knees.
And he snapped, “Hain’t ye grit enough, man,
to say scat?
Ye’ll never git anywhere, drivin’ like that.
I’ll tell ye right now that the oxen I own
Hain’t driven like kittens; they don’t go alone,
There’s pepper-sass in ’em—they’re r’arin’ an’
hot, .
An’ I—I’m the r’arin’est ox in the lot.”
Then Uncle’Lish Henderson lowered his head