"Anybody can git
these here green feller's money; them's the sort I'm a-gwine to watch
for myself. Here's what kin fix the papers jist about as nice as
anybody."
"Well, it's no use to argify about the matter," said old Jed-diah. "What
saith the Scriptur'? 'He that begetteth a fool, doeth it to his sorrow.'
Hence, Simon, you're a poor, misubble fool,--so cross your hands!"
"You'd jist as well not, daddy; I tell you I'm gwine to follow playin'
cards for a livin', and what's the use o' bangin' a feller about it? I'm
as smart as any of 'em, and Bob Smith says them Augusty fellers can't
make rent off o' me."
The Reverend Mr. Suggs had once in his life gone to Augusta; an extent
of travel which in those days was a little unusual. His consideration
among his neighbors was considerably increased by the circumstance, as
he had all the benefit of the popular inference that no man could visit
the city of Augusta without acquiring a vast superiority over all his
untraveled neighbors, in every department of human knowledge. Mr. Suggs,
then, very naturally, felt ineffably indignant that an individual who
had never seen any collection of human habitations larger than a
log-house village--an individual, in short, no other or better than Bob
Smith--should venture to express an opinion concerning the manners,
customs, or anything else appertaining to, or in any wise connected
with, the _Ultima Thule_ of backwoods Georgians.
Pages:
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104