“Yes, sir. Resting and eating this cake for dinner; have a bit of it. It’s pretty good. Mrs. Tolson, who lives down at the mouth of the gorge, gave it to me this morning.”
The boy suddenly threw the piece that he had taken to the ground with a vim, spat out the portion in his mouth, and yelled out:
“Danged ef I eat any of it then!”
“Why, my boy, what’s wrong with the cake?”
“I hate them two dang Tolson boys. They fight me. I’ve licked ’em eleven times—Cæsar six an’ Cicero five—an’ doan’t you never think that I’ll ever eat a cake or anything else that their mammy has made,” and he came down with his fist on the bony shoulder of the gray mare as emphasis.
“Do you know that it is wrong to use profane language—to curse.”
“What? Dang it cussin’? That ain’t cussin’. That ain’t a starter to real cussin’. Ef you call that cussin’ it wouldn’t do fur you to hear Fen Green git started a little.”
“Is that tobacco you are chewing?”
“Yep.”
“What do you chew tobacco for?”