He had a match in his hand, leaning against the steel tire on my wagon wheel, his pipe unlighted.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked.
“Jes’ waitin’ for you to start so the wheel will light this match,” he replied.
* * *
Gus, the hired man, says our old-fogy neighbor, Deacon Miller, doesn’t like my literary product. Gus saw the Deacon tearing up the Whiz Bang and scattering it over his corn field the other day. “I’m using it for fertilizer,” vouchsafed the Deacon.
* * *
My “storm and strife” and I were recently at a little gathering. As I stood watching a whist game, a young lady—a very charming young lady—said: “Captain Billy, will you hold my hand a minute.” I obeyed with alacrity and grasped her soft white fingers, only to have her snap at me: “Sir! I meant my cards!” And my wife saw it all.
* * *
Nobody pays much attention to a big hole in a small girl’s stocking, but a small hole in a big girl’s stocking—Oh, my!