Ef yew’s a smoker, ’n’ hed the feelin’ on ’t,
Yew’d quit remarkin’ things like that ’a’ one.
I bet yew never even smoked corn-silk,
Rattan, hay-seed, sweet fern, an’ baby stuff
Like that, thet cubs begins on when they’re smart.
I tell ye yew do’ know nuthin’ about it.”
I tho’t I’d fixed ’im, fer a spell at least,
Fer ’e kep’ still, an’ hummed reflective like.
Bimeby he went ’t the door an’ hawked an’ spit,
Come back, an’ set, an’ coughed—fer I hed puffed