The Taming of Tom Purcell

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIV, Issue 10, 9 March 1910, Page 50

The Taming of Tom Purcell

By

Mrs. L. H. HARRIS.

Author of " The Godlonesome Man in Brasstown Valley," "Brother Milam," etc. With Illustrations by Gordon Ross.

ISTER,” said Pappy Corn to the ilk Stranger, “when the Lord ' I 1 takes a whack at a man, he’s / hound to show it—changes his expression somehow. And there’s been

a right smart of it done here in the ’Valley. Soon or late He’s ketched every man jack of us by the scruff of the neck, so to speak, and shook us into the right order of things. We called it misfortune and one thing or another, but we knowed it was God. Some thought Tom Purcell had escaped, we ’lowed he must have been overlooked, he’d growed so tarnal bad.-. But the Lord’s terrible cute about ■turnin’ around every now and then to bring up the back members of his Providence. And the way he fetched up Tom made some of us duck our heads, ’twas eo awful and contemptuous, as if he wa’n’t worthy of first-class damnation.” The old man paused and regarded his companion solemnly. “For, after, all, • ’tain’t so bad to take your lickin’ straight from the God that made you. There's a Job-dignity and honour in it then, and I’ve knowed many a man to come up from it as if he'd got some ■kind of commission from Heaven. But to have to take it second hand, and from a woman at that —well, sir. it’s sorter disgraceful, a man never gits over it. ‘And that’s the way Tom took his'n. Maybe you’ve never noticed him since you been in here. A body naturally wouldn’t, he slinks along so easy, like a ■whipped dog with his tail between his legs. But ten years ago he was the •worst man and the biggest bully in the Valley. Now he ain’t got so much as a sin to his name, jest a few sickly faults, and looks at you as if he was hidin’ behind-his own whiskers “One day a man come through here postin pictures as big as a cartwheel every where, advertisin’ Mcßee’s trained animals and one Dorime Wing, the famous female animal tiainer, that was to show in Blue Ridge the cornin’ Saturday. Purcell and a passle of rompin' young fellows was pretendin’ to run a sawmill ’down here on the Creek, but it happened rthey was on Liquor Ridge at the time, ‘so when him and his gang come down -in the evenin', all of ’em about three ’sheets in the wind, and seen the whole •itown kivered with highly painted varmints, tlmy ’lowed they’d have a big (game hunt and incidentally skeer everybody mighty nigh to death. They stuck spurs in their horses and rid up and down by Stallins’ Store and the Post Office and blacksmith shop where the .things had been posted, yellin' like demons and shootin' every jump al them btigers and leopard and so forth. But suddenly Purcell, who was in front, of course, drawed rein so quick he flung his horse back on his hind legs. He come .to a poster where Dorime Wing, the famous female lion tamer, was standin’ in nothin’ to speak of but a pa’r of pink tights and a waist frill, stompin' a .mighty pretty little foot at six lions, ali of ’em roarin’ and gnashin’ their ;tecth at her. Well, sir, we’d never had ,®o bill board women pictures in this ▼alley before, and that one plum took tSPureell’s eye. He waved to the fellows behind to stop shootin’, whirled out of .bls saddle, took off his hat and erope up : to the picture as if he was afeerd she’d ; see him and take to her heels. Then he •went on to the next one where the same gal was bangin’ by her toes from a pole in the top of the cage ticklin’ jtthe year of a lion and smilin’ at the audience. I’ve always thought it was that which finished Tom. He wa’n’t used to seein’ a woman smile at him with her face bottom up-ards. Anyhow when young Jim I.ovin'good begun to fling off on the gal. his dander riz. He come , prancin’ up to Jim, spit in his hands, Ji’isted his elbows and 'lowed he’d lick ,— out of ary man that throwed off on her. The crowd laughed and somiliody yelled out: . "‘Tom’s fell in love with a circus gal!' y “Then Jim says jest to aggervate him: s' “ •Shucks, man! she wouldn’t look at •ech as you!” "He'd went back and was standin* close <o the poster, feet wide apart,* hands on tus hips starin' at that little bottom

up’ards smile of Dorime, with sech a look of admiration as you never seen on the human countenance. But when he heerd Jim, he faced about, drawed a ten-dollar gold piece out of his pocket and 'lowed he was goin’ to the show next day, which was Saturday, and if that gal could do them things she was the one woman in the world for him, and he’d bet two to one that he'd marry her and bring her back with him before sundown.

