Newark leader. ([Newark, Ohio]) 1917-1946, 1923-11-23

Theys Thousan's and Tens o. Thou
sans o. Gals That Cayn't Be
Drawed On, No Matter What FeIIer
Comes Along.
pipe from between his lips and sat
tapping the stem against his thumb
nail.
II low y'ur not fur off," he answered
meditatively to the postmaster's look.
"Big Jacks twenty past, an I've hear'n
say Texie wus three years younger to
a day. That would bring 'er right
around seventeen r eighteen"
"An' s'poson' she is.every lick of
It," the postmaster went on. "a gal
amt got none too much sense at eight
een-an' ther' amt no gal but what
can be drawed on, If the right Teller
comes along"
"Hol' on thar, Zeke, hoP on!" Uncle
Nick had been leaning back against
cracker barrel. His chair came down
with bang, and his voice rang like
struck metal. you're goin' leetle
too fur. They's lthousan's an tens O.
thousan's O. gals that cayn't be drawed
on, no matter what feller comes along.
'Ther's heap more nice gals than
men. Their never wus bad gal but
what ther' wus bad man first. An
after it's over-she's done. All en-
durin' the years t come her heart has
t. be drug In the dust, while the man
no, 1 won't call i'm man, an l cayn't
call i'm beast, FIR the beasts r. clean
compared-carrieS is head as high as
b'fore. tell y'u, people hain't never
looked at them things right. The man
deserves t. be judged accordin' t. the
same way the gal is-only more So"
A hush fell over the group. The
blacksmith sat patting his foot softly
on the floor. Presently his calloused
hand came down upon his knee with
sounding slap, while his eyes, dull at
most times from long looking into the
forge fire, lighted with the fervor Of
his feelings.
Good f'r you, Uncle Nick! agree
with y'u complete. That's my kind O.
preachin'-right t. the pint"
my sentiments to hair" chimed
in the fisherman. II alw'ys takes the
girls part an be id t. the man.
That's how l lost this eye. 1t wus
when-but no matter, l hain't never
b'grudged it"
The fisherman's lone eye settled into
vacant stare at crack in the floor;
the hard lines of his face deepened.
Could the others have glimpsed back
of that scanned and weather-beaten
mask, they might have read there the
deep craven memory of day that was
dead-a dream and an awakening, a
romance and tragedy-that had
driven him, as the storm drives the
driftwood, with what the world calls
a crime slated against him, to bury
his life here with his dog and fishing
gear, alone in his bachelor cabin on
the river shore.
~Yes, them's mighty fine senti-
ments," cut the thin edged voice Of
the postmaster across the silence-and
the dream dissolved in the fishermans
eye-"an' mostly agrees with 'em an
says amen to 'em, an the new parson
may be all 'e's cracked up to be, but
still I amt takin' back nothin'."
Zeke's thin voice ceased, lost some
where in the cavernous labyrinth Of
his sharp. inquisitive nose.
Uncle Nick prodded down the con-
tents Of his pipe with his finger and
smoked while in silence. Taking the
stem from between his lips after a
time, he blew the smoke away, slowly,
as IL to get the full taste Of 1t, and
waved the pipe across toward the
postmaster-a well understood prelimi-
nary to renewal of the argument.
At the moment Loge Belden took a
gulp from his bottle Of squirrel" put