A leetle closter ter the stove; thet thar
Jerainyum looks jessif ’twas fros’ bit now.
Yew look like yew was tew,” he sez, an’ grinned.
“I be,” I sez, “behind, but barbecued
In front.”
An’ then I mentioned cazhool like
The war a-hangin’ ov’r us. Bill kep’ still
At first, ’n’ I let ’im; then bimeby, julluk
He’s talkin’ tew ’isself, he sez reel grave,
“Ef’t comes, ’twill be the genooinest war