<h2><SPAN name="SOUTHERN_SKETCHES" id="SOUTHERN_SKETCHES"></SPAN>SOUTHERN SKETCHES</h2>
<h3>BY BILL ARP</h3>
<h3><span class="smcap">Jim Allcorn</span></h3>
<p>I was only thinkin' how much better it is to be in a lively humor than
be goin' about like a disappointed offis seeker. Good humor is a blessed
thing in a family and smooths down a heap of trubble. I never was mad
but a few times in my life, and then I wasn't mad long. Foaks thought I
was mad when I fout Jim Allcorn, but I wasent. I never had had any
grudge agin Jim. He had never done me any harm, but I could hear of his
sayin' around in the naborhood that Bill Arp had played cock of the walk
long enuf. So one day I went over to Chulio court ground to joak with
the boys, and shore enuf Jim was there, and I soon perseeved that the
devil was in him. He had never been whipped by anybody in the distrikt,
and he outweighed me by about fifteen pounds. A drink or two had made
him sassy, and so he commenced walkin' around first to one crowd, and
then to another, darin' anybody to fite him. He would pint to his
forrerd and say, "I'll give anybody five dollars to hit that." I was
standin' tawkin' to Frank Air and John Johnsin, and as nobody took up
Jim's offer, thinks says I to myself, if he cums round here a huntin'
for a fite he shall have one, by golly. If he dares me to hit him I'll
do it if it's the last lick I ever strike on this side of Jordin. Frank
Air looked at me, and seemed to know what I was a thinkin', and<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_576" id="Page_576"></SPAN></span> says
he, "Bill, jest let Allcorn alone. He's too big for you, and besides,
there ain't nothin' to fite about." By this time Jim was makin' rite
towards us. I put myself in position, and by the time he got to us every
muscle in my body was strung as tite as a banjo. I was worked up
powerful, and felt like I could whip a campmeetin' of wild cats. Shore
enuf Jim stepped up defiantly, and lookin' me rite in the eye, says he,
"I dare anybody to hit that," and he touched his knuckles to his
forrerd. He had barely straightened before I took him rite in the left
eye with a sock-dolyger that popped like a wagin' whip. It turned him
half round, and as quick as lightnin' I let him hav another on the right
temple, and followed it up with a leap that sprawled him as flat as a
foot mat. I knowed my customer, and I never giv him time to rally. If
ever a man was diligent in business it was me. I took him so hard and so
fast in the eyes with my fists, and in his bred basket with my knees,
that he didn't hav a chance to see or to breathe, and he was the worst
whipped man in two minets I ever seed in my life. When he hollered I
helped him up and breshed the dirt off his clothes, and he was as umble
as a ded nigger and as sober as a Presbyterian preacher. We took a dram
on the strength of it, and was always good frends afterwards.</p>
<p>But I dident start to tell you about that.</p>
<h3><span class="smcap">Jim Perkins (Cousin of Eli)</span></h3>
<p>I jist wanted to say that I wasent mad with Jim Allcorn, as sum peepul
supposed; but it do illustrate the onsertainty of human kalkulashuns in
this subloonery world. The disappintments of life are amazin', and if a
man wants to fret and grumble at his luck he can find a reesunable
oppertunity to do so every day that he lives. Them<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_577" id="Page_577"></SPAN></span> sort of
constitutional grumblers ain't much cumpany to me. I'd rather be Jim
Perkins with a bullit hole through me and take my chances. Jim, you
know, was shot down at Gains' Mill, and the ball went in at the
umbilikus, as Dr. Battey called it, and cum out at the backbone. The
Doktor sounded him, and sez he, "Jeems, my friend, your wound is
mortal." Jim looked at the Doktor, and then at me, and sez he, "That's
bad, ain't it?" "Mighty bad," sez I, and I was as sorry for him as I
ever was for anybody in my life. Sez he, "Bill, I'd make a will if it
warn't for one thing." "What's that, Jim?" sez I. He sorter smiled and
sez, "I hain't got nothin' to will." He then raised up on his elbow, and
sez he, "Doktor, is there one chance in a hundred for me?" and the
Doktor sez, "Jest about, Jim." "Well, then," sez he, "I'll git well—I
feel it in my gizzard." He looked down at the big hole in his umbilikus,
and sez he, "If I do get well, won't it be a great <i>naval</i> viktry,
Doktor Battey?" Well, shore enuff he did git well, and in two months he
was fitin' the Yanks away up in Maryland.</p>
<p>But I didn't start to tell you about that.</p>
<h3><span class="smcap">Ike Mackoy</span></h3>
<p>I jest stuck it in by way of illustratin' the good effeks of keepin' up
one's spirits. My motto has always been to never say die, as Gen. Nelson
sed at the battle of Madagascar, or sum other big river. All things
