FullReads

Course the boys is mostly jes’
Why I go to Wigginses.—
Though Melviney, sometimes, she
Gits her slate and algebry
And jes’ sets there ciphern’ thue
Sums old Ray hisse’f caint do!–
Jes’ sets there, and tilts her chair
Forreds tel, ‘pear-like, her hair
Jes’ spills in her lap–and then
She jes’ dips it up again
With her hands, as white, I swan,
As the apern she’s got on!

Talk o’ hospitality!–
Go to Wigginses with me–
Overhet, or froze plum thue,
You’ll find welcome waitin’ you:–
Th’ow out yer tobacker ‘fore
You set foot acrost that floor,–
“Got to eat whatever’s set–
Got to drink whatever’s wet!”
Old man’s sentimuns–them’s his—
And means jes the best they is!
Then he lights his pipe; and she,
The old lady, presen’ly
She lights her’n; and Chape and Poke.
I haint got none, ner don’t smoke,–
(In the crick afore their door–
Sorto so’s ‘at I’d be shore–
Drownded mine one night and says
“I won’t smoke at Wigginses!”)
Price he’s mostly talkin’ ’bout
Politics, and “thieves turned out”–
What he’s go’ to be, ef he
Ever “gits there”–and “we’ll see!”–
Poke he ‘lows they’s blame few men
Go’ to hold their breath tel then!
Then Melviney smiles, as she
Goes on with her algebry,
And the clouds clear, and the room’s
Sweeter ‘n crabapple-blooms!
(That Melviney, she’ got some
Most surprisin’ ways, I gum!–
Don’t ‘pear like she ever says
Nothin’, yit you’ll listen jes
Like she was a-talkin’, and
Half-way seem to understand,
But not quite,–Poke does, I know,
‘Cause he good as told me so,–
Poke’s her favo-rite; and he–
That is, confidentially–
He’s my favo-rite–and I
Got my whurfore and my why!)

I haint never ben no hand
Much at talkin’, understand,
But they’s thoughts o’ mine ‘at’s jes
Jealous o’ them Wigginses!–
Gift o’ talkin ‘s what they got,
Whether they want to er not–
F’r instunce, start the old man on
Huntin’-scrapes, ‘fore game was gone,
‘Way back in the Forties, when
Bears stold pigs right out the pen,
Er went waltzin’ ‘crost the farm
With a bee-hive on their arm!–
And–sir, ping! the old man’s gun
Has plumped-over many a one,
Firin’ at him from afore
That-air very cabin-door!
Yes–and painters, prowlin’ ’bout,
Allus darkest nights.–Lay out
Clost yer cattle.–Great, big red
Eyes a-blazin’ in their head,
Glittern’ ‘long the timber-line–
Shine out some, and then un-shine,
And shine back–Then, stiddy! whizz!
‘N there yer Mr. Painter is
With a hole bored spang between
Them-air eyes! Er start Chasteen,
Say, on blooded racin’-stock,
Ef you want to hear him talk;
Er tobacker–how to raise,
Store, and k-yore it, so’s she pays:
The old lady–and she’ll cote
Scriptur’ tel she’ll git yer vote!

Prove to you ‘at wrong is right,
Jes as plain as black is white:
Prove when you’re asleep in bed
You’re a-standin’ on yer head,
And yer train ‘at’s goin’ West,
‘S goin’ East its level best;
And when bees dies, it’s their wings
Wears out–and a thousand things!
And the boys is “chips,” you know;
“Off the old block”–So I go
To the Wigginses, ’cause–jes
‘Cause I like the Wigginses–
Even ef Melviney she
Hardly ‘pears to notice me!

Rid to Chinkypin this week–
Yisterd’y.–No snow to speak
Of, and didn’t have no sleigh
Anyhow; so, as I say,
I rid in–and froze one ear
And both heels–and I don’t keer!–
“Mother and the girls kin jes
Bother ’bout their Chris’mases
Next time fer theirse’vs, I jack!”
Thinks-says-I, a-startin’ back,–
Whole durn meal-bag full of things
Wrapped in paper-sacks, and strings
Liable to snap their holt
Jes at any little jolt!
That in front o’ me, and wind
With nicks in it, ‘at jes skinned
Me alive!–I’m here to say
Nine mile’ hossback thataway
Would a-walked my log! But, as
Somepin’ allus comes to pass,
As I topped old Guthrie’s hill.
Saw a buggy, front the ‘Still,
P’inted home’ards, and a thin
Little chap jes climbin’ in.
Six more minutes I were there
On the groun’s’–And course it were–
It were little Poke–and he
Nearly fainted to see me!–
“You ben in to Chinky, too?”
“Yes; and go’ ride back with you,”
I-says-I. He he’pped me find
Room fer my things in behind–
Stript my hoss’s reins down, and
Put his mitt’ on the right hand
So’s to lead–“Pile in!” says he,
“But you ‘ve struck pore company!”
Noticed he was pale–looked sick,
Kindo-like, and had a quick
Way o’ flickin’ them-air eyes
0′ his roun’ ‘at didn’t size
Up right with his usual style–
s’ I, “You well?” He tried to smile,
But his chin shuck and tears come.–
“I’ve run ‘Viney ‘way from home!”