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"'Oho, ma'am! says I; 'things is come to a mighty purty pass when quality folks has to go frum house to house a-huntin' up pore white trash, an' a-astin' airter the'r kin. Tooby shore! tooby shore! Yessum, a mighty purty pass, says I."
Stillman, standing between the camera, where the artist was burying his head under a black cloth, and the object to be photographed, "when we lived in Bartholomew county 'twas the year after we moved f'm Johnson county Foster and John they was little fellers then, and I did want the'r picters that bad, so I did. But the'r pap he 'lowed it was a waste o' money.
"What do you think it means?" asked Tresler, quietly. And in a moment the other shot off into one of his volcanic surprises. "I ain't calc'latin' the'r meanin'. Say, Tresler." The man paused, and his great rolling eyes glanced furtively from right to left. Then he came close up and spoke in a harsh whisper. "It's got to be. He ain't fit to live.
I'll set in this very day an' hour, an' I'll bake Sis a cake that'll make the'r eyes water." And so it went. Everybody on Hog Mountain had some small contributions to make. The wedding, however, was not as boisterous as the boys proposed to make it.
Washburn sat down on his bed, pulled off his shoes, and dropped them on the puncheon floor. "But he's got the'r ear, an' you hain't, Mr. Westerfelt. He'd grab at a chance like this an' you'd never be able to disprove anything. Toot's got some unprincipled friends that 'ud go any length to help him in rascality."
The girl she was a mere overgrown child of fourteen or fifteen looked thoughtful a moment, and then darted toward the woods. "Whar yer goin', sis?" called Gillsey, in a startled voice. "Warn 'em!" said the girl, laconically, not stopping her pace. "Stop! stop! Come back!" shouted her father, starting in pursuit. But the girl never paused. "Blame the'r skins!
Jim an' me set down back at the desk an' watched Alf figure up. He looked tickled, and after a while he said: "'Jim, I'm glad I got back. I know now that Texas ain't no place for my talent. It's overrun with sharp-witted Jews an' keen Yankees that know values down to a gnat's heel. But here in these mountains these yokels git scared clean out o' the'r senses when a dollar has to change hands.
I've stood thar at the gate and watched her out in her corn or cotton in the br'ilin' sun with her hoe goin' up and down as regular as the tick of a clock, while the other gals was whiskin' by in some drummer's dinky-top buggy or takin' a snooze flat o' the'r backs in a cool room." "Is breakfast ready?"
Washburn took out the bowl of his lantern and extinguished the light as they entered the office. "It makes a man mighty unpopular in the Cohutta Valley to interfere with the moonshiners," he answered. "Whiskey-makin' is agin the law, but many a family gits its livin' out o' the stuff, an' a few good citizens keep the'r eyes shet to it. You see, Mr.
Thar's them gol danged copper-colored guests uv ther government they're kickin' up three pints uv the'r rumpus, more or less consider'bly less of more than more o' less. Take a passel uv them barbarities an' shet 'em up inter a prison for three or thirteen yeers, an' ye'd see w'at an impression et'd make, now. Thar'd be siveral less massycrees a week, an' ye wouldn't see a rufyan onc't a month.
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