“I say that’s the way this I'm fixin’ to tell you started.. And nothin’ ever seemed further from the wayg of provk denee at the time. "Late Saturday evenin’ Prim Mayberry and me was settin’ in front of tiie Stallins’ boys’ store. It was the middle of April and every little green thing had its forefinger out, feelin’ of the weather. The alders along the Creek were swingin’ their sweet white veils in the breeze, the willows were trailin' their green beards in the water, and I was jest wonderin’ if the Tree of Life could beat a crabapple tree in bloom, when suddenly Prim r’ared up in his chair as if he was p’intin’ at somethin' in the Creek at the bottom of the hill. “ ’Pappy,’ he says, very low and cautious, ‘what's that yonder in the ford I’ “Well, sir. I hope I may die if I ever see such a sight as was down there in that innocent creek where we’d all been baptised and where the very banks were consecrated by the hymns we'd sung. Tom Purcell’s old sorrel, hitched to his two-wheel sulky, was standin' knee deep in the water drinkin’. Tom was balanced somehow on the axle tree, dressed fit to kill, in his best breeches, b’iled shirt, red tie, and with his hat roached up bn one side of his head as if it were bar’ly tetehin’ his ha’r. And settin’ on the • seat was a woman in pink tights, a green skirt not much longer than an exclamation p'int and about four thousand spangles. We didn’t more'n git a look when he seen us, jerked his horse’s nose out of the water and come a-t’arin’, the gal swayin' beside him like a bouquet of roses tied in the middle. As they passed, Tom yells, ‘I got her, Pappy.! Courted her in the lion's cage, married her out oi it spangles and all!’ 1 couldn't hear no more, for hv this time they was jest a pink and white streak down the road. But we heerd from t'other fellows that went to the show that he actually did steal her between performances, hiked with her in an old ridin’ coat over to the courthouse, married her and lit out for the Valley before the circus folks knowed what had happened. “Well, sir, you never heerd sech n row as we had. when the news of the weddin' and the style of the bride’s garments was narrated around. The women were plum distracted at what that designin' circus gal had done to poor innocent Tom Purcell. The moral

sense of a virtuous female. Mister, is sorter cross-eyed in the contemplation of the transgressions of the opposite sex. She can’t be too hard on a gooli man if he goes astray, beca’se, God bless you, she don’t have much use for him nohow. But jest let an impudent young scamp without enough virtue to make a. button-hole bouquet do somethin’ disgraceful and she’ll kiver him with the mantle of her charity and blame the whole thing on somebody else, beca’se, dang it, in the bottom her heart every good woman likes that kind of a man best anyhow! So Misses Lovin’good, Partheny Sock well, and the rest held meetin’s all over the settlement durin’ the next few weeks pityin’ Tom and abusin’ his wife. On the other hand the men didn’t have much to say. They were hacked. It’s the nature of man. Mister, to sorter envy any datin’ in his fellow man to’ards the opposite sex, even if what's done ain’t proper, and we were all obleeged to admit tlrat Purcell had planted a hickory over our persimmons in matrimonial impudence. The way we’d took our brides from their spinnin’ wheels in through the church do’ and out ag’in seemed tame besides marryin’ a lady out of a lion’s cage in jest a pa’r of extension stockin’s, so to speak. “ But none of the talk prepared us for what really happened. For the marriage of the bully of Brasstown and the lion tamer of Mcßee’s Circus proved to be of a wild animal performance that knocked the socks off any tame animal show we knowed anything about. They were livin’ in a log cabin up the creek a piece from the sawmill, and everything went on smooth for more’n a month. They were as happy as turtle doves, payin’ no more attention to the gossip in the Valley than if it had been bees liununin’ in their flower gardin’. Then Tom got crazy drunk, went home and skeered his wife off the. place. He was that kind, whiskymade him mean. Before he was married he took his tantrums out on his horse, afterwards he jes naturally took 'em out on his wife —I’ve never seen, a man yet, Mister, mean to his horse or dog that knowed how to treat a woman. And when he found out she was afeered of him that made him worse. He lit in to drinkin’ hard and to knockin’ her about when he came in tight jest to see her dodge, I reckon. Folk didn’t seem to have much sympathy for her, but they wondered what made her stand it. I didn’t —marriage changes a female, no matter how fierce she is beforehand, it sorter shocks and gets the best of her. So Dorime staved down there in her little house, ashamed to show her face, shunned by the respectable women and as much afeered of her husband as if she'd never faced lions nor swung by her toes from a trapeze pole. But a man never knows when he’ll kick a hole in his destiny and spils his horoscope wjien he’s tradin' fates with a woman. And at last Purcell went too far. When they'd been married about four months, Dorime came

to herself, and the curtain riz on the real performance.

