"Damn you, Elhannon, why don't you and your wife sleep out in the middle of the road, too. You will certainly pay for that horse and my wetting. I am too old to fight you, but I will law you in Squire Ingram's court."
"All right, Sim Saylor; I'll be thar."
"And if I lose thar, I'll take it to the Circuit Court."
"All right, Sim Saylor, I'll be thar."
"And if I lose in the Circuit Court, I'll take it to the Court of Appeals."
"All right, Sim Saylor; I'll be thar."
"And if I lose in the Court of Appeals, I'll take it to hell, the next place."
"All right, Sim Saylor, I won't be thar, but my lawyer will. Keep on your shirt, Sim, and come into the house. The old woman can make you comfortable for the night."
They went to the house and Mr. Saylor took off his wet clothes and went to bed. When he awoke the next morning they hung on a chair, dry and nicely cleaned; there was even a fashionable crease down the trouser legs. Elhannon's dude son had pressed them for him.
As he and Elhannon sat at breakfast they talked about the bees and the old Southdown ram which several years before had been gathered to his fathers, leaving several noble scions behind.