They drank together. Three times more, as rapidly as the Irishman emptied his beer-glass the German replenished it, each time stating that for this festive occasion, at least, there would be no charge for the refreshment. The hospitable rites having been concluded the new patron was moving toward the door when the German was moved to put a question. Until now, in his exuberance, he had forgotten to ask for details:
“Say,” he said, “how you get dose shells over to der Chermans?”
“Well,” said the Irishman, edging a little nearer toward the door, “we don’t exactly send ’em to the Germans direct, you understand.”
“No? Then how you do it?”
“Oh, we sell ’em to the English and they shoot ’em over.”
§ 252 Back to God’s Country
Soon after the Civil War ended a former trooper of Morgan’s cavalry moved from his home in the Bluegrass region to California. He was a gentleman of genial habits and a natural orator. It was almost inevitable, therefore, that sooner or later he should enter politics. He was announced as a candidate for the legislature on the Democratic ticket. He made a spirited campaign, but when the primary returns were in, of three candidates the ex-Confederate had finished third.
He called a meeting of his friends and made a speech. It was short but complete.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I’m going to quit this cussed country. I’m going back to Kentucky—the only fit place for a gentleman to live—where the niggers make your crop for you and the sheriff sells it.”