When we got up to the court-house square a lot of young upstarts, eighteen or nineteen years old, were standin on the corner by Miller’s drug-store, smokin paper segars, and they begin to holler at us and poor old crippled Tom, all sich nonsense as “Git on to that horse,” “See his gait,” “Where’d yer git that hat?” “Have you got any hay to sell?” “See her style!” “Oh, haint she a lolly?” etcetery.
I dont know who they were, but they were young men and big enough to have more sense and better manners; but I guess maybe their raisin was neglected and they couldent help it. They dident look like coal miners, or mill hands, or farmers, and I know they wasent sich. They all were well dressed and wore pinted yaller shoes. They couldent a been the sons of the leadin citizens, because one would think they would teach their offspring better sense. Maybe they were orphans, born without parents. I dont know.
Well, arter we got through the storm of insult and abuse that we had to suffer because we had to sell our drivin animal to git interest money, we begin to try to sell our stuff. Most of the stores was willin to trade goods for what we had, but none of em wanted to spare any money. We went from one store to another, Jobe a tellin them that he had to have money to meet interest, and that we were sellin our quilts and pillers to git it. Fust one and then another would buy somethin, jist to accommodate us, until we finally got our stuff all disposed of. We got $14.45 in cash, which, added to what Jobe had, made $106.79, lackin $19.21 of enough to pay Congressman Richer the $126 interest.
We was in Mathias & Dick’s store when we sold the last of our stuff, and steppin aside Jobe and me counted up how much we had and how much we lacked.
“Well, Betsy,” says Jobe, “where will we git the balance?”
I studied a minit. Then it come to me all at once.
“Why, Jobe,” says I, “lets go and accept that canderdate feller’s invitation to ‘come and see him arter he’s elected;’ he’s elected, and you voted fur him and fed him and his hoss when he was runnin. He will lend you the $19.21 you lack.”
“Maybe he will,” says Jobe; “lets go and see.”
And at that we started fur the court-house.
Jist as we got across the street onto them big stone flaggin in front of the court-house, we met that Republican feller with black mustache and curly like hair who is hankerin arter the county clerk’s office. Says he: