"Bars is that religious," the one-eyed man observed, "only when they pursue the course of Nature they don't blame it on religion."
After a laugh Ole Bar said solemnly to Kit, "If you young fellers knew what was good fer you you'd let wimmin alone."
"Where'd you learn so much about wimmin?" Jo asked.
"From bars. Bars rub noses at matin' time and tears the ears offen each other when the cubs has to be fed. Let wimmin alone and save the wear on your noses and ears."
"How's a body going to leave any ancestry if he don't never git no place near a woman?" Buck Thompson asked.
"Ancestry?" repeated Ole Bar. "Well, what under heaven is these little, wet-nosed ancestry good fer anyhow? Never had no ancestry myself and I'm gettin' along all right—got along all right while I was in Arkansas, and anybody that can do that don't need to worry about leavin' no ancestry."
"Tell us about Arkansas," was the next demand.
Ole Bar shifted his cud into its receptacle and said, "Wall, as you all know, in bar hunts I've been numerous, but I hain't never seen no such bars as grow in Arkansas. The bars in Arkansas is the most promiscuous I've ever seen and don't give a damn for nobody. But, Squire, lets licker up. I'm gettin' so dry I'm takin' the rattles," and he reached for the bottle which was passed around.
"Bars in Arkansas grows so fat they can't wobble. You fellers here that think you're gettin' the real thing when you bag the chipper-growlers and shite pokers of these parts don't know nothin' about what's growing in Arkansas. Them bars rear up into the heavens high as that feller that plugged the ark."