John and the Widdah — 461
It a’n’t the feed—said the young man John—it’s the old woman’s looks when a fellah lays it in too strong. The feed’s well enough. After geese have got tough, ’n’ turkeys have got strong, ’n’ lamb’s got old, ’n’ veal’s pretty nigh beef, ’n’ sparragrass’s growin’ tall ’n’ slim, ’n’ scattery about the head, ’n’ peas are gettin’ so big ’n’ hard, they’d be dangerous if you fired them out of a revolver, we get hold of all them delicacies of the season. But it’s too much like feedin’ on live folks, and devourin’ widdah’s substance, to lay yourself out in the eatin’ way, when a fellah’s as hungry as the chap that said a turkey was too much for one, ’n’ not enough for two. I can’t help lookin’ at the old woman. Corned-beef days she’s tolerable calm; roastin’-days she worries some, ’n’ keeps a sharp eye on the chap that carves. But when there’s anything in the poultry line, it seems to hurt her feelin’s so to see the knife goin’ into the breast, and joints comin’ to pieces, that ther’s no comfort in eatin’. When I cut up an old fowl, and help the boarders, I always feel as if I ought to say, “Won’t you have a slice of widdah?” instead of chicken.—Oliver Wendell Holmes.