I follered my pardner almost mekanically out of the store. What they said to my back after I left, I know not. But we must all expect to be backbited some, else why do we have backs.
In about seven minutes time we was seated in front of the Jonesville Creation Searchers, a listenin’ to a epicac poem from Shakespeare Bobbet—or that is how Josiah understood it; I myself thought they called it a epock poem; but Josiah said when we was a talkin’ it over a goin’ home, that he would bet the colt it was a epicac.
Says he, “You know epicac means sunthin’ kinder weakenin’, and sickenin’, and that is why such poems as hisen are called epicacs.”
“Well,” says I, “seein’ we haint either of us certain, we wont lay out too much breath arguin’ about it. But this I know, that the poetry was as long and dreary as the desert of Sarah, and as dry as Sarah ever was in her dryest times.”
It happened dretful kinder curious, but the question up that night before the Creation Searchers was about Kleptomania—another big name for stealin’ that I never heerd before—and they proved it out so beautiful, how Kleptomania worked in the system, and how anybody couldn’t help stealin’ who had the distemper.
After they settled this to their own satisfaction, and the enlightenment of the world, the President got up and in a awful thrillin’ and impressive manner,—and usein his gesture as handy as I ever see a gesture used—went on and talked in a foamin’ manner about the Sentinal that was goin’ to be at Filadelfy village to celebrate old Epluribus’es birthday; and he went on for probable half an hour about its uncommon and amazin’ bigness, and he said when all the rest of the celebrated men of America and the world was to be there, it didn’t look well for them to hang back, and shirk out of goin’, and he motioned that the Creation Searchin’ Society should send a body there, to encourage the Sentinal, and collect information as a body, and he went on to say that if they concluded to send a body there, they would proceed to vote on who should be the body, and how many it should be.
Solomon Cypher got up and said the name told on the face of it: Sent-ten-al. He said the doin’s was named with the view that there would be ten sent there from the Jonesville Creation Searchin’ Society.
The minute he sot down, Simon Slimpsey got up lookin’ as if he would sink right down through the floor into the suller. I’d seen that Betsey, his wife had been a hunchin’ and pokin’ him, tryin’ to make him git up, and whisperin’ to him in a loud angry whisper. And says he in a heart broken tone: “If it will add any to the gloom and melancholy”—here Betsey give such a jerk at his coat skirts that he crumpled right down for a minute, and his tone was skairt as he went on—“and highlarity of Filadelfy to have a poem sent by Betsey, I can carry it, I s’pose.” And he sunk down a murmurin’: “I may live through it, and I may not.” And he almost buried his face in his right hand, and I think shed tears. It come hard on Simon.
But Solomon Cypher’s face looked dark and severe, and he rose up and smote himself powerful and frequent as he said:
“For the time bein’ I represent the body. And speakin’ in the name of the body which I now am, I say, that we, the body cannot, and will not be trammeled and bound down by either poetry, or bed-quilts.” (Two wimmen jest in front of him was a whisperin’ loud; rampant to send a blazin’ star and a sunflower.) “The body has got a great reputation to keep up, the eye or eyes of the different globes assembled there will be on it, watchin’ the demeanor of the body and copyin’ after it. A great reputation is to be kep’ up.”