But when I cum to find him out,
He’s ’swade my wife to leave me.”
he sang again. “I’ll tell you, suh,” he laughed, “I can’t see what fatnin’ horgs hes got to do with marryin’, but dat’s what de aixpectashuns ob dis horg-pen remin’s me ob ennyway—’bout de time I was kotin’ Unk Peter’s widder, way back in fifty-fo’,” he added reflectively, “an’ de hard time I had gettin’ enny konsolashun from dat ar ’oman. I tell you, suh, it ain’t easy to git enny konsolashun from er widder—not nigh es easy es it am frum er gal. Huh!” he ejaculated, derisively. “Folks say it am an’ dat all widders jes’ watchin’ out fur er chance to git marrid ergin, but you jes’ try onct to git er widder to say ‘yas’—she’ll jes’ play erroun’ an’ play erroun’ de hook, and fus’ thing you know she’s off, an’ dar you looks an lo!—dun swallered de bait yo’se’f,” he said.
“Befo’ my wife died,” said the old man, as he ran his thumb down his hatchet-blade, “I uster think I’d nuvver wanter git marrid enny mo’, an’ I had de mos’ dispizerble contemplashuns fur dese ole fools dat go rippin’ erroun’, dyein’ dey ha’r an’ writin’ poltry to de moon befo’ dey fus’ wife’s feet git cold good! Hit’s all right fur er young man to do dat—he jes’ nacherly jucy an’ he can’t help hisself. But dese ole fools whut de hot sun ob matremony dun dried up, an’ de trials of chillun-raisin’ dun tuck de foolishnes’ outen ’em an’ monkey-shines ob mudder-in-law dun kill ’em in de home-stretch—I tell you, suh, when I see such men as dese, dat has passed fur forty-odd years as sober, senserbul men in de kommunity whar dey libs, all at onct begin to git gay an’ boyish ergin, er snortin’ in evally an’ er clothin’ dey neck wid thunder, an’ er hollerin’ kerhonk, kerhonk, kerhonk to de captins, an’ de shoutin’, an’ er gwine ’round wantin’ to fight de man-in-de-moon ’kase he happen to peep into dey lady-lub’s winder, it jes’ makes me wanter go ’round de barn an’ hug sum ole gray mule fur konsolashun!
“Wheneber er ole man’s lub begins to take on er secon’ growth, it am den dat de anguls in heaben prepares to shed dey tears. Why, suh, I’ve seed ole fellers hab rumertisn an’ hart-failure so bad dey cudn’t creep to dey fus’ wife’s fun’ral, but de naixt time I’d see ’em, Gord bless you soul, honey, dey be runnin’ erroun’ at sum pickernick, fetchin’ water frum de spring ebery five minutes fur sum sixteen-year-ole gal, cuttin’ watermillions fur her, an’ tryin’ to meander off in de shady woods and pull up all de hart’s-ease dat grows in er ten-acre woods lot! De rumertizn all gohn, ter-be-sho’, and de hart-failure dun turned into head failure, bless de Lawd.
“Dat’s whut I thout, suh,” he continued, “but bless yo’ soul, honey, my wife hadn’t bin dead er week befo’ I got up one mornin’ an’ all onbeknownst to myself I foun’ myself blackin’ my shoes! Cudn’t hep it to sabe my life, suh—jes’ had to do it. De naixt day, suh, ’tirely unbeknownst to de state ob my naturality, I kotch myself in de act ob puttin’ h’ar-oil on my hair, cinnermun-draps on my handkerchief, an’ pullin’ off de eel-skin gyarters I dun bin wearin’ forty years fur de rumertizn. No mo’ rumertiz fur me; er man nurver hes rumertizn arter his wife dies—least-wise,” he whispered, knowingly, “not twell he marries erggin an’ den he hes it so bad he can’t cut stove-wood fur her,” he laughed.
“In er week diszeese tuck me so komplementry, boss, I ’gun ter roach up de ole muel, fix up de buggy, an’ whitewash de cabin. Dese am allers de fus’ simptums, suh. I’ve knowed sum ole fellers to make dey house go widout paint fur forty years, but jes’ es soon es dey wife dies, jes’ watch ’em an’ see ef de fus’ thing dey don’t do am to paint up dat ole house lak dey tryin’ to ketch er angul—huh! better had er painted it er leetle fur de fus’ po angul arter dey fooled her into it!
“But de simptums come on me, suh, thick an’ fast, an’ fore goodness, suh, by Sunday I had it so bad it broke out in spots all ober me, wid gradual risin’ ob de temperchewin’ dryness in de region ob de salvashun glands, an’ complete p’ralersis ob de pizzerrinctum ob de sense-bumps! Gord, boss, I was mighty nigh insenserbul!
“It all seemed lak er dream to me, an’ I can’t tell ’zactly whut I did do. I seemed ter be walkin’ in er gyarden whar golden roses bloomed on peppermint candy vines, an’ coon-dorgs wid diamon’ eyes wuz treein’ solid silver ’possums up in de ’simmon trees!
“I tell you, boss, I wanted to marry! An’ de fus’ thing I knowed, me an’ dat ole muel was gwine in a peert trot up de road t’words de cabin ob Sister Calline Jones, Unk Peter Jones’ widder. I felt sorter mean, an’ I disremember sayin’ to myself: ‘Heah, you go, Wash, arter all yore good revolushuns, de biggest fool in de ban’ waggin.’ As I rid off, I seed dat old mischeevus Mistis ob mine, Miss Charlotte, God bless her!—an’ she called out to me kinder mad-lak, an’ sed: ‘Unkle Wash, I think it’s a shame you ain’t put on moanin’ for Aunt Peggy.’ The way you are dressed, ennybody’d think you are gwine to er ball!’