“ Early one mornin’ in August I had been over on Double Knobs to doctor mv cow that had tlie'niilk sick, and as I turned the corner of Purcell’s poster fence my eye lit on the figger of a woman under an old sugar berry bush. It was Purcell’s wife, the po' little lion tamer, settin’ on the ground, bar’ footed, with her black ha’r hangin’ down and her hands clasped around her knees. She had on green muslin, and it was torn to tatters', a strand of the ruffle fluttered on the grass, one sleeve hung like a ragged leaf from her shoulder, and the brown swell of her bosom showed where the neck had been ripped out. But it was her face that, took my eye- It was like a bunch of berries hid away out in the woods, it was so little and round and wild, so red where it was red, so brown where it was brown, and her mouth ” Pappy paused, smoothed his beard, softened his eye, and gazing significantly at the stranger, continued impressively: “ Mister, it’s wonderful when you come to think of the way the Lord, nrakin' as many women as he do, never gits tired of figgerin’ out the mouth that exactly suits each one of ’em. This one’s upper lip had been forged and shortened and coloured in a flame, but the under one must have been an answer to prayer, it wos so soft and tender.

“ True’to her nature, she’d saw me belo’ I seen her. And if I hadn’t looked at the rest first, I’d never have got any further than her eyes. They come at me from away down deep in the jungle, and they belt me in my tracks as if I’d been charmed. If I’d been a lion standin’ on my hind legs, and she’d look at me like tliat, I’ll be danged if I wouldn’t adrapped down, crawled to her feet, and lagged her to stomp on me.

“‘Good mornin’, Mr. Corn,’ she says, very steady, like she was orderin’ me to curl my tail and jump through a fiery hoop.

“ ‘Good — good — mornin, ma’am,’ I stammered, takin’ off my h-at. ‘ It’s a pleasant day.’

“ ‘ No, it ain’t, it’s a durn damn, hell of a day.’ she says quick as a flash. Women ain’t got no real genius for strong language. Mister, their speret’s just naturally too puny, but I wa’n’t used to bearin’ ’em try it, and I wouldn’t ’a' been more astonished if she’s opened her little tight primped mouth and let out four or five blue streaks of flame.

“‘Well,’ 1 says, ‘I wouldn’t go so far as that, but I’m willin' .to admit that it’s hot for so early in the mimin’.’ She kept on lookin’ at me as if she was organizin’ inside, for me, or ag’in’ me, I couldn’t tell which, so I says, keerless like:

“‘You seem to have -had an accident, Missis Purcell.’ If she’d flung a rock at me I wouldn’t ’a' been surprised; instead of that she flirted over on the

grass, kiverin* her face with her hands and begun to cry. Mister, did you ever aee a lion tarner cry? It’s none of your little soft sweet sobbin’. This one dug her little thin brown fingers into the <n-ound as if they’d been daws and she jest let herself go in a streak of the most year pierein’ eat' yells you ever heerd. I didn’t know what to do, so f set down about four yards out of het reach, for it wasn’t in my calculations to take chances with a’woman that was in the habit of hittin’ a lion on the nose if he didn’t do to suit her. After she’d quieted down some I says:

“ ‘You kin tell me all about it, Missis Purcell. I knows Tom.’

“She lay mighty still a minute, then she set up, ketehed hold of the front of

her dress with one hand, and looked at me ag’in. Her little red face was all sweetened with her tears, and I seen she wa’nt nothin’ but a po’ defenseless young gal. Directly she says:

“'Mr. Corn, could you lend me fifty dollans for a few days—till, till I could send it back to you?’ “ “Gracious Peter, ma’am,’ I says, droppin’ my knife and the stick I’d been whittlin’, ‘I never had that much ready money in n>y life. What do you want with it?’ . “ ‘I wants to go home, back to my folks in Cincinnati.’ “ ’Ain’t you been happy here in the Valley?’ ‘“No, I ain’t happy, and I wants to go home.’

