<h2>SEFFY AND SALLY</h2>
<h3>BY JOHN LUTHER LONG</h3>
<p>The place was the porch of the store, the time was about ten o'clock in
the morning of a summer day, the people were the amiable loafers—and
Old Baumgartner. The person he was discoursing about was his son
Sephenijah. I am not sure that the name was not the ripe fruit of his
father's fancy—with, perhaps, the Scriptural suggestion which is likely
to be present in the affairs of a Pennsylvania-German—whether a
communicant or not—even if he live in Maryland.</p>
<p>"Yas—always last; expecial at funerals and weddings. Except his
own—he's sure to be on time at his own funeral. Right out in front!
Hah? But sometimes he misses his wedding. Why, I knowed a feller—yous
all knowed him, begoshens!—that didn't git there tell another feller'd
married her—'bout more'n a year afterward. Wasn't it more'n a year,
boys? Yas—Bill Eisenkrout. Or, now, was it his brother—Baltzer
Iron-Cabbage? Seems to me now like it was Baltz. Somesing wiss a B at
the front end, anyhow."</p>
<p>Henry Wasserman diffidently intimated that there was a curious but
satisfactory element of safety in being last—a "fastnacht" in their
language, in fact. Those in front were the ones usually hurt in railroad
accidents, Alexander Althoff remembered.</p>
<p>"Safe?" cried the speaker. "Of course! But for why—say, for why?" Old
Baumgartner challenged defiantly.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_373" id="Page_373"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>No one answered and he let several impressive minutes intervene.</p>
<p>"You don't know! Hang you, none of yous knows! Well—because he ain't
there when anysing occurs—always a little late!"</p>
<p>They agreed with him by a series of sage nods.</p>
<p>"But, fellers, the worst is about courting. It's no way to be always
late. Everybody else gits there first, and it's nossing for the
fastnacht but weeping and wailing and gnashing of the teeth. And mebby
the other feller gits considerable happiness—and a good farm."</p>
<p>There was complaint in the old man's voice, and they knew that he meant
his own son Seffy. To add to their embarrassment, this same son was now
appearing over the Lustich Hill—an opportune moment for a pleasing
digression. For you must be told early concerning Old Baumgartner's
longing for certain lands, tenements and hereditaments—using his own
phrase—which were not his own, but which adjoined his. It had passed
into a proverb of the vicinage; indeed, though the property in question
belonged to one Sarah Pressel, it was known colloquially as
"Baumgartner's Yearn."</p>
<p>And the reason of it was this: Between his own farm and the public road
(and the railroad station when it came) lay the fairest meadow-land
farmer's eye had ever rested upon. (I am speaking again for the father
of Seffy and with his hyperbole.) Save in one particular, it was like an
enemy's beautiful territory lying between one's less beautiful own and
the open sea—keeping one a poor inlander who is mad for the seas—whose
crops must either pass across the land of his adversary and pay tithes
to him, or go by long distances around him at the cost of greater tithes
to the soulless owners of the turnpikes—who aggravatingly fix a gate
each way<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_374" id="Page_374"></SPAN></span> to make their tithes more sure. So, I say, it was like having
the territory of his enemy lying between him and the deep water—save,
as I have also said, in one particular, to wit: that the owner—the
Sarah Pressel I have mentioned—was not Old Baumgartner's enemy.</p>
<p>In fact, they were tremendous friends. And it was by this
friendship—and one other thing which I mean to mention later—that Old
Baumgartner hoped, before he died, to attain the wish of his life, and
see, not only the Elysian pasture-field, but the whole of the adjoining
farm, with the line fences down, a part of his. The other thing I
promised to mention as an aid to this ambition—was Seffy. And, since
the said Sarah was of nearly the same age as Seffy, perhaps I need not
explain further, except to say that the only obstruction the old man
could see now to acquiring the title by marriage was—Seffy himself. He
was, and always had been, afraid of girls—especially such aggressive,
flirtatious, pretty and tempestuous girls as this Sarah.</p>
<p>These things, however, were hereditary with the girl. It was historical,
in fact, that, during the life of Sarah's good-looking father, so
importunate had been Old Baumgartner for the purchase of at least the
meadow—he could not have ventured more at that time—and so obstinate
had been the father of the present owner—(he had red hair precisely as
his daughter had)—that they had come to blows about it, to the
discomfiture of Old Baumgartner; and, afterward, they did not speak.
