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Updated: June 18, 2025
F. Johnson, read me this," and I handed him the poem. The old man smiled and took the manuscript. "This-here one's on 'The Hoss, " he said, simply clearing his throat. "They ain't so much fancy- work about this as the other'n, but they's jest as much FACT, you can bet 'cause, they're no animal a-livin' 'at I love better 'an
"If she flop her wings three times you goin' to see yo' sweetheart, but this-here buzzard ain't flop no wings 't all; she jes' lean over an' th'ow up on his head an' he been bald ever sence; ev'y single hair come out." "Did you-all hear 'bout that 'Talian Dago that works on the section gang eating a buzzard?" asked Frances. "Naw," said Billy. "Did it make him sick?"
And she would talk and whisper to herself, and oftentimes would stop and nestle down and rest her pleased face close against the steps and pat one softly with her slender hand, peering curiously down at us with half-averted eyes. And she counted them and named them, every one, as she went up and down. "I'm mighty glad I'm come to live in this-here house," she said. We asked her why.
'Member when we were just kids, and used to smoke corn-silk and hayseed?" "Yup. Gosh!" Spit. "Silence." "Say Earl, ma says if you chew tobacco you get consumption." "Aw rats, your old lady is a crank." "Yuh, that's so." Pause. "But she says she knows a fella that did." "Aw, gee whiz, didn't Doc Kennicott used to chew tobacco all the time before he married this-here girl from the Cities?
"These WHATS?" " but the wise, hard, corseted, old married women like Zilla are worse than any bobbed-haired girl that ever went boldly out into this-here storm of life and kept her umbrella slid up her sleeve! But rats, you know what Zilla is. How she nags nags nags.
"Now, just you look at this-here, Miss Lawrence," the man was enthusing, undoing another package. "Here's something I know you'll want; I think this-here is real quaint! Just look, now!" He displayed some long, narrow, dark object, holding it out to her. "Ain't this-here an interestin' item, now, Miss Lawrence?" "Ooooooh! What in heaven's name is that thing?" she demanded. "That-there's a sword.
Milt innocently babbled on, "Better come ride with me, bo'. More room in this-here handsome coupelet." Then was the rough relieved in his uneasy tender little heart, and his eyes flickered again as he shouted back, not looking at Milt, "Thanks, bub, I'll stick by me friends." "Oh no; can't lose pleasure of your company. I like your looks.
Billy sullenly gave her the promise and she went back to her baking. "That's always the way now," he said, meeting his little neighbor at the fence, "ever sence Aunt Minerva got onto this-here promisin' business, I don' have no freedom 't all. It's 'William, promise me this, an' it's 'William, don't ferget yo' promise now, tell I's jes' plumb sick 'n tired of it.
You see, this-here little matter has what you might call an international aspect. Did you speak, Mr. Wiley?" "I should like to, when you've finished shooting off fireworks!" that gentleman blustered. "What's the meaning of this, anyway? What sort of trumped-up game are you ?" "Steady, Starr." Ripley Halstead interposed quietly, and turned to the proprietor.
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