The
old lion is sleepin' on his face, that a-way, an' when he gets
mauled like I relates, he wakes up an' goes to struggle to his feet.
"'"Bars an' buffaloes!" says my grandfather; "whatever's that?"
"'"Lay still, stranger," says the party who smites him; "I've only
got two to go."
"'That's what it is. It's a couple of gents playin' seven-up; an'
bein' crowded, they yootilizes my grandfather for a table. This
sport is swingin' the ace for the opp'site party's jack, an' he
boards his kyard with that enthoosiasm it comes mighty clost to
dislocatin' my old gent's shoulder. But he's the last Kaintuckian to
go interfcrin' with the reecreations of others, so he lays thar
still an' prone till the hand's played out.
"'"High, jack, game!" says the stranger, countin' up; "that puts me
out an' one over for lannyap."
"'This yere seven-up gent turns out to be Gen'ral Jackson, an' him
an' my grandfather camps down in a corner, drinks up the quart of
Cincinnati Rectified which is the stakes, an' becomes mootually
acquainted. An', gents, I says it with pride, the hero of the Hoss-
shoe, an' the walloper of them English at New Orleans takes to my
grandfather like a honeysuckle to a front porch.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290