CHAPTER XVII.—THE GREAT STEWART CAMPAIGN.
As I states, I saveys nothin’ personal of politics. Thar’s mighty little politics gets brooited about Wolfville, an’ I ain’t none shore but it’s as well. The camp’s most likely a heap peacefuller as a com-moonity. Shore, Colonel Sterett discusses politics in that Coyote paper he conducts; but none of it’s nearer than Washin’ton, an’ it all seems so plumb dreamy an’ far away that while it’s interestin’, it can’t be regyarded as replete of the harrowin’ excitement that sedooces a public from its nacheral rest an’ causes it to set up nights an’ howl.
Rummagin’ my mem’ry, I never does hear any politics talked local but once, an’ that’s by Dan Boggs. It’s when the Colonel asks Dan to what party he adheres in principle—for thar ain’t no real shore-enough party lurkin’ about in Arizona much, it bein’ a territory that a-way an’ mighty busy over enterprises more calc’lated to pay—an’ Dan retorts that he’s hooked up with no outfit none as yet, but stands ready as far as his sentiments is involved to go buttin’ into the first organization that’ll cheapen nose-paint, ’liminate splits as a resk in faro-bank, an’ raise the price of beef. Further than them tenets, Dan allows he ain’t got no principles.
Man an’ boy I never witnesses any surplus of politics an’ party strife. In Tennessee when I’m a child every decent gent has been brought up a Andy Jackson man, an’ so continyoos long after that heroic captain is petered. As you-all can imagine, politics onder sech conditions goes all one way like the currents of the Cumberland. Thar’s no bicker, no strife, simply a vast Andy Jackson yooniformity.
The few years I puts in about Arkansaw ain’t much different. Leastwise we-all don’t have issues; an’ what contests does arise is gen’rally personal an’ of the kind where two gents enjoys a j’int debate with their bowies or shows each other how wrong they be with a gun. An’ while politics of the variety I deescribes is thrillin’, your caution rather than your intellects gets appealed to, while feuds is more apt to be their frootes than any draw-in’ of reg’lar party lines. Wherefore I may say it’s only doorin’ the one year I abides in Missouri when I experiences troo politics played with issues, candidates, mass-meetin’s an’ barbecues.
For myse’f, my part is not spectacyoolar, bein’ I’m new an’ raw an’ young; but I looks on with relish, an’ while I don’t cut no hercoolean figger in the riot, I shore saveys as much about what’s goin’ on as the best posted gent between the Ozarks an’ the Iowa line.
What you-all might consider as the better element is painted up to beat Old Stewart who’s out sloshin’ about demandin’ re-election to Jeff City for a second term. The better element says Old Stewart drinks. An’ this accoosation is doubtless troo a whole lot, for I’m witness myse’f to the following colloquy which takes place between Old Stewart an’ a jack-laig doctor he crosses up with in St. Joe. Old Stewart’s jest come forth from the tavern, an’ bein’ on a joobilee the evenin’ before, is lookin’ an’ mighty likely feelin’ some seedy.
“Doc,” says Old Stewart, openin’ his mouth as wide as a young raven, an’ then shettin’ it ag’in so’s to continyoo his remarks, “Doc, I wish you’d peer into this funnel of mine.”
Then he opens his mouth ag’in in the same egree-gious way, while the scientist addressed scouts about tharin with his eyes, plenty owley. At last the Doc shows symptoms of bein’ ready to report.
“Which I don’t note nothin’ onusual, Gov’nor, about that mouth,” says the Doc, “except it’s a heap voloominous.”