Only page of title Very Easy
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inquiry. "See him down there in the bottom, 'ith all th' other uns on
top of him. Thist watch him now, an' you kin see him pant. I kin. Yes,
an' I got a beetle 'at's purt' nigh alive, too -- on'y he can't pull in
his other wings. See 'em? " continued the boy, with growing enthusiasm,
twirling the big-mouthed bottle like a kaleidoscope. "Hate beetles!
'cause they allus act so big, an' make s'much fuss about theirselves,
an' don't know nothin' neither! Bet ef I had as many wings as a beetle
I wouldn't let no boy my size knock the stuffin' out o' me with no
bunch o' weeds, like I done him!"
Judkins suggestively. "Snake-feeders has got about enough wings to
suit you, ef you want more'n one pair, and ever' day's a picnic with a
snake-feeder, you know. Nothin' to do but jes' loaf up and down the
crick, and roost on reeds and cat-tails, er fool around a feller's
fish-line and light on the cork and bob up and down with it till she
goes clean under, don't you know?"
they gits gobbled up, first thing they know, by these 'ere big green
bullfrogs ut they can't ever tell from the skum till they've lit right
in their mouth -- and then they're goners! No, sir; " continued the boy,
drawing an extra quinine-bottle from another pocket, and holding it up
admiringly before his father's eyes: "There's the feller in there ut
I'd ruther be than have a pony!"
to no harm while I own him! " and as the little fellow spoke his face
glowed with positive affection, and the twinkle of his eyes, as he
continued, seemed wonderfully like his father's own. "Tell you, I like
spiders! Spiders is awful fat -- all but their head -- and that's level,
you kin bet! Flies hain't got no business with a spider. Ef a spider
ever reaches fer a fly, he's his meat! The spider, he likes to loaf
an' lay around in the shade an' wait fer flies an' bugs an' things to
come a-foolin' round his place. He lays back in the hole in the corner
of his web, an' waits till somepin' lights on it an' nen when he hears
'em buzzin', he thist crawls out an' fixes 'em so's they can't buzz,
an' he's got the truck to do it with! I bet ef you'd unwind all the
web-stuff out of thist one little spider not bigger'n a pill, it 'ud
be long enough fer a kite-string! Onc't they wuz one in our
wood-house, an' a taterbug got stuck in his web, an' the spider worked
purt' nigh two days 'fore he got him so's he couldn't move. Nen he
couldn't eat him neither -- 'cause they's shells on 'em, you know, an'
the spider didn't know how to hull him. Ever' time I'd go there the
spider, he'd be a-wrappin' more stuff around th' ole bug, an' stoopin'
down like he wuz a-whisperin' to him. An' one day I went in ag'in, an'
he was a-hangin', alas an' cold in death! An' I poked him with a
splinter an' his web broke off -- 'spect he'd used it all up on the
wicked bug -- an' it killed him; an' I buried him in a' ink-bottle an'
mashed the old bug 'ith a chip!"
real zest and enjoyment his face must have betrayed; "yes, and some
day you'll come home p'izened, er somepin'! And I want to say right
here, my young man, ef ever you do, and it don't kill you, I'll lint
you within an inch of your life! " And as the eccentric Mr. Judkins
whirled around the corner of the porch he heard the boy murmur in his
low, absent-minded way, "Yes, you will!"
that boy of his was "the blamedest boy outside o' the annals o'
history! " "Talk about this boy-naturalist out here at Indianapolis,"
says Judkins, -- "w'y, he ain't nowhere to my boy! The little cuss don't
do nothin' either only set around and look sleepy, and dern him, he
gits off more dry things than you could print in your paper. Of late
he's been a-displayin' a sort o' weakness fer Nature, don't you know;
and he's allus got a bottle o' bugs in his pocket. He come home
yesterday evening with a blame' mud-turtle as big as an unabridged
dictionary, and turned him over in the back yard and commenced biffin'
away at him with a hammer and a cold-chisel. 'W'y, you're a-killin'
the turtle,' says I. 'Kill nothin'! ' says he, 'I'm thist a-takin' the
lid off so's I can see his clock works. ' Hoomh! " says Judkins: "He's a
good one! -- only," he added, "I wouldn't have the _boy_ think so fer the
world!"
bait. If a mud-turtle gits your big toe in his mouth he will hang on
till it thunders. Then he will spit it out like he was disgusted. The
mud-turtle kin swim and keep his chin out of water ef he wants to but
he don't care ef he does sink. The turtle kin stay under water until
his next birthday, an' never crack a smile. He kin breathe like a
grown person, but he don't haf to, on'y when he is on dry land, an'
then I guess he thist does it to be soshibul. Allus when you see
bubbles a-comin' up in the swimmin' hole, you kin bet your galluses
they's a mud-turtle a-layin' down there, studyin' up some cheap way to
git his dinner. Mud-turtles never dies, on'y when they make soup out
of 'em. They is seven kinds of meat in the turtle, but I'd ruther eat
thist plain burnt liver.
