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Pray for me! I reckoned if she knowed me she’d take a job that was more
nearer her size. But I bet she done it, just the same—she was just that
kind. She had the grit to pray for Judus if she took the notion—there warn’t
no back-down to her, I judge. You may say what you want to, but in my
opinion she had more sand in her than any girl I ever see; in my opinion she
was just full of sand. It sounds like flattery, but it ain’t no flattery.
And when it comes to beauty—and goodness, too—she lays over them all. I
hain’t ever seen her since that time that I see her go out of that door; no,
I hain’t ever seen her since, but I reckon I’ve thought of her a many and a
many a million times, and of her saying she would pray for me; and if ever
I’d a thought it would do any good for me to pray for HER, blamed if I
wouldn’t a done it or bust.
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She’d pray for me! I’m sure if she knew me better she would have settled
on something a bit easier considering how much praying for I needed. But I
bet she prayed for me anyway—she was just that kind hearted. She’d pray for
Judas if she got it in her head—she wasn’t the type to go back on her word,
I figure. You can say what you want, but in my opinion she had a lot of
guts—more guts than any girl I’d ever seen. That sounds like flattery, but
I’m not trying to flatter her. And when it comes to beauty—goodness. She’s
more beautiful than anyone else. I haven’t seen her since I let her walk out
that door. Nope, haven’t seen her since, but I’ve probably thought of her a
million times and remembered her saying she’d pray for me. If I ever thought
it’d do any good for me to pray for HER, I would die trying.
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Well, Mary Jane she lit out the back way, I reckon; because nobody see her
go. When I struck Susan and the hare-lip, I says:
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Well I suppose Mary Jane left through the back door, since no one saw her
go. When I met up with Susan and the harelip, I said:
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“What’s the name of them people over on t’other side of the river that you
all goes to see sometimes?”
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“What’s the name of those people over on the other side of the river that
you all go and visit sometimes?”
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They says:
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The said:
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“There’s several; but it’s the Proctors, mainly.”
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“There’s several, but mostly the Proctors.”
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“That’s the name,” I says; “I most forgot it. Well, Miss Mary Jane she
told me to tell you she’s gone over there in a dreadful hurry—one of them’s
sick.”
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“That’s the name,” I said. “I must have forgotten it. Well, Miss Mary Jane
told me to tell you she had to leave in an awful hurry to go over there—one
of them is sick.”
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“Which one?”
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“Which one?”
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“I don’t know; leastways, I kinder forget; but I thinks it’s—”
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“I don’t know. Well, maybe I just forgot. But I think it’s….”
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“Sakes alive, I hope it ain’t HANNER?”
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“Land’s sakes alives, I hope it isn’t HANNAH!”
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“I’m sorry to say it,” I says, “but Hanner’s the very one.”
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“I’m sorry to say it,” I said, “but it was Hannah.”
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“My goodness, and she so well only last week! Is she took bad?”
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“My goodness! And she looked so well just last week! Is she really
sick?”
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“It ain’t no name for it. They set up with her all night, Miss Mary Jane
said, and they don’t think she’ll last many hours.”
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“Bad doesn’t do it justice. They sat up with her all night, Miss Mary Jane
said, and they don’t think she’ll live many more hours.”
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“Only think of that, now! What’s the matter with her?”
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“Just think of that! What’s the matter with her?”
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I couldn’t think of anything reasonable, right off that way, so I
says:
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I couldn’t think of anything appropriate right off the bat, so I
said:
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“Mumps.”
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“Mumps.”
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“Mumps your granny! They don’t set up with people that’s got the
mumps.”
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“Mumps, my left foot! They don’t sit up all night with people who have the
mumps.”
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“They don’t, don’t they? You better bet they do with THESE mumps. These
mumps is different. It’s a new kind, Miss Mary Jane said.”
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“Oh, they don’t? You better bet they do with THESE mumps. These mumps are
different. It’s a new kind, Miss Mary Jane said.”
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“How’s it a new kind?”
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“How so?”
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“Because it’s mixed up with other things.”
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“Because it’s mixed up with other diseases.”
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“What other things?”
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“What other things?”
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“Well, measles, and whooping-cough, and erysiplas, and consumption, and
yaller janders, and brain-fever, and I don’t know what all.”
