'
"'Congenital!' says Dan Boggs, an' his tones is a heap satisfact'ry;
'an' thar's a word that's good enough for a dog. I reckons I'll tie
it down an' brand it into my bunch right yere.'
"'My grandfather,' goes on the Colonel, 'is a Jackson man; from the
top of the deck plumb down to the hock kyard, he's nothin' but
Jackson. This yere attitood of my grandsire, an' him camped in the
swarmin' midst of a Henry Clay country, is frootful of adventures
an' calls for plenty nerve. But the old Spartan goes through.
"'Often as a child, that old gent has done took me on his knee an'
told me how he meets up first with Gen'ral Jackson. He's goin' down
the river in one of them little old steamboats of that day, an' the
boat is shore crowded. My grandfather has to sleep on the floor, as
any more in the bunks would mean a struggle for life an' death.
Thar's plenty of bunkless gents, however, besides him, an' as he
sinks into them sound an' dreamless slumbers which is the her'tage
of folks whose consciences run trop, he hears 'em drinkin' an'
talkin' an' barterin' mendacity, an' argyfyin' pol'tics on all
sides.
"'My grandfather sleeps on for hours, an' is only aroused from them
torpors, final, by some sport chunkin' him a thump in the back.
Pages:
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289