People's Pilot, Volume 6, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 July 1896 — A LOST COURTESY. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A LOST COURTESY.

They were a group of choice spirits and they gathered daily in the same place, in summer beneath the widespreading boughs of a pride of India, and in winter before the hearth in the dingy little office of Squire Brice. The aforesaid boughs shaded the door of the aforesaid office, and as the same choice spirits met every day, or rather lounged all day, naturally many questions were broached and exhaustively discussed among them. They were speaking of politeness one day, each man giving his opinion of the quality of true politeness. The subject had been widely discussed and began to dwindle, when one of the group, who had been a silent listener, revived it with an observation, giving his personal reasons why too much of a good thing can be just as bad as a paucity of well-being. “Yassir,” observed Jere Dlnkim, the last speaker, stepping from behind the fire and lifting the cloth of his hot trousers away from the calves of his spindling legs, “Yassir, gentlemen, perliteness mought be a mighty good thing, but when run to death hit’s wusser’n no manners ,a-tall. That-ar article,” he resumed, looking around the assem-

bly with a glance as of one who thoroughly knew the business, “that-ar article is like a blanket that’s pleg£y big enough in the middle, but too short at both ends. Now,” argumentatively, “I do ’low that perliteness showed toe a ole ’oman ain’t wasted, but I do hold, mighty tight grip, too, that the finest article of perliteness showed toe a gall is not only wasted, but goes pow’ful agin the feller thet shews hit.” There was an interested movement among the crowd and Jere continued, confidentially: "Now, gen’lenmen, lemme tell yer a leetle something about how perliteness toe a gall sometimes hurts a feller. A right smart while ago, when I was a-livin’ over toe the Haslett settlement, I fell mightily in love with a gall. She was pow’ful purty—ess head-sw’immin’, she was so purty. I wanted toe ax her toe marry me, but dinged if a tremblin’ didn’t grab me by the knees every time I tried toe spit out the words, an’ my jaw’d jess drap same’s a yaller dawg’s w’en he’s a-beggin fer craoklins. But dinged es my chaps wouldn’t git that dry that ’sted o’ speakin’ hit out, a’ter I got as far even as toe ’low ‘Miss Rose,’ I’d just beg for a gourd o’ water, whichar ’peared I bust es I didn’t "Well, thar was another feller a-goin’ ter see her, a-hangin’ ’roun’,- castin’ sheeps-eyes an’ the lak, a sort of dandyish buck named Critchett —Ike Critchett. An’ you kin’ just bet hit was nip an’ tuck ’twixt me an’ that-ar Critchett, I ’low toe you’uns. We didn’t git mad—leastwise, I didn’t, but Critchett sort er snorted ’round a bit, talkin’ ’bout satisfaction an’ sich, an’ one day he did Tow thet a dewel was tef be fit betwix’ us befo’ night. “Well,” retrospectively, f’om sartln signs I seed I knowed the gall’s jedgment was a-waverin’, and seed at the same time that hit wouldn’t take much on nuther side ter fix ’er, so I jess nachelly didn’t take no notice of Ike’s foolishness. “Hit happened thisser-way,” Jere continued, warming to his story. “Enjurin’ that summer, the biggest campmeetin’ that ever was held in the Haslett settlement was a gwyne on, an’ of cose Miss Rose an’ her folks, bein’ perfessers mostly, was all thar. Thar was a pow’ful sight er folks that claimed kin with the gall, an’ some of ’em was fer me and some of ’em was fer Critchett. Betwix’ the singin’ an’ the prayin’ we seed a heap of Miss Rose —that is toe say, we run neck an’ neck. When I war thar, Critchett he was thar, an’ when Critchett war thar, why, I follered right erlong. “Miss Rose’s maw was a baptis’—a hardshell —but her paw didn’t profess no religion, nohow, but he come erlong ter th’ meetin’ jus’ ter keep th’ ’omen straight, he sed. But I knowed he’d come jess ter see th’ runnin’ betwix’ me an’ that ’ar sassy shoat, Critchett. The old man he done took me out behind the fodder stack ’fo’ we started, an’ he Towed ter me thet he’d see th’ way things was a-settin’ ’twixt Critchett ’n’ me, an’ he Towed, he did, thet he’d put a bug in Mis§ Rose’s year. But I Towed, ‘No, siree! I don’t want no paw meddlin’ an’ pesterin’ ’bout the gall I’m settin’ up toe, ’kuse I knowed as true as prayin’ that galls ’n’ ’omen was curus critters. A gall an’ a cow is just the same. Feed' ’em fodder outen hand an’ they’ll tramp hit down, but 'head ’em off from a pile of dead wire grass, an’ they’ll climb a ten-rail fence ter git toe hit. Same way with galls, an’ I knowed if Miss Rose’s paw’d tole her toe act pretty toe the man he was ter sort out, the fat ’ud be in the fire, sho. “Well, things was a-gettin’ serious in a religious way with Miss Rose’s hardshell maw toed the las’ of th’ meetin’ an’ one evenin’ we was a-settin’ in a bunch, listenin’ toe th’ preachin’. The ■ol’ lady had done made up her mind toe git religion an’ she was gwine toe git hit mighty strong, an’ she got the idee that hit would be a mighty good thing if she didn’t git sanctified bv