Yet, when the loafers at the store laughed, Baumgartner swore that he
would, nevertheless, have that pasture before he died.</p>
<p>But then, as if fate, too, were against him, the railroad was built, and
its station was placed so that the Pressel farm lay directly between it
and him, and of<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_375" id="Page_375"></SPAN></span> course the "life" went more and more in the direction
of the station—left him more and more "out of it"—and made him poorer
and poorer, and Pressel richer and richer. And, when the store laughed
at <i>that</i>, Baumgartner swore that he would possess half of the farm
before he died; and as Pressel and his wife died, and Seffy grew up, and
as he noticed the fondness of the little red-headed girl for his little
tow-headed boy, he added to his adjuration that he would be harrowing
that whole farm before <i>he</i> died,—<i>without paying a cent for it</i>!</p>
<p>But both Seffy and Sally had grown to a marriageable age without
anything happening. Seffy had become inordinately shy, while the
coquettish Sally had accepted the attentions of Sam Pritz, the clerk at
the store, as an antagonist more worthy of her, and in a fashion which
sometimes made the father of Seffy swear and lose his temper—with
Seffy. Though, of course, in the final disposition of the matter, he was
sure that no girl so nice as Sally would marry such a person as Sam
Pritz, with no extremely visible means of support—a salary of four
dollars a week, and an odious reputation for liquor. And it was for
these things, all of which were known (for Baumgartner had not a single
secret) that the company at the store detected the personal equation in
Old Baumgartner's communications.</p>
<p>Seffy had almost arrived by this time, and Sally was in the store! With
Sam! The situation was highly dramatic. But the old man consummately
ignored this complication and directed attention to his son. For him,
the molasses-tapper did not exist. The fact is he was overjoyed. Seffy,
for once in his life, would be on time! He would do the rest.</p>
<p>"Now, boys, chust look at 'em! Dogged if they ain't bose like one
another! How's the proferb? Birds of a<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_376" id="Page_376"></SPAN></span> feather flock wiss one another?
I dunno. Anyhow, Sef flocks wiss Betz constant. And they understand one
another good. Trotting like a sidewise dog of a hot summer's day!" And
he showed the company, up and down the store-porch, just how a sidewise
dog would be likely to trot on a hot summer day—and then laughed
joyously.</p>
<p>If there had been an artist eye to see they would have been well worth
its while—Seffy and the mare so affectionately disparaged. And, after
all, I am not sure that the speaker himself had not an artist's eye. For
a spring pasture, or a fallow upland, or a drove of goodly cows deep in
his clover, I know he had. (Perhaps you, too, have?) And this was his
best mare and his only son.</p>
<p>The big bay, clad in broad-banded harness, soft with oil and glittering
with brasses, was shambling indolently down the hill, resisting her own
momentum by the diagonal motion the old man had likened to a dog's
sidewise trot. The looped trace-chains were jingling a merry dithyramb,
her head was nodding, her tail swaying, and Seffy, propped by his elbow
on her broad back, one leg swung between the hames, the other keeping
time on her ribs, was singing:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'I want to be an angel<br/></span>
<span class="i4">And with the angels stand,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A crown upon my forehead<br/></span>
<span class="i4">A harp within my hand—'"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>His adoring father chuckled. "I wonder what for kind of anchel he'd
make, anyhow? And Betz—they'll have to go together. Say, I wonder if it
<i>is</i> horse-anchels?"</p>
<p>No one knew; no one offered a suggestion.</p>
<p>"Well, it ought to be. Say—he ken perform circus wiss ol' Betz!"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_377" id="Page_377"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>They expressed their polite surprise at this for perhaps the hundredth
time.</p>
<p>"Yas—they have a kind of circus-ring in the barnyard. He stands on one
foot, then on another, and on his hands wiss his feet kicking, and then
he says words—like hokey-pokey—and Betz she kicks up behind and throws
him off in the dung and we all laugh—happy efer after—Betz most of
all!"</p>
<p>After the applause he said:</p>
<p>"I guess I'd better wake 'em up! What you sink?"</p>
<p>They one and all thought he had. They knew he would do it, no matter
what they thought. His method, as usual, was his own. He stepped to the
adjoining field, and, selecting a clod with the steely polish of the
