishing also. Ellen Robinson stood mopping her eyes and staring out from the dining-room window not at the hills and sniffing. "I should think you'd stop them calling you that ridiculous name!" she snorted. "It isn't respectful. It sounds like making fun of the family."
And then, daring to be facetious himself, though adhering still to his admirable and just-formed plan of not disclosing too much at once: "You'd not have to kill him, you know. Half of what you did to your friend on the roan horse would be plenty and to spare." "He was no friend of mine," Blue Jeans corrected coldly. "We'd just barely begun to get acquainted." "Lucky for him!"
"Then ye'd get yer neck stretched," argued Flea, "and I ain't a goin' to him. We be goin' away to the good land down behind the college hill." "When?" demanded Flukey. "Tonight," replied Flea. "Ye go and get some duds for me, a shirt and the other pair of yer jeans. Crib Granny's shears to cut my hair off. Then we'll start. See? And we ain't never comin' back.
Probably too much reading for the amount of digestion I've got. Probably half-baked. I'm going to get in 'half-baked' first, and beat you to it, because it's dead sure to be handed to a radical that wears jeans!" They grinned together. She demanded: "You say that the Jolly Seventeen is stupid. What makes you think so?" "Oh, trust us borers into the foundation to know about your leisure class.
In the men's department after much thoughtful discussion they decided upon a suit of blue jeans that being the only goods which, in view of the amount of cloth required, came within the appropriation. Eli advised against it. "You are like Eli already," he said. "You haf got de pack off your back. Look at me. Don't you hear my clothes say somet'ing?" "They are very eloquent," said Abe.
But he was looking around. Could he pack? Yes. Was he accustomed to horses? He hoped so. Could he cook? Ye-s-s, some. Not good for delicate folks. Well, then, he was the very man for the position. And Blue Jeans hadn't been able to think offhand of an objection; not one which he wanted to voice. He couldn't admit outright that the prospect was dismaying to his young pride.
Quigg set the table, the lad washed his face, brushed his hair, and despite his homely looking jeans and rough brogans, presented a very sightly appearance as he sat down opposite the little photographer. At least so the latter thought, and remained in apparent deep reflection while eating.
But I note with pained surprise that the farmers are still selling middling cotton below six cents, buying bacon and wearing pea-green patches on the bust of their blue jeans two-dollar hand-me-downs; that I can hire all the common labor I want at 75 cents a day despite the advance in flour; that scores of mechanics are idle; that there is no longer a wage rate in any trade; that the streets are full of able-bodied beggers, while merchants offer me 2 per cent a month for the use of a little money.
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