VII Jupiter

Few months ago, I ’member well, me’n Bill Was settin’ by the cattle wat’rin’-trough A-lis’nin’ tew the steers thet skwudged around The muddy yard an’ chawed the’r cuds an’ sighed. A bunch o’ smallish hogs hed quit the’r rootin’ An’ packed the’rsel’s up close agin the fence, An’ yew’d ’a’ laft ter hear ’em goin’ ter sleep. Ef one the runts was squeezed a mite tew much By ’nother layin’ on ’im kind o’ hard, He’d snort an’ squeal ter beat a callioap, Then shove the bunch aside an’ wiggle out, An’ give ’em fits, an’ then go ’long an’ plunk His carcuss on some other one; an’ then We’d git the hull dum show all over ’gin. Wal, me an’ Bill was watchin’ on ’em quar’l An’ slowly qui’tin’ down. ’T was one them nights— Yew’ve saw ’em, co’se, ef yew was country raised— A leetle tinge o’ red left in the west, When yew kin still set out without a coat, An’ yit yer sort o’ glad when yew come in An’ find the lamp’s het up the room. Yew felt Thet Fallish dreaminess thet ain’t like May’s, When Nacher’s takin’ off ’er overalls, But ain’t quite done with cleanin’ up the ruck. We got a-talkin’ speckerlatish like, ’N’ I sez, a-lookin’ up t’ them milyun stars, “I bet ye, Bill, they’s farms on Jupiter,” An’ Bill ’e sez, “I’ve offen thought o’ that.” An’ then he started in an’ reeled it off Jessif he’s readin’ po’try outen books: “A Jovial Spring,” he sez (his very words), “Mus’ last fer mos’ three years, an’ Fall the same. Jes’ think o’ havin’ apple blows, or ’simmons, All ’t once that long! But then yer’d hev ter plow An’ harrer tew fer three four years ’t a stretch; Things ’d even up about the same, I reckon ... Eight kinds o’ moonlight thar, Jehosaphat! Wonder’f thet means eight kinds o’ moonshine tew! An’ whadyer’ spose it dooz ter lovers, potes, An’ bayin’ houn’ dawgs——” “O Bil-l-l! Ain’t ye com’n?” ’T was Laury callin’ ’im. She never knowed How much she pestered Bill. “Le’s gwin,” he sez.