plowshare upon it, threw it at the mare. It struck her on the flank. She
gathered her feet under her in sudden alarm, then slowly relaxed, looked
slyly for the old man, found him, and understanding, suddenly wheeled
and ambled off home, leaving Seffy prone on the ground as her part of
the joke.</p>
<p>The old man brought Seffy in triumph to the store-porch.</p>
<p>"Chust stopped you afore you got to be a anchel!" he was saying. "We
couldn't bear to sink about you being a anchel—an' wiss the anchels
stand—a harp upon your forehead, a crown within your hand, I
expect—when it's corn-planting time."</p>
<p>Seffy grinned cheerfully, brushed off the dust and contemplated his
father's watch—held accusingly against him. Old Baumgartner went on
gaily.</p>
<p>"About an inch and a half apast ten! Seffy, I'm glad you ain't breaking
your reputation for being fastnachtich. Chust about a quarter of an inch
too late for the prize wiss flour on its hair and arms and its frock
pinned up to show<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_378" id="Page_378"></SPAN></span> its new petticoat! Uhu! If I had such a nice
petticoat—" he imitated the lady in question, to the tremendous delight
of the gentle loafers.</p>
<p>Seffy stared a little and rubbed some dust out of his eyes. He was
pleasant but dull.</p>
<p>"Yassir, Sef, if you'd a-got yere at a inch and a quarter apast! Now
Sam's got her. Down in the cellar a-licking molasses together! Doggone
if Sam don't git eferysing—except his due bills. He don't want to be no
anchel tell he dies. He's got fun enough yere—but Seffy—you're like
the flow of molasses in January—at courting."</p>
<p>This oblique suasion made no impression on Seffy. It is doubtful if he
understood it at all. The loafers began to smile. One laughed. The old
man checked him with a threat of personal harm.</p>
<p>"Hold on there, Jefferson Dafis Busby," he chid. "I don't allow no one
to laugh at my Seffy—except chust me—account I'm his daddy. It's a
fight-word the next time you do it."</p>
<p>Mr. Busby straightened his countenance.</p>
<p>"He don't seem to notice—nor keer—'bout gals—do he?"</p>
<p>No one spoke.</p>
<p>"No, durn him, he ain't no good. Say—what'll you give for him, hah?
Yere he goes to the highest bidder—for richer, for poorer, for better,
for worser, up and down, in and out, swing your partners—what's bid? He
ken plow as crooked as a mule's hind leg, sleep hard as a 'possum in
wintertime, eat like a snake, git left efery time—but he ken ketch
fish. They wait on him. What's bid?"</p>
<p>No one would hazard a bid.</p>
<p>"Yit a minute," shouted the old fellow, pulling out his<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_379" id="Page_379"></SPAN></span> bull's-eye
watch again, "what's bid? Going—going—all done—going—"</p>
<p>"A dollar!"</p>
<p>The bid came from behind him, and the voice was beautiful to hear. A
gleam came into the old man's eyes as he heard it. He deliberately put
the watch back in its pocket, put on his spectacles, and turned, as if
she were a stranger.</p>
<p>"Gone!" he announced then. "Who's the purchaser? Come forwards and take
away you' property. What's the name, please?" Then he pretended to
recognize her. "Oach! Sally! Well, that's lucky! He goes in good hands.
He's sound and kind, but needs the whip." He held out his hand for the
dollar.</p>
<p>It was the girl of whom he had spoken accurately as a prize. Her sleeves
were turned up as far as they would go, revealing some soft lace-trimmed
whiteness, and there <i>was</i> flour on her arms. Some patches of it on her
face gave a petal-like effect to her otherwise aggressive color. The
pretty dress was pinned far enough back to reveal the prettier
petticoat—plus a pair of trimly-clad ankles.</p>
<p>Perhaps these were neither the garments nor the airs in which every
farmer-maiden did her baking. But then, Sally was no ordinary
farmer-maiden. She was all this, it is true, but she was, besides, grace
and color and charm itself. And if she chose to bake in such attire—or,
even, if she chose to pretend to do so, where was the churl to say her
nay, even though the flour was part of a deliberate "make up"? Certainly
he was not at the store that summer morning.</p>
<p>And Seffy was there. Her hair escaped redness by only a little. But that
little was just the difference between ugliness and beauty. For, whether
Sally were beautiful or not—about which we might contend a bit—her
hair<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_380" id="Page_380"></SPAN></span> was, and perhaps that is the reason why it was nearly always
uncovered—or, possibly, again, because it was so much uncovered was the
reason it was beautiful. It seemed to catch some of the glory of the
sun. Her face had a few freckles and her mouth was a trifle too large.
