But though this last subject wuz like a shinin’ bait, and he ketched on it and hung there for some time, a descantin’ on the rare excellencies of them two wonderful children, yet anon, or nearly so, he wriggled away from that glitterin’ bait and swung back to the subject that he had heard descanted on so powerfully the night John Richard come.
And in spite of all my nearly frenzied but peaceful efforts—for when he wuz so tired and beat out I wouldn’t use voyalence—he would resoom the subject.
And sez he for the third or fourth time:
“John Richard is a crackin’ good feller—they most all of ’em are that are on my side—but for all that I don’t believe a word of what he said about the South.”
I kep’ demute, and wouldn’t say what I did believe or what I didn’t, for I felt tired some myself; and I felt if he insisted and went on, I should be led into arguin’ with him.
For Cousin John Richard’s talk had fell into meller ground in my brain, and I more than mistrusted it wuz a springin’ up there onbeknown to me.
Josiah Allen and I never did, and I spoze never will, think alike about things, and I am fur more mejum than he is.
And then he sort o’ satisfies himself by lookin’ at one side of a idee, while I always want to walk round it and see what is on the other side on it, and turn it over and see what is under it, etc., etc.
But anon he bust out agin, and his axent was one that must be replied to; I felt it wouldn’t do to ignore it any longer.