tadpoles about as big as lickerish drops, an' after while legs growed
on 'em. Oh, let us love the frog -- he looks so sorry. Frogs kin swim
better'n little boys, and they don't haf to hold their nose when they
dive, neither. Onc't I had a pet frog; an' the cars run over him. It
thist squshed him. Bet he never knowed what hurt him! Onc't they wuz a
rich lady swallered one -- when he wuz little, you know; an' he growed
up in her, an' it didn't kill him ut all. An' you could hear him
holler in her bosom. It was a tree-toad; and so ever' time he'd go
p-r-r-r-r- w'y, nen the grand lady she'd know it was goin' to rain,
an' make her little boy run an' putt the tub under the spout. Wasn't
that a b'utiful frog?
nothin'. Ef ever you insult a pirut onc't, he'll foller you to the
grave but what he will revenge his wrongs. Piruts all looks like
pictures of "Buffalo Bill" -- on'y they don't shave off the whiskers
that sticks out over the collar of their low-necked shirt. Ever' day
is a picknick fer the piruts of the high seas. They eat gunpowder an'
drink blood to make 'em savage, and then they kill people all day, an'
set up all night an' tell ghost stories an' sing songs such as mortal
ear would quail to listen to. Piruts never comes on shore on'y when
they run out of tobacker; an' then it's a cold day ef they don't land
at midnight, an' disguize theirselves an' slip up in town like a
sleuth houn', so's the Grand Jury can't git on to 'em. They don't care
fer the police any more than us people who dwells right in their
midst. Piruts makes big wages an' spends it like a king. "Come easy,
go easy," is the fatal watchword of them whose deeds is Deth. Onc't
they wuz a pirut turned out of the house an' home by his cruel parents
when he wuz but a kid, an' so he always went by that name. He was
thrust adrift without a nickel, an' sailed fer distant shores to hide
his shame fer those he loved. In the dead of night he stol'd a new
suit of the captain's clothes. An' when he growed up big enough to fit
'em, he gaily dressed hissef and went up an' paced the quarter-deck in
deep thought.
to the jib-boom-poop an' whipped him. That stung his proud spirit even
then; an' so the first thing he done was to slip up behind the cruel
officer an' push him over-board. Then the ship wuz his fer better er
fer worse. An' so he took command, an' hung high upon the beetling
mast the pirut flag. Then he took the Bible his old mother give him,
an' tied a darnic round it an' sunk it in the sand with a mocking
laugh. Then it wuz that he wuz ready fer the pirut's wild seafaring
life. He worked the business fer all they wuz in it fer many years,
but wuz run in ut last. An', standin' on the gallus-tree, he sung a
song which wuz all wrote off by hissef. An' then they knocked the trap
on him. An' thus the brave man died and never made a kick. In life he
wuz allus careful with his means, an' saved up vast welth, which he
dug holes and buried, an' died with the secret locked in his bosom to
this day.
to do but look hump-shouldered an' chaw tobacker an' wait. Hackmens
all looks like detectives, an' keeps still, an' never even spits when
you walk past 'em. An' they're allus cold. A hackman that stands high
in the p'fession kin wear a overcoat in dog-days an' then look chilly
an' like his folks wuz all dead but the old man, an' he wuz a
drunkard. Ef a hackman would on'y be a blind fiddler he'd take in more
money than a fair-ground. Hackmens never gives nothin' away. You kin
trust a hackman when you can't trust your own mother. Some people
thinks when they hire a hack to take 'em some place that the hackman
has got some grudge ag'in' 'em -- but he hain't -- he's allus that way. He
loves you but he knows his place, and smothers his real feelings. In
life's giddy scenes hackmens all wears a mask; but down deep in their
heart you kin bet they are yourn till deth. Some hackmens look like
they wuz stuck up, but they hain't -- it's only 'cause they got on so
much clothes. Onc't a hackman wuz stabbed by a friend of his in the
same bizness, an' when the doctors wuz seein' how bad he wuz karved
up, they found he had on five shurts. They said that wuz all that
saved his life. They said ef he'd on'y had on four shurts, he'd 'a'
been a ded man. An' the hackman hissef, when he got well, used to brag
it wuz the closetest call he ever had, an' laid fer the other hackman,
an' hit him with a car couplin' an' killed him, an' come mighty nigh
goin' to the penitenchary fer it. Influenshal friends wuz all that
saved him that time.