But, in it were splendid teeth.</p>
<p>In short, by the magic of brilliant color and natural grace she narrowly
escaped being extremely handsome—in the way of a sunburned peach, or a
maiden's-blush apple. And even if you should think she were not
handsome, you would admit that there was an indescribable rustic charm
about her. She was like the aroma of the hay-fields, or the woods, or a
field of daisies, or dandelions.</p>
<p>The girl, laughing, surrendered the money, and the old man, taking an
arm of each, marched them peremptorily away.</p>
<p>"Come to the house and git his clothes. Eferysing goes in—stofepipe
hat, butterfly necktie, diamond pin, toothbrush, hair-oil, razor and
soap."</p>
<p>They had got far enough around the corner to be out of sight of the
store, during this gaiety, and the old man now shoved Seffy and the girl
out in front of him, linked their arms, and retreated to the rear.</p>
<p>"What Sephenijah P. Baumgartner, Senior, hath j'ined together, let
nobody put athunder, begoshens!" he announced.</p>
<p>The proceeding appeared to be painful to Seffy, but not to Sally. She
frankly accepted the situation and promptly put into action its
opportunities for coquetry. She begged him, first, with consummate
aplomb, to aid her in adjusting her parcels more securely, insisting
upon carrying them herself, and it would be impossible to describe
adequately her allures. The electrical touches, half-caress,<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_381" id="Page_381"></SPAN></span>
half-defiance; the confidential whisperings, so that the wily old man in
the rear might not hear; the surges up against him; the recoveries—only
to surge again—these would require a mechanical contrivance which
reports not only speech but action—and even this might easily fail, so
subtle was it all!</p>
<p>"Sef—Seffy, I thought it was his old watch he was auctioning off. I
wanted it for—for—a nest-egg! aha-ha-ha! You must excuse me."</p>
<p>"You wouldn't 'a' bid at all if you'd knowed it was me, I reckon," said
Seffy.</p>
<p>"Yes, I would," declared the coquette. "I'd rather have you than any
nest-egg in the whole world—any two of 'em!"—and when he did not take
his chance—"if they were made of gold!"</p>
<p>But then she spoiled it.</p>
<p>"It's worse fellows than you, Seffy." The touch of coquetry was but too
apparent.</p>
<p>"And better," said Seffy, with a lump in his throat. "I know I ain't no
good with girls—and I don't care!"</p>
<p>"Yes!" she assented wickedly. "There <i>are</i> better ones."</p>
<p>"Sam Pritz—"</p>
<p>Sally looked away, smiled, and was silent.</p>
<p>"Sulky Seffy!" she finally said.</p>
<p>"If he does stink of salt mackerel, and 'most always drunk!" Seffy went
on bitterly. "He's nothing but a molasses-tapper!"</p>
<p>Sally began to drift farther away and to sing. Calling Pritz names was
of no consequence—except that it kept Seffy from making love to her
while he was doing it—which seemed foolish to Sally. The old man came
up and brought them together again.</p>
<p>"Oach! go 'long and make lofe some more. I like to<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_382" id="Page_382"></SPAN></span> see it. I expect I
am an old fool, but I like to see it—it's like ol' times—yas, and if
you don't look out there, Seffy, I'll take a hand myself—yassir! go
'long!"</p>
<p>He drew them very close together, each looking the other way. Indeed he
held them there for a moment, roughly.</p>
<p>Seffy stole a glance at Sally. He wanted to see how she was taking his
father's odiously intimate suggestion. But it happened that Sally wanted
to see how he was taking it. She laughed with the frankest of joy as
their eyes met.</p>
<p>"Seffy—I <i>do</i>—like you," said the coquette. "And you ought to know it.
