XI
Bill on Seth Watts
Seth Watts hed died, an’ Bill was tellin’ us
Suthin’ about ’im. Bill he’d be’n a bearer ’t
The funerel, an’ now hed jes’ got home,
Hung up ’is Sunday clo’es an’ derby hat,
And on the way out tew the thrashin’ enjin’
Paid tribute to Seth’s mem’ry. “Me an’ him
Hed deakin’d it up thar t’ our church”—he jerked
His head toward town—“for twenty years tergether.
A right smart moodish feller Seth was, no
Mistakin’ thet; I’ve offen saw ’t myself
An’ heerd ’is naybers tell. Some mornin’s he
Would git up with a feelin’ he must jes’
Be let alone an’ not be ast ter dew
One solitary thing by ennyone,
No matter who. He tried Almiry (that’s
Mis’ Watts) more’n she’d let on. I reckon tho’
She didn’t git ter onderstand him’s much
She might; ’f she’d left ’im be ontil he come
Around hisself, they’d both ’a’ be’n all right;
A hour or two o’ sleep would fixt ’im up.
But ’stid o’thet she ’peared ter feel a call
Ter hev him dew a reg’ler mess of chores
On them ’ar mornin’s. Wal, he’d stew an’ sw’ar,
An’ kick the dawg, an’ onct he said he’s goin’
Ter quit an’ jes’ go off—but knowed he wouldn’t.
Almiry’d cry an’ Seth would cuss, an’ then
They’d shet the’r lips an’ never say a word
Fer mebbe quite a spell, when suthin’ funny
(It might ’a’ be’n most ennything) would up
An’ happen; Seth would snort, Almiry’d giggle,
An’ thet would end his moodin’. That ’ar way
O’ doin’ ’s a hull lot better, ’pears ter me,
Then fer a man ter never hev no chanct
Ter hev a mood, ’f ’e wants ter, ’n know ’t will prob’ly
Work out all right somehow.”
Bill stopped a minnit,
’N’I seen ’im kind o’ turn an’ look ’t the house,
An’ knowed what he was thinkin’ better’n if
He’d said it plum ri’t out. His crows-feet showed
Up awful plain. Bimeby I seen ’im grin:
“I s’pose yew’ve noticed lots o’ fokes, when one
The fambly’s daid, sez funny things about
’Im—funny ’cos yew knowed the one diseased
Yerself, an’ seen right thru their line o’ talk.
I like ter weigh fokes on a human scale,
Daid or alive. It ain’t onkind ter size
’Em up fer what they was, onless they’s jes’
Plain or’n’ry trash, an’ then it ain’t wuth w’ile;
I’d ruther keep my mouth shet ’n’ let ’em go.
But reely human fokes thet hez good p’ints
An’ bad all mixed tergether—like Seth was—
I cain’t see why we try ter make ’em out
Ez hevin’ be’n perfecshun; ’tain’t the trewth.
I heerd Almiry ’smornin’ ’fore the fun’rel
Say this ter one the naybers thar, sez she:
‘Seth never said no ha’sh or hasty word
In all ’is life ter me,’ an’ bust out cry’n’.
Jest then she ketched my eye—I dunno how
It was, I reck’n she sensed the laff inside
O’ me, ’n’ we both looked over t’ whar Seth laid—
She knowed me ’n’ Seth was purty clost—’n’ I’m sure
She ha’f expected he would set ri’t up
An’ look at her, fer he could never stand
Fer no Saphiry stuff, ’n’ Almiry knowed it.
She quit her takin’ on, an’ carr’d herself
So ca’m but wownded like, it made me swaller.
I wouldn’t give a dam”—his minister
Sez Bill kin carry off those kind o’ words
The niftiest he ever heerd fer deakins—
“Fer enny man ’bout who thet pious kind
O’ rot might possibly be trew. They ain’t
Sich people nohow, leastways not in this
’Ere Skillet deestric’.... Wal, boys, here we be.”