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He Wasn’t Sordid.

I iiad been sitting in the shade of a fence corner for a quarter of an hour, when a farmer came along with an ox team, and invited me to ride with him. I was only fairly seated when he said : “Sad thing happened back there about six months ago.” “ Indeed ?” “Yes ; that ’ere blamed off ox shied at a paper in the road, and run us into a ditch, and tipped the waggon over.” “ Yes.” “ Martha was along. Crushed the gizzard right out of her, and she was dead when I picked her up. Funeral cost me 40dol. I was just looking at the bill. Had a coffin with six silver plated handles. Ever Jose your wife ?” “ Never.” “Awful sad thing. Haw there, Buck! She had two unmade dresses in the house, which were left on my hands. Guess I’ll get shet of them, however—guess I will. Whoa 1 you yaller ox ! Undertaker said we could scrape along with four handles to the coffin, but I told him to make ’em an even half dozen. Ftdlcr can’t afford to be small about those matters. Say, you know what belongs to manners, eh “ I hope so.” “ Guessed you did, even if you are afoot. I want to ask you how long a widower has to wait before taking another. There’s no law, yer know, bat a sort of custom. Is it a year ?’’ “ Some wait a year.” “And some only three or six months ?” “ I’ve heard of a second marriage within a week or two.”

“ Too soon—a leetle too soon,” he answered, as he stroked his thin whiskers. “ Looks too sordid and grasping, you see. Neighbors would probably talk, too. Couldn’t complain about six months, could they ?” “ I should think not.”

“ That’s twenty-four weeks, or ICB days, you see. Nothing sordid about that, eh ? It’s coming off next week,” “ What ? Your marriage ?” “ That’s it. Bin engaged five days now, and it’s to come off next Wednesday, Her name is Feobe. Awful hard to get up airly and keep hustling all day. Had my eye on her ever since the day of the funeral, but you needn’t mind telling it. Folks is gossipy, you know. Git up, you lazy beasts ! Say, I want to ask ’bout another thing.”

“Well?” “ Haven’t got Martha any tombstone yet. Have to git one, won’t I ?” “Why, yes.” “If I didn’t they’d say I was sordid, wouldn’t they ?” “ They might.” “ Would you put a lamb or a dove on it?” “ That’s just as you feel.”

“ Has it got to read ; ‘ Martha, the first and most beloved wife of Aaron Snyder ?’ ” “Not necessarily.” " Kin I jist put on: ‘ Erected to the memory of Martha Snyder, who died 22nd April, 1888 ?’ ” “ Why, yes.” “And have it quietly taken up and set up, and not let on to the other. I see. Nothing sordid about Feebe, but sich things grind, you know. Do you take the cross road? Wall, good day. Glad we met. Seemed some six months was long enough, but I kinder wanted an outside opinyun. Had six handles, you remember, but the neighbors might call me sordid, and shut us out on quilting bees and corn huskiugs.”

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Permanent link to this item

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ESD18891007.2.31

Bibliographic details

He Wasn’t Sordid., Evening Star, Issue 8031, 7 October 1889

Word Count
534

He Wasn’t Sordid. Evening Star, Issue 8031, 7 October 1889

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