“Well,” sez I, “push the brim back and I’ll tie it down with my braize veil.”
“I won’t wear a veil!” sez he stoutly. “No, Samantha, no money will make me rig up like a female woman right here in a fashionable summer resort, before everybody. How would a man look with a veil droopin’ down and drapin’ his face?”
“Well,” sez I, “then go your own way.”
But the next time a gale come from the sou’west he wuz glad to submit to my drapin’ him; so I laid the brim back and tied the veil in a big bow knot under his chin. Then agin he reviled the bow, and said it would make talk. But I held firm and told him I wuzn’t goin’ to tear my veil tiein’ it in a hard knot. And he soon forgot his discomposure in wearin’ braize veils, in his happiness at the idee of ketchin’ fish, so’s to tell the different deacons on’t when he got home.
“‘I won’t wear a veil,’ sez he stoutly. But the next time a gale come from the sou’west I laid the brim back and tied the veil in a big bow knot under his chin.” (See page 82)
Men do love to tell fish stories. Men who are truthful on every other pint of the law, will, when they measure off with their hands how long the fish is that they ketched, stretch out that measure more’n considerable.