herself, but brung somebody erion fe with her. I was a-settin’ npxt Miss Rose on one side an* Miss Rose’s maw come an’ plumped down by thet misable sinner of a Crltchett an’ commenced a-exhortin’ an’ a-persuadin’ hotter’n a yaller hound on a trial. Crltchett he was afeered toe make the ol’ lady mad, so he set an’ listened an’ ’lowed' ‘Yes’m’ toe everythin, she sed, while I got over ground with Miss Rose. “That-ar made Crltchett madder’h a wet hen*an’ after meet’n’ leetle Bunchy Calley toe tell me thet es I could leave pesterin’ a gall long enough toe pome but in the pine thicket he’d lick me quicker'n/ a houn’ pup can lick a skillet, an’ you know that’s pow’ful quick. We went out in the thicket an’ a lot of the boys was a-waitin’ toe see the fun, an’ without any foolishness we clinched an’ went at hit. We fit fur a leetle an’ both of us was a-gittin’ blowed. My nose was skinned and Critchett’s eye was most gouged out, when here come two preachers an’ half a dozen deacons amblin’ out inter th’ thicket ter break up th’ dewel. “Of course, after we’d fit Crltchett an’ me didn’t speak, but we both kep’ acourtin’ th’ gall. If he went a-walkin’ on one side I was right thar on t’other, an’ th’ purty creetur was as sweet toe me as she war toe him. “Things would a’ come out sooner, but Miss Rose went toe see her married sister In Pineville hn’ stayed till' nigh about Christmas, an’ when she come home some of the young folks got up a barn dance in the schoolhouse for her. As soon as I heard she was home I cut over to see her, thinking I would be thar befo’ Crltchett had done heard she had come, but, bless my soul, when the ol’ lady opened the do’ who was a-sittin’ thar grinhin’ like a ’possum in a holler tree but that sorrel-top ijit, Crltchett, an’ he had done ast her toe let him 'scort her toe th’ barn dance, too.

“I let Crltchett set me out that time, but I done had a scheme I was gwyne toe work on him an’ had toe be lively if I wanted hit toe work smooth. “I hunted up ol’ Abs’lom, th” nigger fiddler, an’, drappin’ a quarter into his ol’ black pam, I ’xplained my idee an’ I tell yer hit worked like new soap. The gall was a-dancin’ oppersite me when the fiddler give out the Agger ter change pardners an’ I jest danced up toe her as keerless an’ gay as a young shoat, an’ when I belt out my hand she give me hern an’ then th’ fiddler, moved by the devil, most likely, forgot toe change us back an’ we danced half the day together. “Well, sub, Satan he put hit into th’ gall’s haid not toe go home with any one of us, but toe snuggle up toe her ol’ daddy when the dance was over. We were a-goin' home on th’ train an’ th’ kyar was crowded, me an’ Critchett asettin’ on th’ same seat. A heap of folks was standin’ up an’ all of a suddin I looked around an’ thar stood our gall. “Now, here was a fix. By gittin’ qp I would be perlite, but hit would give him a mighty fine chance toe do some pleadin’, plastered thar so dost ter her. I studied a minit or two, then Critchett seed her, but wouldn’t move a peg. “At last up I bounces. ‘Miss Rose,’ I says, ‘have this ’ere seat.’ She lauß-hfid sa jnurtv sn’ sot. down A sympathetic glance ran round the company and some one murmured: “Ah, she married Critchett?” “Naw, she didn’t nuther, not by a blamed sight! She married me, an’ es that ’oman ain’t bin a yaller-jacket an’ a torment toe me ever since I don’t want toe eat no mo.” “An’,” mournfully, “the beauty of the question is that es I hadn’t bin so dodgasted perlite she mought hev married Crltchett."

“A YALLER JACKET."