"T-h-u-n-der!" exclaimed the Squire, looking wildly at me—"can't jine niggers and white men together by our constitution—Story's dead agin it. They'd come in on t'other side, and squash everything inter pieces."
"Can it be possible?" said I.
"Yes-sir-ee!" said the Squire; "they would that—and have me 'peal'd up to the higher courts in a jiffy.
"And then," continued the Squire, "Tibbits and Jenkins have got inter trouble. Jenkins got mad at Tibbits 'bout somethin' a while ago, and so he went down to Tibbits' house, his gun on his shoulder, full-er wrath—and spyin' a favorit' cow of Tibbits in the barn-yard, jest drew up, and popped her over—Tibbits run'd out, grabbl'd the gun out of Jenkins' hand, and smashed it up fine on a tree—then they had a fight, and Jenkins bung'd up Tibbits, and Tibbits bung'd up Jenkins, so neither on 'em could see much—now Tibbits wants to bring suit for the value of his cow."
"Do tell now if he does," exclaimed Aunt Sonora, who had been listening to the Squire's story; "I tell'd our folks at hum, yesterday, that I hadn't any doubt but Puddleford would be turned enside out 'bout that."
"Yes!" continued the Squire, "Tibbits wants to bring suit—but I tell'd Tibbits that I wanted to know how much the cow was worth. 'Fourteen dollars,' said he. 'How much was the rifle worth?' ''Bout the same,' said he. 'Jest a set-off,' said I; 'the rifle pays for the cow, and the cow for the rifle.' Tibbits said that warn't la', and swore, and said I should issue the writ. I threatened to commit him for contempt. He said he'd get a ramdamus (mandamus) onter me, and there the matter stands."
"Well," said I, "you do have trouble, Squire—I'd resign."
"Nobody to fill my place," said the Squire, pushing his arms down into his breeches pockets and stretching out his legs and throwing his eyes up to the ceiling—"nobody that understands the staterts."
"There's Ike Turtle," said I.
"Ike arn't cool enough—it takes a cool man for justis in these parts—a man that arn't afear'd of nothin'."