Sammy's face began to relax. A few of the knots and wrinkles showed signs of dispersing. A slow twisting of the features took place, which might have been looked upon as promising a smile in due course of time. These young fellows wanted to hear him talk, and “tak' off th' Parson.” His occupation was not entirely gone, after all. It was specially soothing to his vanity to feel that his greatest importance lay in his own powers, and not altogether in more corruptible and uncertain attractions. He condescended to help himself to a pipe-full of a friend's tobacco.
“Let's hear,” cried a third member of the company. “Gi' us th' tale owt an' owt, owd lad. Tha'rt th' one to do it graidely.”
Sammy applied a lucifer to the fragrant weed, and sucked at his pipe deliberately.
“It's noan so much of a tale,” he said, with an air of disparagement and indifference. “Yo' chaps mak' so much out o' nowt. Th' Parson's well enow i' his way, but,” in naïve self-satisfaction, “I mun say he's a foo', an' th' biggest foo' fur his size I ivver had th' pleasure o' seein'.”
They knew the right chord was touched. A laugh went round, but there was no other interruption and Sammy proceeded.
“Whatten yo' lads think as th' first thing he says to me wur?” puffing vigorously. “Why, he cooms in an' sets hissen down, an' he swells hissen out loike a frog i' trouble, an' ses he, 'My friend, I hope you cling to th' rock o' ages.' An' ses I, 'No I dunnot nowt o' th' soart, an' be dom'd to yo'. 'It wur na hospitible,'” with a momentary touch of deprecation,—“An' I dunnot say as it wur hospitible, but I wor na i' th' mood to be hospitible just at th' toime. It tuk him back too, but he gettin round after a bit, an' he tacklet me agen, an' we had it back'ard and for'ard betwixt us for a good haaf hour. He said it wur Providence, an' I said, happen it wur, an' happen it wurn't. I wur na so friendly and familiar wi' th' Lord as he seemed to be, so I could na tell foak aw he meant, and aw he did na mean. Sithee here, lads,” making a fist of his knotty old hand and laying it upon the table, “that theer's what stirs me up wi' th' parson kind. They're allus settin down to explain what th' Lordamoigty's up to, as if he wur a confidential friend o' theirs as they wur bound to back up i' some road; an' they mun drag him in endways or sideways i' their talk whether or not, an' they wun-not be content to leave him to work fur hissen. Seems to me if I wur a disciple as they ca' it, I should be ashamed i' a manner to be allus apologizin' fur him as I believed in. I dunnot say for 'em to say nowt, but I do say for 'em not to be so dom'd free an' easy about it. Now theer's th' owd Parson, he's getten a lot o' Bible words as he uses, an' he brings 'em in by the scruft o' th' neck, if he canna do no better,—fur bring 'em in he mun,—an' it looks loike he's aw i' a fever till he's said 'em an' getten 'em off his moind. An' it seems to me loike, when he has said 'em, he soart o' straightens hissen out, an' feels comfortable, loike a mon as has done a masterly job as conna be mended. As fur me, yo' know, I'm noan the Methody soart mysen, but I am na a foo', an' I know a foine loike principle when I see it, an' this matter o' religion is a foine enow thing if yo' could get it straightforward an' plain wi'out so much trimmins. But——” feeling perhaps that this was a large admission, “I am noan o' th' Methody breed mysen.”
“An' so tha tellt Parson, I'll warrant,” suggested one of his listeners, who was desirous of hearing further particulars of the combat.
“Well, well,” admitted Craddock with the self-satisfaction of a man who feels that he has acquitted himself creditably. “Happen I did. He wur fur havin' me thank th' A'moighty fur aw ut had happent me, but I towd him as I did na quoite see th' road clear. I dunnot thank a chap as gi'es me a crack at th' soide o' th' yed. I may stand it if so be as I conna gi' him a crack back, but I dunnot know as I should thank him fur th' favor, an' not bein' one o' th' regenerate, as he ca's 'em, I dunnot feel loike singin' hymns just yet; happen it's 'cause I'm onregenerate, or happen it's human natur'. I should na wonder if it's 'pull devil, pull baker,' wi' th' best o' foak,—foak as is na prize foo's, loike th' owd Parson. Ses I to him, 'Not bein' regenerate, I dunnot believe i' so much grace afore meat. I say, lets ha' th' meat first, an' th' grace arterward.'”
These remarks upon matters theological were applauded enthusiastically by Craddock's audience. “Owd Sammy” had finished his say, however, and believing that having temporarily exhausted his views upon any subject, it was well to let the field lie fallow, he did not begin again. He turned his attention from his audience to his pipe, and the intimate friends who sat near.
“What art tha goin' to do, owd lad?” asked one.