•"Don’t Tom treat yon right?* “ 1 caa't talk about that, I jest wants to go home.’ Iler voiee died dot n into a ■whisper, and then she began to primp tier face ag’in, drawed it this wty and that, ondone it and primped it over, till the tears that she belt back come into ny own eyes. The po‘ little thing had

her best and none of us had helped, jest left her to have it out with that devil-livered Torn Purcell without a word of sympathy, and now she was homesick for her lions. aa<l for her eussin* eireua folks. ’■■Honey.' I says, very kind, T ain't got the money, and if I had. 1 wouldn't lend it to you so you could go away and leave your husband. When folks marry, in here, it's for what better there is. and for all the worse that can be.’ She hung her head, and I 'lowed she was fixin’ to cry ag’in. so I hurries on. ‘But I car tell you how to straighten Tom.' “ flow v - “ "Wa 'n't you a lion tamer befor* you married ?* “ ’Yes.’ “ ’What's the most important thing in that business?’ '• ’Not to lie afeerd of the beasts and to make them afeerd of you. That’s the rule,' she s-ays. lookin’ at me so inir-h as to say, ‘What's that got to do with it ?’ “ It's a good rule. If you was to practice it on Tom a week he'd be as tame as a kitten.’ She looked downeast el that. “ 'Mr. Corn,' she says, ta lion is just a lion. I ain’t afeerd of no lion that walks beca’se I understand ’em. I knows when to pet one and when to siiek a hot iron to him. But. Tom, he's a man —and he's got me in the cage.* She wailed, drappmg back on the ground. “ You listen to me, Dorime,’ I says, gittin’ down to her first name, "a man's a man when he's a man. When he ain’t, he’s a beast same as any other, and he’s to be managed by the same methods. Now. what would you ’a’ done if one of your lions had so much as snapped his jaws and backed his years at you when it wa’n’t in the play for him to do so?* “ 'l’d have struck him across the nose with my whip, or shot off my pistol at him, or stuck a hot poker to him, accordin’ to his disposition.' “ Exactly.’ 1 says, very encouragin', *lhe pistol and hot poker would suit Tom’s nature best. Now von git up an 1 go back home, and be ready for him when he cranes m to-night. The minute he begins to r’ar, don't be skeert, think lie’s jest one of your beasts lashin’ his aide with hi, Lail and fixin’ to spring, and «ct aeeordinly, and act first.’ “Mister, you never see anything grow like that po’ gal did under them inspirin' words. She ru up, stiffened up, and •trvtched herself? “ '.Mr < raw,' she nays, ‘I believe you air right. I'll take your advice. I'm obleeged to you.’ “ You are w ls-omc. ma'am,' I says fakin’ off my hat her as she stepped

by me like she had padded claws for feet.”

Pappy Corn was a romancer of the common life who introduced a preface wherever it was needed to save, or burnish his own character. He made a break now in his narration, fixed his eyes wittily upon his companion, and remarked with an air of indescribable cunning:

“Al inter, the re ’e a sight of underhand doin’s in the moral world. Some of my best work there has been accomplished on the sly, not lettin’ the victim’s right hand know what my left was doin’ to him. It's about the only way you can git the chance sometimes to twist the devil’s tail. So I say. I’ve been willin’ often to give advice in secret that somebody else was to act upon in the open. But that was one time when I regretted the enterprize of my own righteousness. Long to'ards sundown of the day I'd told the little lion tamer how to tame her husband, I begun to have fearful misgivin’s. What if she was to load her pistol and bust loose at him sho’ ’nough? Wouldn’t I be the partner of her crime? Well, sir, the more I thought about it, the more my conscience griped me.. There was but one thing to do—git up and dust over to Purcell’s house and be on hand to stop the experiment, if I wa'n’t already too late. So I hiked as fast as my old legs would carry me. It. was down hill most of the way, and I was fairly flyin’ as I come ’round the corner of the cabin and heerd the first shot and seeh a yell as I hope never to hear ag*in in this world. Mister, I couldn't go no further. I jest couldn’t. My knees give way. and my innards turned cold in me.’

“ •Tift up your right foot,’ I hears Dorime say, and then a growl. Bang! I heerd the bullet pop ag’in’ the flo’, and then about a dozen yells from somethin’ that sounded like a cross between a man and a wildcat.

