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"He's sech a case, Uncle Matt is," the women would say, "I never seen sich a case." When the countryman spoke, Uncle Matt put on an expression of dignified thoughtfulness. It was an expression his audience were entirely familiar with and invariably greeted with delight. "Endurin' of de war," he said, "I los' severial things. Fust thing I memberize of losin' was a pa'r of boots.
Mars John, he seed I wuz 'stracted, an' he tole me fer ter go roun' yere an' git sump'n' put on it, an' de drug man he 'lowed dat I better have 'er draw'd, an' his wuds wuzzent more'n col' 'fo' wunner deze yer watchyoumaycollums wunner deze dentis' mens had retched fer it wid a pa'r er tongs w'at don't tu'n loose w'en dey ketches a holt. Leas'ways dey didn't wid me.
As I do, however, jest to onmask you an' show my friends, as I says, that you ain't got a thing, I'll wager you two on the side, right now, that the pa'r of jacks I breaks on, is bigger than the hand on which you comes in an' makes that two-button tilt. As he says this, Cherokee regyards the avaricious gent like he's plumb disgusted.
Dar, in dat bundle is two thick blankets and four pa'r o' sheets an' pilly cases, all out'n my own precious chist; an' not beholden to ole mis' for any on 'em," she added, as she carefully untied the bundle and laid its contents, nicely folded, upon a chair.
I nussed Miss Sadie Pope Fall; she ma'ried Mat Gardner. I also nussed Miss Sue Porter Houston. I den wuk'd at de Bline Schul. De fust pa'r ob shoes I eber had wuz atter I kum ter Nashville. Dey had high tops en wuz called bootees. I had sum red striped socks wid dem. De ole songs I member: "De Ole Time 'ligion." "I'm Goin' ter Join de Ban."
"Gosh," said the man who had uttered the opinion that it was a rich man's war and a poor man's fight, "I'd give all my interest in every nigger in Tennessee for that ere one pa'r o' shoes. They're beauties, I tell you. I never had so good a pa'r afore in all my life."
Dem what got strenk ain't got so mighty much sense. "After Brer Rabbit done make way wid ole Brer Lion, all de yuther creeturs say he sholy is a mighty man, en dey treat 'im good. Dis make 'im feel so proud dat he bleedz ter show it, en so he strut 'roun' like a boy when he git his fust pa'r er boots.
"'That's what I says, replies Cherokee, some sullen. "`I goes you, says the avaricious gent, showin' a pa'r of kings. "'Thar you be, snarls Cherokee, with a howl like a sore-head dog, a-chuckin' the avaricious gent a couple of chips; 'thar you go ag'in! I can't beat nothin'; which I couldn't beat a drum!
He's settin' into a poker game. "Steve never oughter gambled none. He is a good cow-boy splendid round-up hand an' can do his day's work with rope or iron in a brandin' pen with anybody; but comin' right to cases, he don't know no more about playin' poker than he does about preachin'. Actooally, he'd back two pa'r like thar's no record of their bein' beat.
"The avaricious gent slowly gets up his last peso; he's out on a limb, an' he somehow begins to feel it. When the money's up, Cherokee throws down three aces an' a pa'r of nines, an' rakes the dust. "'Next time, says Cherokee, 'don't come fomentin' 'round poker games which is strangers to you complete. Moreover, don't let a gent talk you into fal'cies touchin' his hand.