You imp!"</p>
<p>Now this was immensely stimulating to the bashful Seffy.</p>
<p>"I like <i>you</i>," he said—"ever since we was babies."</p>
<p>"Sef—I don't believe you. Or you wouldn't waste your time so—about Sam
Pritz!"</p>
<p>"Er—Sally—where you going to to-night?" Seffy meant to prove himself.</p>
<p>And Sally answered, with a little fright at the sudden aggressiveness
she had procured.</p>
<p>"Nowheres that <i>I</i> know of."</p>
<p>"Well—may I set up with you?"</p>
<p>The pea-green sunbonnet could not conceal the utter amazement and then
the radiance which shot into Sally's face.</p>
<p>"Set—up—with—me!"</p>
<p>"Yes!" said Seffy, almost savagely. "That's what I said."</p>
<p>"Oh, I—I guess so! Yes! of course!" she answered variously, and rushed
off home.</p>
<p>"You know I own you," she laughed back, as if she had not been
sufficiently explicit. "I paid for you! Your<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_383" id="Page_383"></SPAN></span> pappy's got the money!
I'll expect my property to-night."</p>
<p>"Yas!" shouted the happy old man, "and begoshens! it's a reg'lar
bargain! Ain't it, Seffy? You her property—real estate, hereditaments
and tenements." And even Seffy was drawn into the joyous laughing
conceit of it! Had he not just done the bravest thing of his small life?</p>
<p>"Yes!" he cried after the fascinating Sally. "For sure and certain,
to-night!"</p>
<p>"It's a bargain!" cried she.</p>
<p>"For better or worser, richer or poorer, up an' down, in an' out,
chassez right and left! Aha-ha-ha! Aha-ha-ha! But, Seffy,"—and the
happy father turned to the happy son and hugged him, "don't you efer
forgit that she's a feather-head and got a bright red temper like her
daddy! And they both work mighty bad together sometimes. When you get
her at the right place onct—well, nail her down—hand and feet—so's
she can't git away. When she gits mad her little brain evaporates, and
if she had a knife she'd go round stabbing her best friends—that's the
only sing that safes her—yas, and us!—no knife. If she had a knife it
would be funerals following her all the time."</p>
<h3>II</h3>
<p>They advanced together now, Seffy's father whistling some tune that was
never heard before on earth, and, with his arm in that of his son, they
watched Sally bounding away. Once more, as she leaped a fence, she
looked laughingly back. The old man whistled wildly out of tune. Seffy
waved a hand!</p>
<p>"Now you shouting, Seffy! Shout ag'in!"</p>
<p>"I didn't say a word!"</p>
<p>"Well—it ain't too late! Go on!"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_384" id="Page_384"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>Now Seffy understood and laughed with his father.</p>
<p>"Nice gal, Sef—Seffy!"</p>
<p>"Yes!" admitted Seffy with reserve.</p>
<p>"Healthy."</p>
<p>Seffy agreed to this, also.</p>
<p>"No doctor-bills!" his father amplified.</p>
<p>Seffy said nothing.</p>
<p>"Entire orphen."</p>
<p>"She's got a granny!"</p>
<p>"Yas," chuckled the old man at the way his son was drifting into the
situation—thinking about granny!—"but Sally owns <i>the farm</i>!"</p>
<p>"Uhu!" said Seffy, whatever that might mean.</p>
<p>"And Sally's the boss!"</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>"And granny won't object to any one Sally marries, anyhow—she dassent!
She'd git licked!"</p>
<p>"Who said anything about marrying?"</p>
<p>Seffy was speciously savage now—as any successful wooer might be.</p>
<p>"Nobody but me, sank you!" said the old man with equally specious
meekness. "Look how she ken jump a six-rail fence. Like a three-year
filly! She's a nice gal, Seffy—and the farms j'ine together—her
pasture-field and our corn-field. And she's kissing her hand backwards!
