JIM WOLFE AND THE CATS.

Mark Twain.

WE was all boys then, an’ didn’t care for nothin’ only how to shirk school, an’ keep up a revivin’ state of devilment all the time. This yah Jim Wolfe I was talkin’ about was the ’prentice, an’ he was the best-hearted feller, he was, an’ the most forgivin’ an’ onselfish, I ever see. Wall, there couldn’t be a more bullier boy than what Jim was, take him heow you would; and sorry enough was I when I see him for the last time.

Me an’ Henry was allers pesterin’ him, an’ plasterin’ hoss bills on his back, an’ puttin’ bumble-bees in his bed, an’ so on, an’ sometimes we’d jist creowd in an’ bunk with him not’standin’ his growlin’, an’ then we’d let on to git mad, and fight acrost him, so as to keep him stirred up like.

He was nineteen, he was, an’ long, an’ lank, an’ bashful, an’ we was fifteen an’ sixteen, an’ pretty tolerabal lazy an’ wuthless.

So, that night, you know, that my sister Mary giv the candy-pullin’, they started us off to bed airly, so as the comp’ny could have full swing; an’ we swung in on to Jim to have some fun.

Wall, our winder looked out onter the ruff of the ell, an’ about ten o’clock a couple of ole tom-cats got to raisin’ an’ chargin’ reound on it, an’ carryin’ on just like sin.

There was four inches of snow on the ruff, an’ it froze so there was a right smart crust of ice on it, an’ the moon was shinin’ bright, an’ we could see them cats jist like daylight.

First they’d stand off, e-yow-yow-yow, jist the same as if they was a-cussin’ one another, you know, an’ bow up their backs, an’ bush up their tails, an’ swell around, an’ spit, an’ then all of a sudden the gray cat he’d snatch a han’ful of fur off the yaller cat’s back, an’ spin him around jist like a button on a barn door. But the yaller cat was game, an’ he’d come an’ clinch, an’ the way they’d gouge an’ bite an’ howl, an’ the way they’d make the fur fly, was peowerful.

Wall, Jim he jist got disgusted with the row, an’ ’lowed he’d climb out there an’ shake ’em off’n that ruff. He hadn’t reely no notion o’ doin’ it, likely, but we everlastingly dogged him, an’ bully-ragged him, an’ ’lowed he’d allers bragged heow he wouldn’t take a dare, an’ so on, till bimeby he jist histed the winder an’ lo an’ behold you! he went—went exactly as he was—nothin’ on but his——ulster. You ought to ’a’ seen him! You ought to seen him creepin’ over that ice, an’ diggin’ his toe-nails an’ finger-nails in, fur to keep him from slippin’; an’ ’bove all, you ought to seen that——ulster a-flappin’ in the wind, and them long, ridicklous shanks of his’n a-glistenin’ in the moonlight.

Them company folks was down there under the eaves, an’ the whole squad of ’em under that ornery shed o’ dead Wash’ton Bower vines—all settin’ reound two dozzen sassers o’ bilin’-hot candy, which they’d sot in the snow to cool. An’ they was laughin’ an’ talkin’ lively; but, bless you! they didn’t know nothin’ ’bout the panorammy that was goin’ on over their heads.

Wall, Jim he just went a-sneakin an’ a-sneakin’ up unbeknown to them tom-cats—they was a-swishin’ their tails, an’ yow-yowin’ an’ threatenin’ to clinch, you know, an’ not payin’ any attention—he went a-sneakin’ an’ a-sneakin’ right up to the comb of the ruff, till he got in a foot an’ a half of ’em, an’ then all of a sudden he made a grab for the yaller cat! But by gosh he missed fire an’ slipped his holt, an’ his heels flew up, an’ he flopped on his back, an’ shot off’n that ruff just like a dart!—went a-smashin’ an’ a-crashin’ down through them old rusty vines, an’ landed right in the dead center of all them comp’ny people!—sot down jist like a yearthquake in them two dozen sassers of red-hot candy, an’ let off a howl that was hark from the tomb! They got—wall, they left, you know. They see he warn’t dressed for comp’ny, an’ so they left—vamoosed.

All done in a sec’nd; it was jist one little war-whoop an’ a whish o’ their dresses, an’ blame not one of ’em was in sight anywhere!

Jim he war in sight. He was gomed with the bilin’ hot molasses candy clean down to his heels, an’ more busted sassers hangin’ to him than if he war a Injun princess—an’ he come a-prancin’ upstairs jist a-whoopin’ an’ a-cussin’, an’ every jump he giv he shed some sassers, an’ every squirm he fetched he dripped some candy! an’ blistered! why, bless your soul, that poor creeter couldn’t reely set down comfortable for as much as four weeks.