“ ‘Dance,’ I hears her say ag’in, and another deep eussin’ growl.

SPIT! SPING! BANG! BANK! And the bulletis clatterin’ everywhere.

“ "Dance, I say!’ Then there was a lively shufflin' of a man’s brogan shoes on the flo’, and I crope up to the winder to find out what new fangled kind of murder was bein’ done inside

“Well, sir, I wished you eould 'a' lieen there to see it! 'lflie little lion tamer was standin’ in the middle of the flo’, one liare brown foot sprung forward, two pistols buckled around her waist and one in her hand. Her ha’r was hangin’ down, her head throwed back, her eyes, not blazin', but dead black, cold and steady, and she had Tom hemmed in a corner between 'em dancin’ with a little stick she was wavin' in the other hand. ILis face was pale, kivered with sweat, and eyes wild with fear. And

she kept him at it. When he’d sorter give down, like he was fixin* to stop, she’d level the pistol at some tender part of his body and squint along the barrel, and he’d fairly bound in the air. When she flowed she’d wore him dean out, she says:—

“‘Halt!’ jest that way, as if she was in a cage with half a dozen lions doin’ what she told ’em. Tom halted, heavin’ like a bellows and so skeert he dassent raise his hand to wipe his face. “Git in bed,” she says, p'intin’ to’ards it with the stick. He walled his eyes sorter hongry at the table where she had a right smart supper laid out. Mister, she busted loose with that pistol first at his right, then at his left foot, bar’ly missin’ ’em. Well, sir, he fairly riz from the flo’ like he was flyin’, landed in the middle of the bed, and jerked the kiver over him. Then she set down to the table, big as Ike, and begun to eat, with the pistol lyin’ handy. 1 could see Tom watchin’ her like a rabbit from a bresh heap, but he didn’t so much as move his little finger, for fear he'd attract her attention. After a while he draprt-d off to sleep, and I crope around to the do’ and scratched on it very easy. She opened it, and seein’ who I was she says as calm as you please: “ 'Good evening*, Mr. Corn. Won’t you come in?’

‘ “No’m,* I says. ‘lt’s gittin' late. I jest wanted to see you on a little matter of business.’ “’What is it?’ she ast.

“ ‘Dorime,* I says, ‘l’ve been mighty oneasy since I give you that advice this mornin’, and I wants to take it back.’

“ ’Well, you can't git it,’ she says laughin, T’ve used it, and I find it’s jest what I needs.’

“ Tell me this, honey, do you aim to kill Tom, or air you jest trainin’ of him? Them pistols are loaded,’ I says. ‘“Mr. Corn, when a trainer goes into a cage where there is a vicious beast, she’s got the right to kill him to save her own life. I don't figger to kill Tom onless it’s necessary. Good night.’ With that she shet the do 'in mv face.

“Well, sir, that was the beginning of the biggest rueus we ever hnd in Brasstown Valley. Even a mean man lias his varmint pride, and Purcell was as game as ary beast Dorime had ever tackled. She took him by surprise that night, or he wouldn’t ’a’ give in so easy. And it did seem that was one of the tricks she knowed about trainin’ wild animals, for she kept on takin* him by surprise. The sawmill hands ’lowed she set out on the mountain, trigger cocked, and watched for him so as to git the drap on him when she knowed he'd be cornin’ home drunk. I don't reckon it went as far as that, but it’s a fact not a man in the settlement would pass that way after dark, for fear she’d mistake him for her lion and plug him. Some of the women begun to come by out of curiosity to see a woman that could keep on livin’ with a man she shot at. But Dorime sorter give ’em the eold shoulder, seemed as if she was contented and happy like a person that has got back to a familiar callin’, and didn't need company. And ’tain't no more’n jestice to say that Purcell was doin’ his durndest, puttin’ up as good a fight as beast could with one paw ketched in the trap. That was the queerest part about it. No sooner did the gal show her lion tamin’ side once more than he fell back, dead in love with her ag'in. He’d stay at home for days after they’d had one of their rippits liekin’ her hands, so to speak, plum carried away with her dangerousness. Then he'd take another header on Uqiior Ridge, and it would all lie to do over ag’in. What made me oneasy was the change in Dorime. Seemed as if she never keered a straw for him after she •aw him skeert and conquered that first

time. Seemed as if she was jest sorter followin’ her profession by livin’ with him. There wa’n’t a feelin’ in her heart to keep her from killin’ him if it came to a draw between ’em, and she got the upper hand. I've sometimes wondered since I studied out Tom Purcell’s wife what would happen in this world if the advantage lay with the women same’s as it do now with the men. The best of ’em air apt to be terrible unscrupulous where they git the drap on you. “After a while we got use to the way the Purcells took one another for better or for worse, same as you’d git use to a squat tin’ volcano if you’d lived a long time on its back. And so I was no ways prepared for the finish of this tale I’m tellin’ you.