At me or you, Seffy?"</p>
<p>Seffy said he didn't know. And he did not return the kiss—though he
yearned to.</p>
<p>"Well, I bet a dollar that the first initial of his last name is
Sephenijah P. Baumgartner, <i>Junior</i>."</p>
<p>"Well!" said Seffy with a great flourish, "I'm going to set up with her
to-night."</p>
<p>"Oach—git out, Sef!"—though he knew it.</p>
<p>"You'll see."<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_385" id="Page_385"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>"No, I won't," said his father. "I wouldn't be so durn mean. Nossir!"</p>
<p>Seffy grinned at this subtle foolery, and his courage continued to grow.</p>
<p>"I'm going to wear my high hat!" he announced, with his nose quite in
the air.</p>
<p>"No, Sef!" said the old man with a wonderful inflection, facing him
about that he might look into his determined face. For it must be
explained that the stovepipe hat, in that day and that country, was
dedicated only to the most momentous social occasions and that,
consequently, gentlemen wore it to go courting.</p>
<p>"Yes!" declared Seffy again.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Bring forth the stovepipe,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The stovepipe, the stovepipe—"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p>chanted Seffy's frivolous father in the way of the Anvil Chorus.</p>
<p>"And my butterfly necktie with—"</p>
<p>"Wiss the di'mond on?" whispered his father.</p>
<p>They laughed in confidence of their secret. Seffy, the successful wooer,
was thawing out again. The diamond was not a diamond at all—the Hebrew
who sold it to Seffy had confessed as much. But he also swore that if it
were kept in perfect polish no one but a diamond merchant could tell the
difference. Therefore, there being no diamond merchant anywhere near,
and the jewel being always immaculate, Seffy presented it as a diamond
and had risen perceptibly in the opinion of the vicinage.</p>
<p>"And—and—and—Sef—Seffy, what you goin' to <i>do</i>?"</p>
<p>"Do?"</p>
<p>Seffy had been absorbed in what he was going to wear. "Yas—yas—that's
the most important." He encircled<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_386" id="Page_386"></SPAN></span> Seffy's waist and gently squeezed it.
"Oh, of <i>course</i>! Hah? But what <i>yit</i>?"</p>
<p>I regret to say that Seffy did not understand.</p>
<p>"Seffy," he said impressively, "you haf' tol' me what you goin' to wear.
It ain't much. The weather's yit pooty col' nights. But I ken stand it
if you ken—God knows about Sally! Now, what you goin' to <i>do</i>—that's
the conuntrum I ast you!"</p>
<p>Still it was not clear to Seffy.</p>
<p>"Why—what I'm a-going to do, hah? Why—whatever occurs."</p>
<p>"Gosh-a'mighty! And nefer say a word or do a sing to help the
occurrences along? Goshens! What a setting-up! Why—say—Seffy, what you
set up <i>for</i>?"</p>
<p>Seffy did not exactly know. He had never hoped to practise the thing—in
that sublimely militant phase.</p>
<p>"What do <i>you</i> think?"</p>
<p>"Well, Sef—plow straight to her heart. I wisht I had your chance. I'd
show you a other-guess kind a setting-up—yassir! Make your mouth warter
and your head swim, begoshens! Why, that Sally's just like a young
stubble-field; got to be worked constant, and plowed deep, and manured
heafy, and mebby drained wiss blind ditches, and crops changed constant,
and kep' a-going thataway—constant—constant—so's the weeds can't git
in her. Then you ken put her in wheat after a while and git your money
back."</p>
<p>This drastic metaphor had its effect. Seffy began to understand. He said
so.</p>
<p>"Now, look here, Seffy," his father went on more softly, "when you git
to this—and this—and this,"—he went through his pantomime again, and
it included a progressive caressing to the kissing point—"well, chust
when you bose comfortable—hah?—mebby on one cheer,<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_387" id="Page_387"></SPAN></span> what I know—it's
so long sence I done it myself—when you bose comfortable, ast
her—chust ast her—aham!—what she'll take for the pasture-field! She
owns you bose and she can't use bose you and the pasture. A bird in the
hand is worth seferal in another feller's—not so?"</p>
<p>But Seffy only stopped and stared at his father. This, again, he did
<i>not</i> understand.</p>
<p>"You know well enough I got no money to buy no pasture-field," said he.</p>
<p>"Gosh-a'mighty!" said the old man joyfully, making as if he would strike
Seffy with his huge fist—a thing he often did. "And ain't got nossing
