"
"There's a word I've wanted to ask you about more than once," I
said. "What do you mean by 'ornery,' and where do you get it?"
"Where do I get it?" he responded, with a tinge of scorn. "Where do
I rope onto any word? I jest nacherally reaches out an' acquires it
a whole lot, like I do the rest of the language I employs. As for
what it means, I would have allowed that any gent who escapes bein'
as weak-minded as Thompson's colt--an' that cayouse is that imbecile
he used tos wim a river to get a drink--would hesitate with shame to
ask sech questions.
"'Ornery' is a word the meanin' whereof is goin' to depend a heap on
what you brands with it." This was said like an oracle. "Also, the
same means more or less accordin' to who all puts the word in play.
I remembers a mighty decent sort of sport, old Cape Willingham it
is; an' yet Dan Boggs is forever referrin' to old Cape as 'ornery.'
An' I reckon Dan thinks he is. Which the trouble with Cape, from
Dan's standpoint, is this: Cape is one of these yere precise
parties, acc'rate as to all he does, an' plenty partic'lar about his
looks. An Osage buck, paintin' for a dance, wouldn't worry more over
his feachers, an' the way the ocher should be streaked on.
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