“One evenin’ as I was cornin’ home late from Bud Sockwell’s I passed by Purcell's cabin, and lookin’ over in the paster I seen somethin’. There was an old dried well in the middle of the paster with the shelter and windlass still over it, but the box had been took away, and, there bein’ no cattle about, it was left open. Now, settin’ on the edge of this well was Tom’s two fox hounds. They had their noses in the a'r, and you never heerd sech howlin’ as they were doin’, regular mournin’ duet. While I stood lookin’ at ’em and wonderin’ what the fuss meant, I heerd another sound, a holler human howl that seemed to come up out of the very bowels of the earth. The dogs drapped back, commenced wagin’ their tails and whinin’ and lookin’ expectant down in the well. There wa’n’t another sign of life about tlie place.. And while I was makin' up my mind what to do, that sound come ag’in. So I clum over the fence, sneaked up to the well, kicked the dogs away and squatted on the rim. I couldn't see a thing, but jest then that awful cry come up, and I might nigh fell in, it skeert me so.

“‘Who’s there?’ I says. “ ‘ls that you, Pappy ?’ says a voice so hoarse it was terrible to hear.

‘ ‘This is William Corn,’ I says. “Who air you?’ For I wa’n’t aimin’ to encourage a dead man to call me Pappy. “ It’s me, Tom Purcell,* says the voiee. “‘Goddlemighty, Tom!’ I says, ‘how come you down there?’

“ Tappy,’ he says, beginnin’ to sob and take on, ‘you jest git me out. 1 been in here since night before last, and I had all that time to think about dyin' with these lizards and toads lookin’ at me, and no water, and—O my God! it’s been like havin’ delirim tremens in my grave.’

‘Then he commenced howlin’ ag'in, and the dogs they turned up their noses and begun too, and I was so distracted I hardly had sense enough to ketch hold of the windlass and let the rope down in the well. I had him up in no time after he called out for me to draw. Mister, a dead man could have come up out of his grave in better shape. He was kivered ■with dirt, his ha’r had turned white, bis eyes were sunk deep in his head and bloodshot, his lips was cracked with thirst. He drapped down all of a heap on the ground, and I ran to fetch some water. When I got back he was layin’ there with the hounds lickin’ his faee. Twas an awful sight, him givin’ out them hoarse sobs and bein’ glad of the fellowship of the dogs. After a while I got him up to the house into the bed,

arid give him somethin* to cat. He didn t i know nothin’ but jest fear. About the ; time he was quietin* down in walked , Iforime as cool as a cueumber. She j looked at Tom. then she looked at me. , Then she says, ‘You kin go now, Mr. Corn. 1 kin take keer of Tom. 1 don t reckon he’ll be any more trouble. “And he ain't. Been jest like you see him now ever since, timid, obedient, reudv to lick your hand almost if you

notice him. “It seems that him and her had had a worse time than usual the last time he come home drunk, and the row had ended by her chasin’ him across the paster firin' at him every jump till he run and fell into the well. I ain't never told that here in the Valley, and folks thinks he was jest drunk and fell in natural like. What I wislit 1 knowed is whether she ever aimed to let him out. *Taint for you to say. and 1 don't believe there's a man in this world that could tell what

a woman would do under them circumstances. left to herself, with no preacher to put a conscience in her and no public opinion to influence her. For, take my word for it. Mister, the reason Women are so prim and patient with us is beca’se they ain’t got the chance to act up to their other capabilities. Every man gits to the place where it’s his nature to let up on his victim, but n woman don’t. Dorime’s never let up on Tom yet. But she’s took all the manhood out of him same as if she'd raised him to her lips like a gourd of wine and drained it dry. When he dies I doubt if God kin find his soul, and if he’s got one it’ll be the kind that grows dog ha’r instead of wings.”