that when he let him off, an' brought down the house, an' made hissef
a strong man fer another term. Some mayors is purty slick, but a
humble hackman may sometimes turn out to be thist as smooth. The on'y
thing w'y a hackman don't show up no better is 'cause he loses so much
sleep. That's why he allus looks like he had the headache, an' didn't
care ef he did. Onc't a hackman wuz waitin' in front of a hotel one
morning an' wuz sort o' dozin' like, an' fell off his seat. An' they
run an' picked him up, an' he wuz unconshus, an' they worked with him
till 'way long in the afternoon 'fore they found out he wuz thist
asleep; an' he cussed fearful cause they waked him up, an' wondered
why people couldn't never tend to their own bizness like he did.
an' artists makes pictures of 'em; an' the on'y ones in the wide world
that stuck on Dudes is me an' the Dudes theirse'f, an' we love an'
cherish 'em with all a parent's fond regards. An' nobody knows much
about Dudes neither, 'cause they hain't been broke out long enough yit
to tell thist what the disease is. Some say it's softinning of the
brains, an' others claim it can't be that, on the groun's they hain't
got material fer the softinning to work on, &c., &c., till even
"Sientests is puzzled," as the good book says. An' ef I wuz a-goin' to
say what ails Dudes I'd have to give it up, er pernounce it a'
aggervated case of Tyfoid blues, which is my 'onnest convictions.
That's what makes me kind o' stand in with 'em -- same as ef they wuz
the under-dog. I am willing to aknolege that Dudes has their weakness,
but so has ever'thing. Even Oscar Wild, ef putt to the test; an' I
allus feel sorry fer George Washington 'cause he died 'fore he got to
see Oscar Wild. An' then another reason w'y you oughten't to jump on
to Dudes is, they don't know what's the matter with 'em any more than
us folks in whom they come in daily contack. Dudes all walks an' looks
in the face like they wuz on their way to fill an engagement with a
revolvin' lady wax-figger in some milliner-winder, an' had fergot the
number of her place of bizness. Some folks is mean enough to bitterly
a'sert that Dudes is strained in their manner an' fools from choice;
but they ain't. It's a gift -- Dudes is Geenuses -- that's what Dudes is!
they'd throw it up to him. An' when they'd laugh at his red hed, an'
ast him fer a light, er wuzn't he afeard he'd singe his cap, an' orto'
wear a tin hat, er pertend to warm their hands by him, -- w'y, sometimes
the red-hedded boy'd git purty hot indeed; an' onc't he told another
boy that wuz a-bafflin' him about his red hair that ef he wuz him he'd
git a fine comb an' go to canvassin' his own hed, and then he'd be
liabul to sceer up a more livelier subjeck to talk about than red
hair. An' then the other boy says, "You're a liar" an' that got the
red-hedded boy into more trouble; fer the old man whipped him
shameful' fer breakin' up soil with the other boy. An' this here
red-hedded boy had freckles, too. An' warts. An' nobody ortn't to 'a'
jumpt on to him fer that. Ef anybody wuz a red-hedded boy they'd have
also warts an' freckles -- an' thist red-hair's bad enough. Onc't
another boy told him ef he wuz him he bet he could make a big day look
sick some night. An' when the red-hedded boy says "How? " w'y, the
other boy he says "Easy enough. I'd thist march around bare-hedded in
the torch-light p'cession. " -- "Yes, you would," says the red-hedded
boy, an' pasted him one with a shinny club, an' got dispelled from
school 'cause he wuz so high-tempered an' impulsiv. Ef I wuz the
red-hedded boy I'd be a pirut; but he allus said he wuz goin' to be a
baker.
Judkins, "and I'll tell you w'y: They've natur'lly got a better focus
on things than a man would ever guess -- studyin' their eyes, you
understand. A man may think he's a-foolin' a cross-eyed girl simply
because she's apparently got her eyes tangled on other topics as he's
a-talkin' to her, but at the same time that girl may be a-lookin' down
the windin' stairway of the cellar of his soul with one eye, and
a-winkin' in a whisper to her own soul with the other, and her
unconscious victim jes' a-takin' it fer granted that nothin' is the
matter with the girl, only jes' cross-eyes! You see I've studied 'em,"
continued Judkins, "and I'm on to one fact dead sure -- and that is,
their natures is as deceivin' as their eyes is! Knowed one onc't that
had her eyes mixed up thataway -- sensitive little thing she was, and
always referrin' to her 'misfortune,' as she called it, and eternally
threatenin' to have some surgeon straighten 'em out like other
folks' -- and, sir, that girl so worked on my feelin's, and took such
underholts on my sympathies that, blame me, before I knowed it I
confessed to her that ef it hadn't 'a' been fer her defective eyes (I
made it 'defective') I never would have thought of lovin' her, and,
furthermore ef ever she did have 'em changed back normal, don't you
understand, she might consider our engagement at an end -- I did,
honest. And that girl was so absolute cross-eyed it warped her ears,
and she used to amuse herself by watchin' 'em curl up as I'd be
a-talkin' to her, and that maddened me, 'cause I'm natur'lly of a
jealous disposition, you know, and so, at last, I jes' casually hinted
that ef she was really a-goin' to git them eyes carpentered up, w'y
she'd better git at it: and that ended it.
