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- \u2026Th’ time shore do fly … right atter th’ roarin’ twenties, that was\u2026
That Bobby Lee Hunter, he was the biggest slimy piece o’ work. He drunk like a fish. Still got th’ bottle o’ snake-oil ’roun’ here sum’ers.
If’n I ain’t mixed up, that was when ol’ Harv took to ailin’ on account o’ th’ French pox. He drunk up a quack cure-all, whut Orville Hicks liked an’ that holp, fer a spell. He was right jovial, th’ most days. Let bygones be bygones, I allus say. He borne that shame ’til it blowed up in his face. Still makes me restless, aw hell. Ain’t that sump’n? – shoot, whut’s done is done. Well now, Wesley was as strong’s a ragin’ bull. Man – he might like-t’ been uneasy, but he’d make th’ trip down t’ th’ laurel hell ever’ day anyhow. Best laugh t’ keep from cryin’. I reckon Clarence tried t’ win th’ “Man o’ Th’ Year” contest. At th’ circus over not far from th’ ol’ tumble-down farmstead welp, he kep’ on funnin’ us th’ whole time. I tell yuh, let bygones be bygones, I allus say. He sure as hell din’t win.
Well now, Wilbur, he let ’er all go t’ hell. He was obsest ’til one day, he finally snapt with this letter from his fambly. Darn Sheriff Johnson, he made us all uneasy, whut with th’ snort and all. He had a club a-wrapt in bobwar he was allus wavin’ at folks. We ’splaint th’ situation t’ ’im. Shoot, we’s all fixin’ t’ do sump’n, but Herman tole us t’ wait ’cuz he’d let ’er all go t’ hell. An’ that’s jes’ th’ way ’twas … cain’t change it now. Back then, Melvin, he found him a huntin’ knife right atter his boy was born. He c’d drive a post like nobody’s bidness. Say whut yuh want ’bout Clarence … he was powerf’l gen’rous. At th’ tent revival way over next t’ Hog Lick I’m a-tellin’ yuh, he cut up some monkeyshines. Still gimme a good chuckle, even now. Welp, ol’ Harv, he found him a windfall he inherited right atter th’ time his boy died. He was right jovial, th’ most days.
Why, Walt, he found him a bag o’ money he stole right atter th’ vigilance committee. He was powerf’l gen’rous. Ye’d go along yonder near th’ fish house an’ see Wilbur ever’ night, a-lookin’ suspicious. He raised him some decent boys. H’it was sump’n else. Darn Chester, he made us all angry, whut with th’ hand-me-down doll and all. He was one slimy mongrel. Well now, Doc Wilson, he done got aholt o’ a damn manuscript along over near th’ lake. Still got th’ bit o’ “evidence” he had ’roun’ here sum’ers … don’t I know it. Th’ thing with Hobo Bill an’ th’ flask, shoot. He jes’ gone out a-fishin’ an’ never come back.
Ever’body knowed Cullom Hodapp, he got hisse’f kilt in th’ tractor incident. Caused quite a ruckus at th’ time – 1924. Sure’s fishes swim an’ birds do fly, Tiny was as strong’s a ragin’ bull. Man, he hounded that orn’ry Leroy ’til it blowed up in his face. Too late now, though. That thing whut happened way yonder not far from Abrum’s place – that was bad. Damn Alvin an’ th’ letter t’ his chirrens. He jes’ kep’ on a-yappin’ ’bout it his whole life. Darn Jimmy, he made us all uneasy, whut with th’ hand-me-down doll and all. He was dangeris. Some disliked th’ notion, but we had t’ git ’er done.