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Updated: May 7, 2025
Harvest began, but the customary barrel of whisky was not purchased, and the song of the scythemen in the wheatfield languished. In lieu of whisky, there was a beverage most innocuous, unstimulating and unpalatable to the army of dusky laborers. The following morning, Mr. Madison called in his head-man to make the usual inquiry, "Nelson, how comes on the crop?" "Po'ly, Mars' Jeems monsus po'ly."
This story was called "The Golden Arm," and was told in this fashion. You can practise with it yourself and mind you look out for the pause and get it right. Once 'pon a time dey wuz a monsus mean man, en he live 'way out in de prairie all 'lone by hisself, 'cep'n he had a wife. En bimeby she died, en he tuck en toted her way out dah in de prairie en buried her.
His lordship has been heard to say he had been taken to a monsus queeah place, queeah set of folks, in a tap somewhere, though he went away quite delighted with Tom's affability, but he never came again. He could not find the place, probably. You might pass the Haunt in the daytime, and not know it in the least. Nokes and all."
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