XI Bill on Seth Watts

Seth Watts hed died, an’ Bill was tellin’ us Suthin’ about ’im. Bill he’d be’n a bearer ’t The funerel, an’ now hed jes’ got home, Hung up ’is Sunday clo’es an’ derby hat, And on the way out tew the thrashin’ enjin’ Paid tribute to Seth’s mem’ry. “Me an’ him Hed deakin’d it up thar t’ our church”—he jerked His head toward town—“for twenty years tergether. A right smart moodish feller Seth was, no Mistakin’ thet; I’ve offen saw ’t myself An’ heerd ’is naybers tell. Some mornin’s he Would git up with a feelin’ he must jes’ Be let alone an’ not be ast ter dew One solitary thing by ennyone, No matter who. He tried Almiry (that’s Mis’ Watts) more’n she’d let on. I reckon tho’ She didn’t git ter onderstand him’s much She might; ’f she’d left ’im be ontil he come Around hisself, they’d both ’a’ be’n all right; A hour or two o’ sleep would fixt ’im up. But ’stid o’thet she ’peared ter feel a call Ter hev him dew a reg’ler mess of chores On them ’ar mornin’s. Wal, he’d stew an’ sw’ar, An’ kick the dawg, an’ onct he said he’s goin’ Ter quit an’ jes’ go off—but knowed he wouldn’t. Almiry’d cry an’ Seth would cuss, an’ then They’d shet the’r lips an’ never say a word Fer mebbe quite a spell, when suthin’ funny (It might ’a’ be’n most ennything) would up An’ happen; Seth would snort, Almiry’d giggle, An’ thet would end his moodin’. That ’ar way O’ doin’ ’s a hull lot better, ’pears ter me, Then fer a man ter never hev no chanct Ter hev a mood, ’f ’e wants ter, ’n know ’t will prob’ly Work out all right somehow.” Bill stopped a minnit, ’N’I seen ’im kind o’ turn an’ look ’t the house, An’ knowed what he was thinkin’ better’n if He’d said it plum ri’t out. His crows-feet showed Up awful plain. Bimeby I seen ’im grin: “I s’pose yew’ve noticed lots o’ fokes, when one The fambly’s daid, sez funny things about ’Im—funny ’cos yew knowed the one diseased Yerself, an’ seen right thru their line o’ talk. I like ter weigh fokes on a human scale, Daid or alive. It ain’t onkind ter size ’Em up fer what they was, onless they’s jes’ Plain or’n’ry trash, an’ then it ain’t wuth w’ile; I’d ruther keep my mouth shet ’n’ let ’em go. But reely human fokes thet hez good p’ints An’ bad all mixed tergether—like Seth was— I cain’t see why we try ter make ’em out Ez hevin’ be’n perfecshun; ’tain’t the trewth. I heerd Almiry ’smornin’ ’fore the fun’rel Say this ter one the naybers thar, sez she: ‘Seth never said no ha’sh or hasty word In all ’is life ter me,’ an’ bust out cry’n’. Jest then she ketched my eye—I dunno how It was, I reck’n she sensed the laff inside O’ me, ’n’ we both looked over t’ whar Seth laid— She knowed me ’n’ Seth was purty clost—’n’ I’m sure She ha’f expected he would set ri’t up An’ look at her, fer he could never stand Fer no Saphiry stuff, ’n’ Almiry knowed it. She quit her takin’ on, an’ carr’d herself So ca’m but wownded like, it made me swaller. I wouldn’t give a dam”—his minister Sez Bill kin carry off those kind o’ words The niftiest he ever heerd fer deakins— “Fer enny man ’bout who thet pious kind O’ rot might possibly be trew. They ain’t Sich people nohow, leastways not in this ’Ere Skillet deestric’.... Wal, boys, here we be.”