Couldn’t Bluff Her.
I was at the railroad offices to see the manager, and while I waited for him a little, old woman in a poke bonnet and a homespun dress and carrying a long used umbrella in her hand, came upstairs and, after looking around she walked up to me and said:
“Waitin’ to see the boss, I reckon?”
“Yes.”
“So’m I. Ever see him befo’?”
“Never.”
“Wall, I hev. He’s a bluffer. He’ll jest try to out-holler yo’. If he can’t do that he will sulk like a mewl. If yo’ don’t seem to kear fur that then he’ll order yo’ out. Then’s the time you want to draw back yo’r umbrella, like this, and pint it at him, like this, and let him see he’s got to cum down or you’ll make a hole right threw him. Bin run over by the railroad?”
“No.”
“Had hogs or cattle run over?”
“No.”
“Wall, keep an eye on him in thar’, and don’t take no bluff.”
Half an hour later I met her downstairs. She had several greenbacks in her hand, and seemed to be in a pleasant frame of mind.
“Did you succeed?” I queried.
“Yo’ jest shout that I did!” she replied, shaking the money at me. “Went in thar’ and crooked my finger at him and sez:
“Cum down! Yo’r ole railroad has smashed him all to squash and has to pay fer it!”
“‘How much?’ sez he.
“‘Twenty dollars,’ sez I.
“‘Make it fifteen, or I punch!’
“‘Wal, say fifteen.’”
“And so you had a hog run over and got $15 for it?” I asked.
“Hawg? Hawg? Who said hawg!” she demanded. “No, sah! The railroad ran over my ole man and scattered him along fur seven miles and I do believe if I’d struck for $16 I’d hev got it plump down in my hand!”