Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 October 1890 — "PUMPKIN HUSKERS AT THE FAIR.” [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

"PUMPKIN HUSKERS AT THE FAIR.”

BY DOC ZIKLAG.

ELL O, thar, Zebadia, me lad, whar air yew goin tew this fine mornin ? Not down tew the cattle show, air yew? Them air city chaps will dew yew up in fine stile es yew go down thar. Take my advice, Zebadia, an jist yew keep wey frum thet air cattle show.” , “Wall, Onkle

Si, I wis jist kaklating tew take m ther show, yer know. Ther folks hereabout dew say its goin tew be a great big grand affair. I doan kere a snap of my big toe fer all them air city doodes. If they dew take hole on me, theyll find eout thet Zebadia Pumpkin am putty hendy wi his paws.” “Wall, Zebadia, on coorse yew know what yew kin dew, but es I wus yew I wood give it tew em in good stile.” “In coorse I’ll dew es yew sav, onkle.” “Wall, es yew air goin’ jist git in ther hine en’ of ther wagin, but dew look out fer Malinda’s heels; she’s a powerful bad critter tew have her forward heels in the air.” “Yew jist bet yer ole overalls I’ll take kere not tew git histed by thet ole jade’s hoofs.” This dialogue, w'hich had just taken place, was between two countrymen by the name of Silas Bluegrass and his nephew, Zebadia Pumpkin. They were driving along a muddy road in southern Vermont. The Skunks Flat cattle show always drew a very large crowd of farmers, city dudes, and fakirs. The farmers generally turned out with a full hand, as it were, doing their level best to make the Skunks Flat cattle show thia grandest and best in all Vermont. They always brought in wagon-loads of vegetables, butter, eggs, corn, potatoes, and kids. The last-named article is the finest of all of a farmer’s products, and always does justice to his share of the show. A cattle show would surely be a very tame affair if it were not for the kids. They furnish the music. But to resume the thread of our narrative. Zebadia and his uncle Si arrived safe at Skunks Flats, and after putting up their horse-frame proceeded to the fair grounds. Here a goodly number of Vermont’s best and strongest pumpkin-huskershad gathered, and they were discussing the cornfield topics of the day. Zebadia Pumpkin, Esq., was the fly man of the day, ;s it were. He was dressed in flashy style, and altogether was a pretty good specimen of a country dude. He mingled with the crowd and talked about almost everything under the sqn, from a dog-fight up to a divorce case.

To tell the truth, there were no flies on Zebadia. I wouldn’t have anything to with the miserable animal that would light on Zeb anyway. Zebadia finally took a notion into his head to eat some ice eream, and, putting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a rusty-looking old pocketbook, taking therefrom a couble of dimes. He thought that if he could only find his girl he would be fixed. He hunted and looked around the grounds some time for his petticoated friend, but was not successful in finding her. At last, as he was about to give up the hunt in despair, he saw her standing just across the street, leaning on the arm of his most bitter and hated enemy, Gus Crabtree. Zebadia was so confounded hot for a time that he did not know whether he was a man or a monkey. Gus Crabtree had for a lopg time tormented his less successful rival, Zeb. But Zeb resolved to knock the tar cut of Gus. He thought if he gave him a good pounding it would wipe out an old score, as well as this last offense. With this resolve uppermost in his mind, he crossed the street to where his love was standing with Gus. When within four or five feet from the latter, he made a bold dash for him. Gus at first was taken by surprise, but on recovering his wits and nerves he sailed into Zeb, making the wool fly in all directions. First he basted him in the neck, then planted a couple of stunners on the poor hayseed’s nose, causing the crimson fluid to flow freely. Zebadia saw he was getting the worst of it, and gave forth loud cries of “Let me ’lone, Gus Crabtree, or I’ll —l’ll tell my maw.” But Zeb’s blubbering cries seemed to have no effect on Gus whatever, for he continued to give it to him in true pugilistic style. By some way or another Gus tripped and fell. Zeb, seeing this, made a bulllike rush at the fallen man and, lighting plump on his back, commenced yelling loud enough to be heard a mile away. “Howlin’ tomcats, but ain’t I er goin’ tew give it tew yew neow, though 1” Gus, with a superhuman effort, succeeded in throwing Zeb; the latter sailed through space for a short time, then came down, as was quite natural, on the pavement all in a heap. When he struck the fall made a noise that was heard for a square around. Zeb was not done up yet. On, no; he was somewhat disfigured, but still in the ring. For a space of ten minutes the air was filled with curses and yells. The air was so blue that many people thought we were going to have another dark day. On regaining his feet, Zeb made a mad rush for what he supposed was his rival, but which proved to be a lamppost. I do not blame Zeb for supposing a lamp-post to be a human, for the poor fellow could scarcely see out of either eye. But the way he pounded that lamp-post was a caution to cats. Zeb’s fighting mood was suddenly interrupted, and in a most surprising manner. His uncle Si, hearing his loud cries, at once suspected the cause, and, getting his old horse-frame hook-

ed into the rickety wagon, drove directly to the spot where poor Zeb was franticaHy hitting the lamp-post. Si jumped out of the wagon, and, seizing a cart stake, proceeded to give it to Zeb across the bosom of his trousers. After pounding the poor boy into insensibility, he tumbled him into the wagon and drove back to the old farm. At the latter place, kind reader, I left poor Zeb. He was sitting propped up in bed, nursing a badly swollen eye, while his “maw” was feeding him gruel with a teaspoon. In aU probability Mr. Zebadia Pumpkin will not sit down to the table to eat his meals for many weary weeks to come.