§ 125 Keeping It in the Family
The proprietor of a small general store in a remote New England district sat at the doorway of his establishment industriously whittling. A middle-aged native drove up in an antiquated car and halted.
“Hello, Eth,” he said.
“Hello, Wes,” answered back the storekeeper.
“Wall, Eth,” said the newcomer, “you said I couldn’t dew it, but, by Judas Priest, I done it!”
“You done whut?” asked the storekeeper.
“Sold that there old crow-bait mare of mine—that’s whut I done,” said Wes exultingly.
“Wall, you air the smart one!” cried the astonished Eth admiringly. “She wuzn’t wuth nothin’. Whut did ye sell her fur?”
“She wuzn’t wuth nothin’, jest ez you say. But all the same I sold her fur a hunderd dollars—and I got the money right here in my pocket, too.”
“I got to say it again,” declared Eth. “You certainly air the smart one! A hundred dollars! Why that there old mare wuzn’t wuth ten dollars. She wuz eighteen year old if she wuz a day and blind of one eye and spavined and wind-broke and all stove up. Who, in the name of Goshen, did you sell her to?”
“I sold her,” said Wes, “to mother.”