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“Well, measles and whooping cough and erysipelas and consumption and yellow jaundice and brain fever and I don’t know what all else.”
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“My land! And they call it the MUMPS?”
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“My word! And they call that the MUMPS?”
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“That’s what Miss Mary Jane said.”
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“That’s what Miss Mary Jane said.”
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“Well, what in the nation do they call it the MUMPS for?”
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“Well, why in the world do they call it the MUMPS?”
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“Why, because it IS the mumps. That’s what it starts with.”
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“Well, because it IS the mumps. That’s how it all starts.”
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“Well, ther’ ain’t no sense in it. A body might stump his toe, and take
pison, and fall down the well, and break his neck, and bust his brains out,
and somebody come along and ask what killed him, and some numskull up and
say, ’Why, he stumped his TOE.’ Would ther’ be any sense in that? NO. And
ther’ ain’t no sense in THIS, nuther. Is it ketching?”
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“Well, that doesn’t make any sense. A guy could stub his toe, take poison,
fall down a well, break his neck, and crack his head open so that his brains
fell out. Then someone would come along and ask what killed him, and some
numbskull would say, “Why, he stubbed his TOE. What would be the sense in
that? NO. There’s no sense in this either. Is it contagious?”
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“Is it KETCHING? Why, how you talk. Is a HARROW catching—in the dark? If
you don’t hitch on to one tooth, you’re bound to on another, ain’t you? And
you can’t get away with that tooth without fetching the whole harrow along,
can you? Well, these kind of mumps is a kind of a harrow, as you may say—and
it ain’t no slouch of a harrow, nuther, you come to get it hitched on
good.”
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“Contagious?! Listen to you talk! Is a HARROW contagious in the dark? If you don’t get snagged on one spike,
you’ll get caught on another, won’t you. And you can’t walk away caught on
that one spike without pulling the whole harrow along, can you? Well, this
kind of mumps are like that harrow, you could say—it’s no wimpy harrow
either. You get caught on it good.”
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“Well, it’s awful, I think,” says the hare-lip. “I’ll go to Uncle Harvey
and—”
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“Well, it’s awful, I think,” said the harelip. “I’ll go to Uncle Harvey
and....”
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“Oh, yes,” I says, “I WOULD. Of COURSE I would. I wouldn’t lose no
time.”
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“Oh, sure,” I said. “That’s exactly what I’D DO. OF COURSE, I would. Don’t
waste your time.”
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“Well, why wouldn’t you?”
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“Well, why wouldn’t you tell him?”
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“Just look at it a minute, and maybe you can see. Hain’t your uncles
obleegd to get along home to England as fast as they can? And do you reckon
they’d be mean enough to go off and leave you to go all that journey by
yourselves? YOU know they’ll wait for you. So fur, so good. Your uncle
Harvey’s a preacher, ain’t he? Very well, then; is a PREACHER going to
deceive a steamboat clerk? is he going to deceive a SHIP CLERK?—so as to get
them to let Miss Mary Jane go aboard? Now YOU know he ain’t. What WILL he
do, then? Why, he’ll say, ’It’s a great pity, but my church matters has got
to get along the best way they can; for my niece has been exposed to the
dreadful pluribus-unum mumps, and so it’s my bounden duty to set down here
and wait the three months it takes to show on her if she’s got it.’ But
never mind, if you think it’s best to tell your uncle Harvey—”
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“Just think a minute, and maybe you’ll understand. Haven’t your uncles
said they want to get along home to England as fast as they can? And do you
think they’d be mean enough to go off and leave you to follow them on that
journey all by yourself? You KNOW they’ll wait for you. So far, so good.
Your Uncle Harvey’s a preacher, isn’t her? Well then, is a PREACHER going to
lie to a steamboat clerk? Is he going to lie to a SHIP CLERK so they’d let
Miss Mary Jane go aboard? You know he wouldn’t. So what WILL he do instead?
Why, he’ll say, ‘It’s such a pity, but they’ll just have to get on at church
without me because my neice has been exposed to the dreadful pluribus unum mumps. It’s my bound duty to sit down here and wait the three months
it’ll take to show if she’s got it.’ But never mind—if you think it’s best
to tell your Uncle Harvey….”
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