considered, I've had a power of good luck in my life. I don't mean money
luck, by no means, for most of my life I've been so ded poor that
Lazarus would hev been considered a note shaver compared with me. But
I've been in a heap of close places, and sumhow always cum out rite side
up with keer. Speakin' of luck, I don't know that<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_578" id="Page_578"></SPAN></span> I ever told you about
that rassel I had with Ike McKoy at Bob Hide's barbyku. You see Ike was
perhaps the best rasler in all Cherokee, and he jest hankered after a
chance to break a bone or two in my body. Now, you know, I never hunted
for a fite nor a fuss in my life, but I never dodged one. I dident want
a tilt with Ike, for my opinyun was that he was the best man of the two,
but I never sed anything and jest trusted to luck. We was both at the
barbyku, and he put on a heap of airs, and strutted around with his
shirt collar open clean down to his waist, and his hat cocked on one
side as sassy as a confedrit quartermaster. He took a dram or two and
stuffed himself full of fresh meat at dinner time. Purty soon it was
norated around that Ike was going to banter me for a rassel, and, shore
enuff, he did. The boys were all up for some fun, and Ike hollered out,
"I'll bet ten dollars I can paster the length of any man on the ground,
and I'll giv Bill Arp five dollars to take up the bet." Of course there
was no gittin' around the like of that. The banter got my blood up, and
so, without waitin' for preliminaries, I shucked myself and went in. The
boys was all powerfully excited, and was a bettin' evry dollar they
could raise; and Bob Moore, the feller I had licked about a year before,
jumped on a stump and sed hed bet twenty dollars to ten that Ike would
knock the breath out of me the first fall. I jest walked over to him
with the money and sed, "I'll take that bet." The river was right close
to the ring, and the bank was purty steep. I had on a pair of old
breeches that had been sained in and dried so often they was about half
rotten. When we hitched, Ike took good britches hold, and lifted me up
and down a few times like I was a child. He was the heaviest, but I had
the most spring in me, and so I jest let him play round for sum time,
limber like, until he suddenly took<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_579" id="Page_579"></SPAN></span> a notion to make short work of it
by one of his backleg movements. He drawed me up to his body and lifted
me in the air with a powerful twist. Just at that minit his back was
close to the river bank, and as my feet touched the ground I giv a
tremenjius jerk backwards, and a shuv forwards, and my britches busted
plum open on the back, and tore clean off in front, and he fell from me
and tumbled into the water, kerchug, and went out of sight as clean as a
mud turtle in a mill pond. Such hollerin' as them boys done I rekon
never heard in them woods. I jumped in and helped Ike get out as he riz
to the top. He had took in a quart or two of water on top of his
barbyku, and he set on the bank and throwed up enuf vittels to feed a
pack of houns for a week. When he got over it he laffd, and sed Sally
told him before he left home he'd better let Bill Arp alone—for nobody
could run agin his luck. Ike always believed he would hav throwd me if
britches holt hadent broke, and I rekon may be he would. One thing is
sertin, it cured him of braggin', and that helps anybody. I never did
like a braggin' man. As a genrul thing they ain't much akkount, and
remind me of a dog I used to have, named Cesar.</p>
<h3><span class="smcap">Dogs</span></h3>
<p>But I dident start to tell you a dog story—only now, since I've
mentioned him, I must tell you a circumstance about Cees. He was a
middlin' size broot, with fox ears and yaller spots over his eyes, and
could out bark and out brag all creation when he was inside the yard. If
another dog was goin' along he'd run up and down the palins and bark and
take on like he'd give the world if that fence wasent there. So one day
when he was showin' off in that way I caught him by the nap of the neck
as he<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_580" id="Page_580"></SPAN></span> run by me, and jest histed him right over and drapped him. He
struck the ground like an injun rubber ball, and was back agin on my
side in a jiffy. If he had ever jumped that fence before I dident know
it. The other dog run a quarter of a mile without stoppin'. Now, that's
the way with sum foaks. If you want to hear war tawk jest put a fence
between 'em; and if you want it stopped, jest take the fence away. Dogs
is mighty like peepul anyhow. They've got karacter. Sum of em are good,
honest, trusty dogs that bark mity little and bite at the right time.
