Afterwhiles Part 12

Well--! What was Mother cryin' fer--?

I half riz up-- but Marg'et's chin Hit squared-- an' I set down ag'in-- I allus was afeard o' her, I was, by jucks! So there I set, Betwixt a sinkin'-chill an' sweat, An' scuffled with my wrath, an' shet My teeth to mighty tight, you bet!

An' yit, fer all that I could do, I eeched to jes git up an' whet The carvin'-knife a rasp er two On Tomps's ribs-- an' so would you--!

Fer he had riz an' faced around, An' stood there, smilin', as they brung The turkey in, all stuffed an' browned-- Too sweet fer nose, er tooth, er tongue!

With sniffs o' sage, an' p'r'aps a dash Of old burnt brandy, steamin'-hot Mixed kindo' in with apple-mash An' mince-meat, an' the Lord knows what!

n.o.body was a-talkin' then, To 'filiate any awk'ardness-- No noise o' any kind but jes The rattle o' the dishes when They'd fetch 'em in an' set 'em down, An' fix an' change 'em round an' round, Like women does-- till Mother says--, "Vittels is ready; Abner, call Down S'repty-- she's up-stairs, I guess--."

And Marg'et she says, "Ef you bawl Like that, she'll not come down at all!

Besides, we needn't wait till she Gits down! Here Temps, set down by me, An' Pap: say grace...!" Well, there I was--!

What could I do! I drapped my head Behind my fists an' groaned; an' said--: "Indulgent Parent! In Thy cause We bow the head an' bend the knee An' break the bread, an' pour the wine, Feelin'--" (The stair-door suddently Went bang! An' S'repty flounced by me--) "Feelin'," I says, "this feast is Thine-- This New Year's feast--" an' rap-rap-rap!

Went Marg'ets case-knife on her plate-- An' next, I heerd a sa.s.ser drap--, Then I looked up, an' strange to state, There S'repty set in Tomps lap-- An' huggin' him, as sh.o.r.e as fate!

An' Mother kissin' him k-slap!

An' Marg'et-- she chips in to drap The ruther peert remark to me--: "That 'grace' o' yourn," she says, "won't 'gee'-- This hain't no 'New Year's feast,'" says she--, "This is a' Infair-Dinner, Pap!"

An' so it was--! Be'n married fer Purt' nigh a week--! 'Twas Marg'et planned The whole thing fer 'em, through an' through.

I'm rickonciled; an' understand, I take things jes as they occur--, Ef Marg'et liked Tomps, Tomps 'ud do--!

But I-says-I, a-holt his hand--, "I'm glad you didn't marry Her-- 'Cause Marg'et's my guardeen-- yes-sir--!

An' S'repty's good enough fer you!"

_The Town Karnteel_

The Town Karnteel--! It's who'll reveal Its praises jushtifiable?

For who can sing av anything So lovely and reliable?

Whin Summer, Spring, or Winter lies From Malin's Head to Tipperary, There's no such town for interprise Bechuxt Youghal and Londonderry!

There's not its likes in Ireland-- For twic't the week, be gorries!

They're playing jigs upon the band, And joomping there in sacks-- and-- and-- And racing, wid wheelborries!

Kanteel-- it's there, like any fair, The purty gurrls is plinty, sure--!

And man-alive! At forty-five The leg's av me air twinty, sure!

I lave me cares, and hoein' too, Behint me, as is sinsible, And it's Karnteel I'm goin' to, To cilebrate in principle!

For there's the town av all the land!

And twic't the week, be-gorries!

They're playing jigs upon the band, And joomping there in sacks-- and-- and-- And racing, wid wheelborries!

And whilst I feel for owld Karnteel That I've no phrases glorious, It stands above the need av love That boasts in voice uproarious--!

Lave that for Cork, and Dublin too, And Armagh and Killarney thin--, And Karnteel won't be troublin' you Wid any jilous blarney, thin!

For there's the town av all the land Where twic't the week, be-gorries!

They're playing jigs upon the band, And joomping there in sacks-- and-- and-- And racing, wid wheelborries!

_Regardin' Terry Hut_

Sence I tuk holt o' Gibbses' Churn And be'n a-handlin' the concern, I've travelled round the grand old State Of Indiany, lots, o' late--!

