The Dover Anthology of American Literature Volume II by Bob Blaisdell Page A

a-swelling yourself up like this. I ain’t the man to stand it—you hear? Say—lemme hear you read.”
    I took up a book and begun something about General Washington and the wars. When I’d read about a half a minute, he fetched the book a whack with his hand and knocked it across the house. He says:
    â€œIt’s so. You can do it. I had my doubts when you told me. Now looky here; you stop that putting on frills. I won’t have it. I’ll lay for you, my smarty; and if I catch you about that school I’ll tan you good. First you know you’ll get religion, too. I never see such a son.”
    He took up a little blue and yaller picture of some cows and a boy, and says:
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œIt’s something they give me for learning my lessons good.”
    He tore it up, and says—
    â€œI’ll give you something better—I’ll give you a cowhide.”
    He set there a-mumbling and a-growling a minute, and then he says—
    â€œ
Ain’t
you a sweet-scented dandy, though? A bed; and bedclothes; and a look’n-glass; and a piece of carpet on the floor—and your own father got to sleep with the hogs in the tanyard. I never see such a son. I bet I’ll take some o’ these frills out o’ you before I’m done with you. Why there ain’t no end to your airs—they say you’re rich. Hey?—how’s that?”
    â€œThey lie—that’s how.”
    â€œ Looky here—mind how you talk to me; I’m a-standing about all I can stand, now—so don’t gimme no sass. I’ve been in town two days, and I hain’t heard nothing but about you bein’ rich. I heard about it away down the river, too. That’s why I come. You git me that money tomorrow—I want it.”
    â€œI hain’t got no money.”
    â€œIt’s a lie. Judge Thatcher’s got it. You git it. I want it.”
    â€œI hain’t got no money, I tell you. You ask Judge Thatcher; he’ll tell you the same.”
    â€œAll right. I’ll ask him; and I’ll make him pungle, too, or I’ll know the reason why. Say—how much you got in your pocket? I want it.”
    â€œI hain’t got only a dollar, and I want that to—”
    â€œIt don’t make no difference what you want it for—you just shell it out.”
    He took it and bit it to see if it was good, and then he said he was going down town to get some whisky; said he hadn’t had a drink all day. When he had got out on the shed, he put his head in again, and cussed me for putting on frills and trying to be better than him; and when I reckoned he was gone, he come back and put his head in again, and told me to mind about that school, because he was going to lay for me and lick me if I didn’t drop that.
    Next day he was drunk, and he went to Judge Thatcher’s and bullyragged him and tried to make him give up the money; but he couldn’t, and then he swore he’d make the law force him.
    The judge and the widow went to law to get the court to take me away from him and let one of them be my guardian; but it was a new judge that had just come, and he didn’t know the old man; so he said courts mustn’t interfere and separate families if they could help it; said he’d druther not take a child away from its father. So Judge Thatcher and the widow had to quit on the business.
    That pleased the old man till he couldn’t rest. He said he’d cowhide me till I was black and blue if I didn’t raise some money for him. I borrowed three dollars from Judge Thatcher, and pap took it and got drunk and went a-blowing around and cussing and whooping and carrying on; and he kept it up all over town, with a tin pan, till most midnight; then they jailed him, and next day they had him before court, and jailed him again for a week. But he said
he
was satisfied; said he was boss of his son, and he’d make it warm