And though I could not deny to myself that Josiah Allen’s conduct, in the spring of the year, and on a Friday night, had been mysterious, I felt that I would look back upon it as I look on scriptural passages that I can’t make out the meanin’ of. I always feel in them cases that it is the fault of the translator. No matter how mysterious the meanin’ may seem, I know that the Scriptures are right, anyway. And I felt that I would look back in that way upon my companion’s strange words and demeaners. I felt that I would trust my Josiah.
And so, bein’ full of love and confidence in Josiah Allen and the world at large, I walked with a even step up to the door-step, and as I did so I see the kitchen-door was open. I thought that looked sort o’ strange, as I knew that my Josiah had been to the barn to work all the time I was gone. But I went in, and as I did so I see a man a standin’ by the stove. He was a short, stocky man, dressed middlin’ well, but he had a strange look.
MEETING THE ELDER.
MEETING THE ELDER.
He was considerable older than Josiah, I should think. His face was red and bloated, and his hair bein’ white as snow, and his white whiskers runnin’ all round his chin, and up the sides of his face, it give it considerable the look of a red pin-cushion with a white ruffle round it. Only the ruffle (still usin’ the poetical simely) wuzn’t white under his chin. No, he used too much tobacco for that. I s’pose he used it for the good looks of it; I s’pose that is what folks use tobacco for. But good land! I can’t see a single pretty look to it, nor never could, from the time a man takes in a half a plug or so, and wads it up in one side of his mouth, showin’ his yeller, nasty-lookin’ teeth, and lettin’ the black, filthy-lookin’ juice run down his mouth and whiskers, to the time he spits it all out agin onto carpets, stairways, church pews, concert halls, car floors, wimmen’s dresses, and et cetery.
I can’t see a mite of pretty looks about it. But I am reasonable and always was. And there probable may be some beauty in it that I hain’t never seen, or there wouldn’t so many foller it up.
For it must be for the looks of it that they use it. I have studied on it a sight, and there hain’t no other reason that I can see. And if there had been any the keen eye of my spectacles would have ketched sight on it. They go awful deep into subjects, them spectacles do.
It can’t be for the taste of it that they use it, for it don’t taste good. That I know, for I got some into my mouth once by mistake, over to Miss Bobbet’s, and so what I know, I know; I can take my oath on the taste of it. No, they don’t use it for that.
It can’t be for the profit of it, for it hain’t profitable; quite the reverse. Why, there is about 30 million dollars’ worth raised in the United States a year, and somebody has got to pay for it.