that had a better pair of eyes than mine this minute! Then I struck
another cross-eyed girl -- not really a legitimate case, 'cause, in
reality, she only had one off eye -- the right eye, ef I don't
disremember -- the other one was as square as a gouge. And that girl
was, ef any difference, a more confusin' case than the other, and
besides all that, she had some money in her own right, and warn't
a-throwin' off no big discount on one game eye. But I finally got her
interested, and I reckon something serious might 'a' come of it -- but,
you see, her father was dead, and her stepmother sort o' shet down on
my comin' to the house; besides that, she had three grown uncles, and
you know how uncles is. I didn't want to marry no family, of course,
and so I slid out of the scheme, and tackled a poor girl that clerked
in a post-office. Her eyes was bad! I never did git the hang of them
eyes of hern. She had purty hair, and a complexion, I used to tell
her, which outrivalled the rose. But them eyes, you know! I didn't
really appreciate how bad they was crossed, at first. You see, it took
time. Got her to give me her picture, and I used to cipher on that,
but finally worked her off on a young friend of mine who wanted to
marry intellect -- give her a good send-off to him -- and she was
smart -- only them eyes, you know! Why, that girl could read a postal
card, both sides at once, and smile at a personal friend through the
office window at the same time!"
as he said: "Referrin' to this thing of bein' homesick, I want to
say right here that of all diseases, afflictions er complaints, this
thing of bein' homesick takes the cookies! A man may think when he's
got a' aggrivated case of janders, er white-swellin', say, er
bone-erysipelas, that he's to be looked up to as bein' purty well
fixed in this vale of trouble and unrest, but I want to tell you, when
I want my sorrow blood-raw, don't you understand, you may give me
homesickness -- straight goods, you know -- and I'll git more clean,
legitimate agony out of that than you can out of either of the other
attractions -- yes, er even ef you'd ring in the full combination on me!
You see, there's no way of treatin' homesickness only one -- and that is
to git back home -- but as that's a remedy you can't git at no drug
store, at so much per box -- and ef you could, fer instance, and only
had enough ready money anyhow to cover half the cost of a full
box -- and nothin' but a full box ever reached the case -- w'y, it follers
that your condition still remains critical. And homesickness don't
show no favors. It's jes' as liable to strike you as me. High er low,
er rich er poor, all comes under her jurishdiction, and whenever she
once reaches fer a citizen, you can jes' bet she gits there Eli, ever'
time!
children either, but she stalks abroad like a census-taker, and is as
conscientious. She visits the city girl clean up to Maxinkuckee, and
makes her wonder how things really is back home without her. And then
she haunts her dreams, and wakes her up at all hours of the night, and
sings old songs over fer her, and talks to her in low thrillin' tones
of a young man whose salary ain't near big enough fer two; and then
she leaves her photograph with her and comes away, and makes it lively
fer the boys on the train, the conductor, the brakeman and the
engineer. She even nests out the travellin' man, and yanks him out of
his reclinin' chair, and walks him up and down the car, and runs him
clean out of cigars and finecut, and smiles to hear him swear. Then
she gits off at little country stations and touches up the night
operator, who grumbles at his boy companion, and wishes to dernation
'six' was in, so's he could 'pound his ear.'
homesickness I had, and the cure I took fer it. 'Tain't been more'n a
week ago neither. You see my old home is a'most too many laps from
this base to make it very often, and in consequence I hadn't been
there fer five years and better, till this last trip, when I jes'
succumbed to the pressure, and th'owed up my hands and went. Seemed
like I'd 'a' died if I hadn't. And it was glorious to rack around the
old town again -- things lookin' jes' the same, mighty nigh, as they was
when I was a boy, don't you know. Run acrost an old schoolmate, too,
and tuck supper at his happy little home, and then we got us a good
nickel cigar, and walked and walked, and talked and talked! Tuck me
all around, you understand, in the meller twilight -- till, the first
thing you know, there stood the old schoolhouse where me and him first
learnt to chew tobacco, and all that! Well, sir! you hain't got no
idea of the feelin's that was mine! W'y, I felt like I could th'ow my
arms around the dear old buildin' and squeeze it till the cupolo would
jes' pop out of the top of the roof like the core out of a b'ile! And
I think if they ever was a' epoch in my life when I could 'a' tackled
poetry without no compunctions, as the feller says, w'y, then was the
time -- shore! "
End of title
