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"Can I ever forget?" said Paul. "Well, he was like that too. He had lots of po'try in him not the stuff that rhymes, yer know, like 'The Psalm of Life' and so forth, but real po'try. I wish I could tell yer what I mean " His face was puckered into a thousand wrinkles with the intellectual effort, and his little diamond eyes gleamed.
No, sir, they jest spend all the time between naps hatin', an' they fall asleep ag'in, with a hate on thar lips an in' thar hearts." "You're talkin' re'l po'try an' truth at the same time, Sol," said Long Jim. "It's cur'ous how people hate them that kin do things better than theirselves.
He stood red and half smiling, with his cake in one hand, his wine in the other, and then began, 'Long may ye live, Happy may ye he, And blest with a num'rous Pro-ge-ny. 'Theere, that's po'try for yo' as I larnt i' my youth. But there's a deal to be said as cannot be put int' po'try, an' yet a cannot say it, somehow. It 'd tax a parson t' say a' as a've getten i' my mind.
She had just read all about Walter Scott in a magazine which a passing cowboy had given her; perhaps that had something to do with her new ambition. "Mebby he did and mebby he didn't. I'd like to see our debts paid off with po'try. It'd have to be worth a hull lot more 'n what I'd give for it." "Oh. Have you got debts too, Marthy?" Billy Louise at thirteen was still ready with sympathy.
"But, bless ya! all eggs binna addled. General Clive here 'twere the Injun sun what hatched he, an' binna he, I axe ya, a rare young fightin' cock? Ay, and a good breed, too. A hunnerd year ago theer was a Bob Clive as med all our grandfeythers quake in mortal fear, a terrible man o' war was he. They wanted to put 'n into po'try an' the church sarvice.
"My grandfather and Paul Lawrence Dunbar's grandfather was cousins. He were a much younger man than I am, for I was eighty-one years old the twenty-sixth of December, 1937. So I reckon I give it down to my kin-man. But it seem to me, that Poets is just born thataway. Po'try is nothin' but Truth anyway, and it's Truth was sets us free. And that makes me a free-born citizen bothways and every ways.
Then the newcomer answered: 'Well, neighbour dear, in Jingleville We live by faith but we eat our fill; An' what w'u'd we do if it wa'n't fer prayer? Fer we can't raise a thing but whiskers an' hair. 'Cur'us how you can talk po'try, said Uncle Eb. 'The only thing I've got agin you is them whiskers an' thet hair. 'Tain't Christian.
And you'd better peddle something insurance, or lightning rods, or 'The Royal Gall'ry of Po'try 'n Art' or " "'Life of the James and Younger Brothers. That ought to sell well with the Rutherfords," suggested Roy satirically, trying to rise to the occasion. "Jess Tighe and Dan Meldrum don't need any pointers from the James Boys." "Tighe and Meldrum Who are they?"
"What's that you say?" demanded Annie scoffingly. None the less she slowly drew over to the end of another saw horse and seated herself. "I'll go when I get good and ready." "Of course, you can't tell much about a woman first few weeks. They put on their best airs then. But anyways, I've sort of got reconciled to seeing you around here. I had a po'try book in my house.
I reckon that's where I got the idea of makin' up po'try, later." "I really beg your pardon," said Bartley. "The mescal must of told you." "I don't quite get that," said Bartley. "No? Well, you ain't the first. Josh and Filaree is the only ones that sabes me. Let's sit in this corner and watch the mescal work for a livin'." It was a hot night. Sweat prickled on Bartley's forehead. His nose itched.
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