 | Me 'n' Dunbar |  |
163
ME 'N' DUNBAR.
JAMES D. CORROTHERS.
One day when me 'n' Dunbar wuz a-hoein' in de co'n,
Bofe uv us tried an' anxious foh to heah de dinnah—ho'n.—
Him in his fiel', an' me in mine, a-wo'kin' on togeddah,
A-sweatin' lak de mischief in de hottes' kine o' weddah.
A debblish notion tuck me 't Paul wuz gittin' on too fast:
But, thainks I: “Wait untwel he git 'mongst all dem weeds an' grass,
'N' I'll make him ne'ly kill his se'f, an' den come out de las'.”
Bofe uv us tried an' anxious foh to heah de dinnah—ho'n.—
Him in his fiel', an' me in mine, a-wo'kin' on togeddah,
A-sweatin' lak de mischief in de hottes' kine o' weddah.
A debblish notion tuck me 't Paul wuz gittin' on too fast:
But, thainks I: “Wait untwel he git 'mongst all dem weeds an' grass,
'N' I'll make him ne'ly kill his se'f, an' den come out de las'.”
Tuck off ma coat, rolled up ma slebes, spit on ma han's an' say:
“Ef God'll he'p me—'n' not he'p him—I beats ma man today!”
S'I: “Paul, come on, le's have a race!—I see you achin' foh it”—
S'e: “All right, Jeems, ma son: strack out—I sho' admire yo' spurrit.”
S'I: “Son er father. I'm yo' match—jes' ketch me, ef you ken!”
S'I: “You'd gib up now, ef you'd take advice f'om yo' bes' fr'en”—
An' den de way dem two hoes flew wuz scand'l'us—gen-'l'men!
“Ef God'll he'p me—'n' not he'p him—I beats ma man today!”
S'I: “Paul, come on, le's have a race!—I see you achin' foh it”—
S'e: “All right, Jeems, ma son: strack out—I sho' admire yo' spurrit.”
S'I: “Son er father. I'm yo' match—jes' ketch me, ef you ken!”
S'I: “You'd gib up now, ef you'd take advice f'om yo' bes' fr'en”—
An' den de way dem two hoes flew wuz scand'l'us—gen-'l'men!
De sun shone on us br'ilin' hot: but, now an' den de breeze
Blowed fresh, f'om 'cross de maddah lot, de fragrance ob de trees
In de ole orchard, jes' beyon'. De birds sung clear an' sweet:
De tree toad wuz a-callin' out his 'pinion ob de heat:
De fahm-house looked invitin', an', erbout a mile away.
De town gleamed white—across de road, de fahmers made dey hay:—
But me 'n' Paul was hustlin': 'ca'se dat wuz ouh “busy day.”
Blowed fresh, f'om 'cross de maddah lot, de fragrance ob de trees
In de ole orchard, jes' beyon'. De birds sung clear an' sweet:
De tree toad wuz a-callin' out his 'pinion ob de heat:
De fahm-house looked invitin', an', erbout a mile away.
De town gleamed white—across de road, de fahmers made dey hay:—
But me 'n' Paul was hustlin': 'ca'se dat wuz ouh “busy day.”
By'm-by, I got so tired dat I thought ma soul I'd die—
An' all de time a-watchin' Paul, out one side ob ma eye.—
I walks up to de fence, an, le'nt upon ma hoe a spell,
An' say: “Paul, how you mekin' out?” S'e: “Putty middlin' well.”
“Dat so?” sez I, you lookin' weak!” Sez he “Am dat a fack?—
Who wuz it lef' his hoein' fuss? You bettah go on back,—
An' go to wo'k, 'r I'll be so fur dat you cain't fine ma track!”
An' all de time a-watchin' Paul, out one side ob ma eye.—
I walks up to de fence, an, le'nt upon ma hoe a spell,
An' say: “Paul, how you mekin' out?” S'e: “Putty middlin' well.”
“Dat so?” sez I, you lookin' weak!” Sez he “Am dat a fack?—
Who wuz it lef' his hoein' fuss? You bettah go on back,—
An' go to wo'k, 'r I'll be so fur dat you cain't fine ma track!”
164
'N' back I went, an' slashed about, an' to'e up mo' good co'n—
An' missed mo' weeds den airy othah mo'tal evah bo'n.
An' all de time a-thinkin' thoughts, untwel I come to see
Dat, dat ah' kine o' foolishness wa'n't he'pin' him ner me.
S'I: “Hole on, Paul, le's stop awhile, an' talk an' git ouh breff—
'Ca'se bofe uv us has got to hoe his own patch foh his se'f.”
Sez he: “Dat's right; hey ain't no use to wo'k ouhse'fs to deff.”
An' missed mo' weeds den airy othah mo'tal evah bo'n.
An' all de time a-thinkin' thoughts, untwel I come to see
Dat, dat ah' kine o' foolishness wa'n't he'pin' him ner me.
S'I: “Hole on, Paul, le's stop awhile, an' talk an' git ouh breff—
'Ca'se bofe uv us has got to hoe his own patch foh his se'f.”
Sez he: “Dat's right; hey ain't no use to wo'k ouhse'fs to deff.”
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