So de cullud man, Harris, he says:
"'You is too ole fur ter carry de mail, you triflin' mule, an' I hain't
got no udder use fur you.'
"So he put him in a gully-field, whar dar was nuffin but bar' groun' an'
hog weed. Now, dar was nuffin in dis worl' dat triflin' mule hated so
much as hog weed, an' he says to hese'f: 'I's boun' ter do somefin'
better'n dis fur a libin. I reckin I'll go skeer dat ole Harris, an'
make him gib me a feed o' corn.' So he jump ober de fence, fur he was
spry 'nuf when he had a min' ter, an' he steals an ole bar skin dat he'd
seen hangin' up in de store po'ch, an' he pretty nigh kivered himse'f
all up wid it. Den he go down to de pos' offis, whar de mail had jes'
come in. When dis triflin' ole mule seed de cullud man, Harris, sittin'
on de bottom step ob de po'ch, he begin to kick up his heels an' make
all de noise he could wid he mouf. 'Wot's dat?' cried de cullud man,
Harris. 'I's a big grizzly bar,' said de mule, ''scaped from de 'nagerie
when 'twas fordin' Scott's Creek.' 'When did you git out?' said de
cullud man, Harris. 'I bus' from de cage at half pas' free o'clock dis
ebenin'.' 'An' is you reely a grizzly bar?' 'Dat's de truf,' said de
triflin' mule, 'an' I's pow'ful hungry, an' if you don' go git me a feed
o' corn I'll swaller you down whole.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110