Sum are good pluk, and will fite like the dickens when their masters is
close by to back em, but ain't worth a cent by themselves. Sum make it a
bizness to make other dogs fite. You've seen these little fices a
runnin' around growlin' and snappin' when two big dogs cum together.
They are jest as keen to get up a row and see a big dog fite as a store
clerk or a shoemaker, and seem to enjoy it as much. And then, there's
them mean yaller-eyed bull terriers that don't care who they bite, so
they bite sumbody. They are no respekter of persons, and I never had
much respekt for a man who kept one on his premises. But of all mean,
triflin', contemptible dogs in the world, the meanest of all is a
country nigger's houn—one that will kill sheep, and suck eggs, and lick
the skillet, and steal everything he can find, and try to do as nigh
like his master as possibul. Sum dogs are filosofers, and study other
dogs' natur, just like foaks study foaks. It's amazin' to see a town dog
trot up to a country dog and interview him. How quick he finds out
whether it will do to attack him or not. If the country dog shows fite
jest notis the consequential dignity with which the town dog retires. He
goes off like there was a sudden emergency of bisness a callin' him
away. Town dogs sumtimes combine agin a country dog, jest like town<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_581" id="Page_581"></SPAN></span>
boys try to run over country boys. I wish you could see Dr. Miller's dog
Cartoosh. He jest lays in the piazzer all day watchin' out for a stray
dog, and as soon as he sees him he goes for him, and he can tell in half
a minit whether he can whip him or run him; and if he can, he does it
instanter, and if he can't he runs to the next yard, where there's two
more dogs that nabor with him, and in a minit they all cum a tarin' out
together, and that country dog has to run or take a whippin', shore.
I've seen Cartoosh play that game many a time. These town pups remind me
powerfully of small editurs prowlin' around for news. In my opinyun they
is the inventors of the interview bisness.</p>
<h3><span class="smcap">Interviewers</span></h3>
<p>If it ain't a doggish sort of bisnes I'm mistaken in my idees of the
proprietes of life. When a man gits into trubble, these sub editurs go
fur him right strait, and they force their curosity away down into his
heart strings, and bore into his buzzom with an augur as hard and as
cold as chilld iron. Then away they go to skatter his feelins and
sekrets to the wide, wide world. You see the poor feller can't help
himself, for if he won't talk they'll go off and slander him, and make
the publik beleeve he's dun sumthing mean, and is ashamed to own it.
I've knowd em to go into a dungeon and interview a man who dident have
two hours to live. Dot rot em. I wish one of em would try to interview
me. If he didn't catch leather under his coat tail it would be bekaus he
retired prematurely—that's all. But I like editurs sorter—especially
sum. I like them that is the guardeens of sleepin' liberty, and good
morals, and publik welfare, and sich like; but there's sum kinds I don't
like. Them what<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_582" id="Page_582"></SPAN></span> makes sensation a bizness; feedin' the peepul on
skandal, and crime, and gossip, and private quarrels, and them what
levies black mail on polytiks, and won't go for a man who won't pay em,
and will go for a man that will. Them last watch for elekshun times jest
like a sick frog waitin' for rain.</p>
<p>As Bill Nations used to say, I'd drather be a luniak and gnaw chains in
an asylum, than to be an editur that everybody feard and nobody
respekted.<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_583" id="Page_583"></SPAN></span></p>
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