“Loose!” sez I, “Why should milk be tied up? I never wuz afraid on’t.”
“I mean milk that hain’t bottled,” sez she. 225 “I wouldn’t eat loose milk for the world.” And she being enthusiastick gin a long eulogy of the good men who wuz tryin’ to save poor babies by givin’ ’em pure milk, and she talked bitter about the men who opposed the idee for fear it would pauperize the babies.
And I told her it wouldn’t make much difference with the babies pizened by microby milk whether they died pauperized or onpauperized.
Well, I didn’t know whether the milk wuz loose or tight, but I eat it rapidly, so’s to begin my hunt. I’d slep’ some on the cars, and when I had changed my parmetty waist for a brown gingham shirt waist, and washed my face, and brushed back my hair, I wuz ready to start. The room they gin me wuz so small I thought I would have to go out in the hall to change my mind. But I did manage to change my waist. Bildad’s old colored woman wuz singin’ as she made the bed in the next room that old him “Pull for the Shore.” She sung:
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“Pull for the shore, brother, Pull for the shore, Heed not the rollin’ pins, Bend to the oar— Leave the poor old straddled wreck And pull for the shore.” |
She didn’t git the words right, but her voice wuz melogious, and as I listened my soul parodied the words to suit my needs. Yes, I felt that I must “bend to the oar” of my purpose, I must not “heed the rollin’ waves” of weariness and anxiety, must leave “the poor old stranded wreck” of my domestic happiness and security and pull for Josiah.
Luny Park wuz only a few steps from Bildad’s and anon I stood before what seemed to be a great city, gorgeous below and way up above the thronged streets and mountains and flower-decked declivities, endless white towers riz up as if callin’ attention to ’em. And I didn’t know but the place had been lied about, and I asked a bystander if any of ’em wuz meetin’ house steeples.
He laughed in derision at me, and I passed on and come to a lot of girls dressed up in red, and settin’ in chariots like them old Roman females used to go to war in. I asked one on ’em if she wuz layin’ out to go to Mexico, and she replied “Ten cents,” and shoved out a piece of paper to me.