|So they shook it, one after the other, all around, and cried. The judge’s wife she kissed it. Then the old man he signed a pledge—made his mark. The judge said it was the holiest time on record, or something like that. Then they tucked the old man into a beautiful room, which was the spare room, and in the night some time he got powerful thirsty and clumb out on to the porch-roof and slid down a stanchion and traded his new coat for a jug of forty-rod, and clumb back again and had a good old time; and towards daylight he crawled out again, drunk as a fiddler, and rolled off the porch and broke his left arm in two places, and was most froze to death when somebody found him after sun-up. And when they come to look at that spare room they had to take soundings before they could navigate it.||
So they each shook his hand, one after the other, and everyone cried. The
new judge’s wife even kissed it. Then my old man made his mark on a pledge.
The new judge said this was one of the holiest moments, or something like
that. Then they showed my old man to their beautiful spare bedroom. But in
the night he got thirsty for a drink, so he climbed out the window and onto
the roof of the porch, and slid down a
support beam that holds up the roofstanchion to the street, where he traded his new coat for a jug of moonshine. Then he climbed back into the room and had a good old time. He crawled out the window again at dawn and was so drunk that he rolled off the porch and broke his left arm in two places. He was unconscious when they found him after sun-up. When they finally looked in the spare bedroom, they had a hard time making sense of all the damage he’d done.
|The judge he felt kind of sore. He said he reckoned a body could reform the old man with a shotgun, maybe, but he didn’t know no other way.||The new judge was angry. He said he guessed the only way to reform my old man would be with a shotgun.|