I've canva.s.sed Crawferdsville and sweat Around the town o' Layfayette; I've saw a many a County-seat I ust to think was hard to beat: At constant dreenage and expense I've worked Greencastle and Vincennes-- Drapped out o' Putnam into Clay, Owen, and on down thataway Plum into Knox, on the back-track Fer home ag'in-- and glad I'm back--!

I've saw these towns, as I say-- but They's none 'at beats old Terry Hut!

It's more'n likely you'll insist I claim this 'cause I'm prejudist, Bein' born'd here in ole Vygo In sight o' Terry Hut--; but no, Yer clean dead wrong--! And I maintain They's nary drap in ary vein O' mine but what's as free as air To jest take issue with you there--!

'Cause, boy and man, fer forty year, I've argied ag'inst livin' here, And jawed around and traded lies About our lack o' enterprise, And tuk and turned in and agreed All other towns was in the lead, When-- drat my melts--! They couldn't cut No shine a-tall with Terry Hut!

Take even, statesmanship, and wit, And ginerel git-up-and-git, Old Terry Hut is sound clean through--!

Turn old d.i.c.k Thompson loose, er Dan Vorehees-- and where's they any man Kin even hold a candle to Their eloquence--? And where's as clean A fi-nan-seer as Rile' McKeen-- Er puorer, in his daily walk, In railroad er in racin' stock!

And there's 'Gene Debs-- a man 'at stands And jest holds out in his two hands As warm a heart as ever beat Betwixt here and the Jedgement Seat--!

All these is reasons why I putt Sich bulk o' faith in Terry Hut.

So I've come back, with eyes 'at sees My faults, at last--, to make my peace With this old place, and truthful' swear-- Like Gineral Tom Nelson does--, "They hain't no city anywhere On G.o.d's green earth lays over us!"

Our city government is grand-- "Ner is they better farmin'-land Sun-kissed--" as Tom goes on and says-- "Er dower'd with sich advantages!"

And I've come back, with welcome tread, From journeyin's vain, as I have said, To settle down in ca'm content, And cuss the towns where I have went, And brag on ourn, and boast and strut Around the streets o' Terry Hut!

_Leedle Dutch Baby_

Leedle Dutch baby haff come ter town!

Jabber und jump till der day gone down-- Jabber und sphlutter und sphlit hees jaws-- Vot a Dutch baby dees Londsmon vas!

I d.i.n.k dose mout' vas leedle too vide Ober he laugh fon dot altso-side!

Haff got blenty off deemple und vrown--?

Hey! Leedle Dutchman come ter town!

Leedle Dutch baby, I d.i.n.k me proud Ober your fader can schquall dot loud Ven he vas leedle Dutch baby like you Und yoost don't gare, like he alvays do--!

Guess ven dey vean him on beer, you bet Dot's der because dot he aind veaned yet--!

Vot you said off he dringk you down--?

Hey! Leedle Dutchman come ter town!

Leedle Dutch baby, yoost schquall avay-- Schquall fon preakfast till gisterday!

Better you all time gry und shout Dan shmile me vonce fon der coffin out!

Vot I gare off you keek my nose Downside-up mit your heels und toes-- Downside, oder der oopside-down--?

Hey! Leedle Dutchman come ter town!

_Down On Wriggle Crick_

"Best time to kill a hog's when he's fat." --Old Saw.

Mostly folks is law-abidin'

Down on Wriggle Crick--, Seein' they's no Squire residin'

In our bailywick; No grand juries, no suppeenies, Ner no vested rights to pick Out yer man, jerk up and jail ef He's outragin' Wriggle Crick!

Wriggle Crick hain't got no lawin', Ner no suits to beat; Ner no court-house gee-and-hawin'

Like a County-seat; Hain't no waitin' round fer verd.i.c.k, Ner non-gittin' witness-fees; Ner no thiefs 'at gits "new heain's,"

By some lawyer slick as grease!

Wriggle Cricks's leadin' spirit Is old Johnts Culwell--, Keeps post-office, and right near it Owns what's called "The Grand Hotel--"

(Warehouse now--) buys wheat and ships it; Gits out ties, and trades in stock, And knows all the high-toned drummers 'Twixt South Bend and Mishawauk'

Last year comes along a feller-- Sharper 'an a lance-- Stovepipe-hat and silk umbreller, And a boughten all-wool pants--, Tinkerin of clocks and watches: Says a trial's all he wants-- And rents out the tavern-office Next to Uncle Johnts.

Well--. He tacked up his k'dentials, And got down to biz--.