A North Carolina mountain woman fell ill, and for the first time in his life her husband had to work. It devolved upon him to nurse the invalid, look after a large family of tow headed children, milk the cow, feed the pig, cook the meals and tend a straggly acre of corn.
After ten days of these frightful labors he staggered down to the general store at the forks of the road and fell at the doorway in an exhausted heap.
The storekeeper came out and said: “Hello, Anse, how’s yore wife?”
“She ain’t no better,” moaned the husband. “I paid out a whole four bits fur a bottle of bitters fur her, but it seems like hit don’t do her no good. I’m plumb wore out!”
He paused a moment and sighed deeply.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I git to wishin’ the old woman would git well—or somethin’!”
§ 30 The Gift of Tongues
Over in France the average doughboy had a gorgeous confidence in his ability to speak the language of the country. In a Norman village one day a perplexed looking private, who had not been abroad very long, approached a seasoned campaigner of the A. E. F. and asked the latter if he spoke French.
“Sure I speak French,” said the veteran. “What’s the matter?”
“Here’s what’s the matter,” said the green soldier. “The Frog that keeps that shop yonder across the street sold me some post cards, and I gave him a ten franc note, and now he’s holding out part of my money on me. I wish you’d come on over there with me and straighten the thing out and make that guy hand me back what’s coming to me.”