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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"The Boss of Little Arcady"


In a fulness of years Azariah had died and been chested, like Joseph of
old, his soul to be gathered, as he believed, to another horizontal
plane, exalted far above this, as would befit an abode for spirits of
the departed good.
His earthly home, now long vacant, had been rented by Clem for a monthly
sum not particularly cheap in view of its surprising limitations above
stairs. It was of this new home that he chiefly talked to me, of the
persistence required to have it newly painted by the inheriting Prouse,
and repairs made to doors, windows, and the blinds that hung awry from
them.
"An' Ah been cleanin'--yes, seh, Mahstah Majah--fum celleh to gahet.
Them floahs do shine an' them windows is jes' so clean they look lahk
they ain't theah at all. Miss Cahline an' Little Miss, they reside on
th' lowah floah, an' Ah tek mahse'f up to that theh gahet. Yes, seh, Ah
haf to scrooge aw Ah git mah haid knocked off, but Ah reckon Ah sho'
will luhn to remembeh in Gawd's own time. An' they's a tehible grand
hen-house. Ah'm go'n' a' raise a hund'ed thousan' yellow-laiged pullets;
an' theh's a staihway down to th' watah whah Ah kin tie up mah ole
catfish boat, an' a monst'ous big gyahden whah Ah kin keep mah fie'ce
look on them mush an' watah melons.


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