XIII Bill’s Vote

I ast Bill lately how ’e’s goin ter vote. We stood thar in the feed lot handin’ out Ter gruntin’ Durocs ears o’ yeller corn. Bill kep’ ’is mouth shet longer ’n I could wait, An’ so I ast again: “Yo’ ain’t decided?” He looked right smart like he was goin’ ter laff, But didn’t, tho’ a smile loafed ’round ’is eyes. “It’s kind o’ mixy, true ’s yew live,” he sez, A-pokin’ with ’is boot a big fat sow (Who’d swiped a ear from one the little runts) Until she squealed an’ cussed at ’im in what Bill calls Hog Latin, ran a rod, an’ sulked Fi’ seconds, then snook back ter snitch some more— “Yer caint tell nothin’ ’bout a feller’s vote This year. Take ol’ Doc Garner—demicrat Sence ’sixty-nine, but sez he’s goin’ ter vote Agin th’ administration ’cos he jes’ Caint stand fer no ameeba (mebbe yew Know what thet is) fer president. An’ then Thar’s Peleg Towle ’at runs the paper here— Oak-ribbed republican sence I dunno— He sez we’d orter be almity glad We ain’t ter war, an’ he do’ want no ice-berg A-settin’ on no Congress’ back door steps A-try’n’ ter hatch no batch o’ tory laws! Wal, thar ye be; it’s julluk thet all ’round; A feller’s looks don’t give away ’is vote. I uster guess yer polytics by how Ye spoke an’ acted, but I caint this year.” “I sure don’t git yoors, Bill, from ennything I’ve heerd ye say all Fall,” I sez; “How ’bout it?” An’ then ’e come ri’t out: “I s’pose I might’s Well tell ye how it is. Yew know I come From down Mizzoura way. My Paw’s relidjun Was votin’ demicratic ev’ry chanct He got, an’ never nothin’ else. I reck’n I kind o’ got thet feel myself, an’ no Amount o’ reason ’pears ter knock it out. I’ve heerd the argyments from A to Izzard, An’ reely, I’ll admit I ain’t no use Fer empty words an’ hifalutin’ guff ’Bout war prosperity, humanity, An’ stuff like thet, an’ layin’ down like pups When some one hollers loud an’ suddin like. But when I think o’ Paw, an’ Colonel Sims, An’ all them early days at Gravel Point— Wal, I’m agin what I am for, that’s all! I’ll give ye now my reelest reason why I’m votin’ demicratic come next week. I ain’t no pessimist, but I beleeve This here U. S. hez got ter git ri’ down Ter brass tacks soon or late. We gotta hev A awful mess o’ trubble, go thru fire An’ brimstun, hell, an’ purgatory ’fore We’ll ever ’mount ter shucks; an’ I b’en thinkin’ The quickest way ter git us thar ’s ter vote The way I’m goin’ ter.”