“Well,” said he, with a toss of his head, “this is very good stump oratory, and if you ever run agin a doctor at an election, I shouldn’t wonder if you won it, for most people will join you in pullin’ down your superiors.”
That word superiors grigged me; thinks I, “My boy, I’ll just take that expression, roll it up into a ball, and shy it back at you, in a way that will make you sing out ‘Pen and ink,’ I know. Well,” sais I, quite mild (I am always mild when I am mad, a keen razor is always smooth), “have you any other thing to say about natur?”
“Yes,” sais he, “do you know what healin’ by the first intention is, for that is a nateral operation? Answer me that, will you?”
“You mean the second intention, don’t you?” sais I.
“No,” he replied, “I mean what I say.”
“Well, Eldad,” sais I, “my brother, I will answer both. First about the election, and then about the process of healin’, and after that we won’t argue no more, for you get so hot always, I am afraid you will hurt my feelins. First,” sais I, “I have no idea of runnin’ agin a doctor either at an election or elsewhere, so make yourself quite easy on that score, for if I did, as he is my superior, I should be sure to get the worst of it.”
“How,” said he, “Sam?” lookin’ quite pleased, seein’ me kinder knock under that way.
“Why dod drot it,” sais I, “Eldad, if I was such a born fool as to run agin a doctor, his clothes would fill mine so chock full of asafoetida and brimstone, I’d smell strong enough to pysen a poll-cat. Phew! the very idea makes me sick; don’t come any nearer, or I shall faint. Oh, no, I shall give my superiors a wide berth, depend upon it. Then,” sais I, “secondly, as to healin’ by the first intention, I have heard of it, but never saw it practised yet. A doctor’s first intention is to make money, and the second is to heal the wound. You have been kind enough to treat me to a bit of poetry, now I won’t be in your debt, so I will just give you two lines in return. Arter you went to Philadelphia to study, Minister used to make me learn poetry twice a week. All his books had pencil marks in the margin agin all the tid bits, and I had to learn more or less of these at a time according to their length; among others I remember two verses that just suit you and me.
“‘To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence,
Learning thy talent is, but mine is SENSE.’”
“Sam,” said he, and he coloured up, and looked choked with rage, “Sam.”