to trade?"</p>
<p>"Nothing except the mare!" said the boy.</p>
<p>"Say—ain't you got no feelings, you idjiot?"</p>
<p>"Oh—" said Seffy. And then: "But what's feelings got to do with
cow-pasture?"</p>
<p>"Oach! No wonder he wants to be an anchel, and wiss the anchels
stand—holding sings in his hands and on his head! He's too good for
this wile world. He'd linger shifering on the brink and fear to launch
away all his durn life—if some one didn't push him in. So here goes!"</p>
<p>This was spoken to the skies, apparently, but now he turned to his son
again.</p>
<p>"Look a-yere, you young dummer-ux,<SPAN name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</SPAN> feelings is the same to gals like
Sally, as money is to you and me. You ken buy potatoes wiss 'em! Do you
understand?"</p>
<p>Seffy said that he did, now.</p>
<p>"Well, then, I'fe tried to <i>buy</i> that pasture-field a sousand times—"</p>
<p>Seffy started.</p>
<p>"Yas, that's a little bit a lie—mebby a dozen times. And at last
Sally's daddy said he'd lick me if I efer said<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_388" id="Page_388"></SPAN></span> pasture-field ag'in, and
I said it ag'in and he licked me! He was a big man—and red-headed yit,
like Sally. Now, look a-yere—<i>you</i> ken git that pasture-field wissout
money and wissout price—except you' dam' feelings which ain't no other
use. Sally won't lick <i>you</i>—if she is bigger—don't be a-skeered. You
got tons of feelin's you ain't got no other use for—don't waste
'em—they're good green money, and we'll git efen wiss Sally's daddy for
licking me yit—and somesing on the side! Huh?"</p>
<p>At last it was evident that Seffy fully understood, and his father broke
into that discordant whistle once more.</p>
<p>"A gal that ken jump a six-rail fence—and wissout no running
start—don't let her git apast you!"</p>
<p>"Well, I'm going to set up with her to-night," said Seffy again, with a
huge ahem. And the tune his father whistled as he opened the door for
him sounded something like "I want to be an angel."</p>
<p>"But not to buy no pasture-land!" warned Seffy.</p>
<p>"Oach, no, of course not!" agreed his wily old father. "That's just one
of my durn jokes. But I expect I'll take the fence down to-morrow! Say,
Sef, you chust marry the gal. I'll take keer the fence!"</p>
<h3>III</h3>
<p>It took Seffy a long time to array himself as he had threatened. And
when it was all done you wouldn't have known him—you wouldn't have
cared to know him. For his fine yellow hair was changed to an ugly brown
by the patent hair-oil with which he had dressed it—and you would not
have liked its fragrance, I trust. Bergamot, I think it was. His fine
young throat was garroted within a starched standing collar, his feet
were pinched in creak<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_389" id="Page_389"></SPAN></span>ing boots, his hands close-gauntleted in buckskin
gloves, and he altogether incomparable, uncomfortable, and triumphant.</p>
<p>Down stairs his father paced the floor, watch in hand. From time to time
he would call out the hour, like a watchman on a minaret. At last:</p>
<p>"Look a-yere, Seffy, it's about two inches apast seven—and by the time
you git there—say, <i>nefer</i> gif another feller a chance to git there
afore you or to leave after you!"</p>
<p>Seffy descended at that moment with his hat poised in his left hand.</p>
<p>His father dropped his watch and picked it up.</p>
<p>Both stood at gaze for a moment.</p>
<p>"Sunder, Sef! You as beautiful as the sun, moon and stars—and as stinky
as seferal apothecary shops. Yere, take the watch and git along—so's
you haf some time wiss you—now git along! You late a'ready. Goshens!
You wass behind time when you wass born! Yas, your mammy wass
disapp'inted in you right at first. You wass seventy-six hours late! But
now you reformed—sank God! I always knowed it wass a cure for it, but I
didn't know it wass anysing as nice as Sally."</p>
<p>Seffy issued forth to his first conquest—lighted as far as the front
gate by the fat lamp held in his father's hand.</p>
<p>"A—Sef—Seffy, shall I set up for you tell you git home?" he called
into the dark.</p>
<p>"No!" shouted Seffy.</p>
<p>"Aha—aha—aha! That sounds <i>right</i>! Don't you forgit when you
bose—well—comfortable—aha—aha! Mebby on one cheer aha—ha-ha. And
we'll bose take the fence down to-morrow. Mebby all three!"<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_390" id="Page_390"></SPAN></span></p>
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