The Duke of Stockbridge: A Romance of Shays' Rebellion by Edward Bellamy (diy ebook reader TXT) 📗

got home She wuz a cryin, fer Gleason'd been thar, an I dunno what he'd said tew her, and then Klector Williams he told me he'd hev tew sell the furnicher fer taxes, an by gosh, takin the hull together seemed 's though thar warn't no place fer a poor man in this ere world, and I didn' keer ef I lived much longer or not. An naow! Wal thay ain't no use o' tellin ye what ye know. I seen Gleason on the street yisday, an he looked like a whipped cur. He hed his tail atween his legs, I tell yew. I reckon he thort I wuz gonter lick him. It wuz 'Good mornin, Peleg,' ez sweet's sugar, an he didn't hev nothing tew say baout what I wuz a owin him, no; nor he didn't ass me nothin baout wy I hedn't been tew work fer him sence Tewsday.”

After the haw-haw over Peleg's description had subsided, he added, with a grin,

“Klector Williams he hain't thort tew call baout them taxes, sence Tewsday, nuther. Hev any on ye seen nothin on him?”

“He hain't skurcely been outer his haouse,” said Obadiah Weeks. “I on'y see him onct. It was arter dark, an he wuz a slippin over't the store arter his tod.”

“I guess it muss be considabul like a funeral over't the store, nights,” observed Abner, grinning. “Gosh I sh'd like ter peek in an see em a talkin on it over. Wal, turn about's fair play. They don' feel no wuss nor we did.”

“Won't thar be no more klectin taxes?” inquired Laban Jones.

“I guess thar won't be much more klectin roun' here 'nless the klector hez a couple o' rigiments o' melishy tew help him dew it,” replied Abner.

“I dunno, baout that,” said Ezra Phelps. “Thar's more'n one way ter skin a cat.”

“Thar ain't no way o' skinnin this ere cat 'cept with bagonets,” said Abner, decidedly, and a general murmur expressed the opinion that so far as the present company was concerned government would have to practice some preliminary phlebotomy on their persons before they would submit to any further bleeding of their purses by the tax-collector. Nothing pleased Ezra more than to get placed thus argumentatively at bay, with the entire company against him, and then discomfit them all at a stroke. The general expression of dissent with which his previous remark was received, seemed actually to please him. He stood looking at Abner for a moment, without speaking, a complacent smile just curving his lips, and the sparkle of the intellectual combatant in his eye. To persons of Ezra's disputatious and speculative temper, such moments, in which they gloat over their victim as he stands within the very jaws of the logic trap which they are about to spring, are no doubt, the most delightful of life.

“Don't yew be in sech a hurry, Abner,” he finally ejaculated. “Would ye mind payin yer taxes ef govment giv ye the money ter pay em with?”

“No. In course I wouldn't.”

“Ezzackly. Course ye wouldn't. Ye'd be dum unreas'nable ef ye did. Wal, naow I callate that air's jess what govment's gonter dew, ez soon ez it gits the news from Northampton and Barrington. It's gonter print a stack o' bills, an git em inter cirk'lashun, an then we'll all on us hev suthin tew pay fer taxes, an not mind it a bit; yis, an pay all the debts that's a owin, tew.”

“I hain't no objeckshun ter that,” admitted Abner, frankly.

“Of course ye hain't,” said Ezra. “Nobody hain't. Ye see ye spoke tew quick, Abner. All the kentry wants is bills, a hull slew on em, lots on em, an then the courts kin go on, an debts an taxes kin be paid, an everything'll be all right. I ain't one o' them ez goes agin' payin debts an taxes. I says let em be paid, ev'ry shillin, on'y let govment print nuff bills fer folks tew pay em with.”

“I callate a couple o' wagon loads o' new bills would pay orf ev'ry morgidge, an mos' o' the debts, in Berkshire,” said Israel, reflectively.

“Sartinly, sartinly,” exclaimed Ezra. “That would be plenty. It don' cost nothin tew print em, an they'd pacify this ere caounty a dum sight quicker nor no two rigiments, nor no ten, nuther.”

“That air's what I believe in,” said Israel, beamingly, “peaceable ways o' settlin the trouble; bills instid o' bagonets. The beauty on't so fer is that thar hain't been no sheddin o' blood, nor no vi'lence tew speak of, ceppin a leetle shovin daown tew Barrington, an I hope thar won't be.”

“I don't know about that,” said Paul Hubbard. “Not that I want to see any killing, but there are some silk stockings in this here town that would look mighty well sticking through the stocks, an there are some white skins that ought to know how a whip feels, jist so the men that own em might see how the medicine tastes they've been giving us so many years.”

There was a general murmur indicating approval of this sentiment, and several “that's sos” were heard, but Israel said, as he patted Hubbard paternally on the back:

“Let bygones be bygones, Paul. Them things be all over naow, an I callate thar won't be no more busin of poor folks. The lyin an the lamb be a gonter lie down together arter this, 'cordin tew scripter. I declar, it seems jiss like the good ole times 'long from '74 to '80, wen thar warn't no courts in Berkshire. Wen I wuz a tellin ye baout them times 'tother night, I swow I didn't callate ye'd ever have a chance to see em fer yerselves, leastways, not till ye got ter Heavin, an I guess that's a slim chance with most on ye. Jess think on't, boys. Thar ain't been nary sheriff's sale, nor a man tuk ter jail this hull week.”

“Iry Seymour wuz a gonter sell aout Elnathan Hamlin this week, but somehow he hain't got tew it,” said Abner, dryly. “I callate he heard some news from Barrington baout Tuesday.”

“Iry mout's well give up his comishin ez depity sheriff an try ter git inter some honest trade,” remarked Israel.

“Whar does Squire Woodbridge keep hisself these days? I hain't seen him skurcely this week,” said Ezra Phelps.

“Yew don' genally see much of a rooster the week arter another rooster's gin him a darnation lickin on his own dung hill, an that's wat's the matter with Squire,” replied Abner. Shifting his quid of tobacco to the other side of the mouth and expectorating across half the room into the chimney place he continued, reflectively:

“By gosh, I don' blame him, nuther. It muss come kinder tough fer a feller ez hez lorded it over Stockbridge fer nigh twenty year tew git put daown afore the hull village the way Perez put him daown Tuesday. Ef I wuz Squire, I shouldn't never wan ter show myself agin roun' here.”

“I be kinder sorry fer him,” said Israel Goodrich. “I declar for't if I ain't. It muss be kinder tough tew git took daown so, specially fer sech a dreffle proud man.”

“I hain't sot eyes on him on'y once sence Tewsday,” said Peleg. “He looked right straight through me 'z ef he didn' see nothin. He didn' seem ter notice nobody ez he went along the street.”