But by a good deal of whippin and stitchin I got them together and put them on to go out and pick pertater bugs.
“The Dimicratic bloomers.”
Jobe he was away, and I was as busy as I could be knockin bugs into an old tomato can, bent over like, when Jobe come up to the gate and hollered:
“Hello, mistur!”
I stopped and turned towards him and says, says I:
“I thank you, Jobe Gaskins; Ime no ‘mistur.’”
Well, you ort a seen the look on that man’s face.
He turned pale, opened his eyes skeert like, stepped back and says:
“Why, Betsy, what air you out here for with your clothes off?”