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Updated: June 20, 2025
An' if I kin't work fer you, Jack, I'd just erbout as soon quit. This 'ere money ain't no good to me 'cept fer body cover an' powder an' balls. I'd as leave drop it in the river. It bothers me. I don't need it. When I git hum I go an' hide it in the bush somewhars jest to git it out o' my way.
At dat place she come up to me an' says, 'Samson, I'll wrastle you! 'Go long, says I, 'I kin't wrastle no woman like you. 'You got to, she says, swearin' like a man, an' takin' holt of me jess like a man wrastles.
She had nothing suitable for the occasion of the organ recital in the way of wearing apparel. "I feel as if gloves was due you, Bud," she lamented, "but I kin't afford 'em. I guess I kin put my hands under my mantilly, though, and folks won't know." "She'd orter hev 'em, and she'd orter hev a new hat, too," reflected Bud, and his song became a requiem.
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