'Mollie Hines
could make that Locksley Hall gent you was readin' from, or even the
party who writes Watt's Hymns, go to the diskyard.' An' then I
repeats some forty of them stanzas, whereof that one I jest now
recites is a speciment.
"What does this pulpit gent say? He see I has him cinched, an' he's
plumb mute. He confines himse'f to turnin' up his nose in disgust
like Bill Storey does when his father-in-law horsewhips him."
Following this, the Old Cattleman and I wrapped ourselves in
thoughtful smoke, for the space of five minutes, as ones who
pondered the genius of "The Nightingale of Big Bone Lick"--Mollie
Hines on the banks of the Possom Trot. At last my friend broke forth
with a question.
"Whoever is them far-off folks you-all was tellin' me is related to
Injuns?"
"The Japanese." I replied. "Undoubtedly the Indians and the Japanese
are of the same stock."
"Which I'm foaled like a mule," said the old gentleman, "a complete
prey to inborn notions ag'in Injuns. I wouldn't have one pesterin'
'round me more'n I'd eat off en the same plate with a snake. I shore
has aversions to 'em a whole lot. Of course, I never sees them Japs,
but I saveys Injuns from feathers to moccasins, an' comparin' Japs
to Injuns, I feels about 'em like old Bill Rawlins says about his
brother Jim's wife.
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