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I told Josiah that I guessed I would write a book about several
things—and wimmen. Says I, “My mind has been dretful agitated lately
about that certain lot of female wimmen that are sufferin’ more than
tongue can tell. Why,” says I, “when I think of their agony and wrongs,
it fairly makes the blood bile in my veins. I love the female sect,”
says I firmly, “I am one of ’em myself.”
Says he (not wantin’ me to say a word about it), “Let ’em write about it
themselves.”
Says I, “Josiah Allen, do you remember when you fell down through the
barn and broke your limb, and most broke your other leg?”
“Yes,” says he, “but what of it?”
Says I, “What if I had stood still in the buttery winder, and hollered
at you to help yourself, and if you was in pain to get out of it?”
“Well,” says he, “let ’em get some of their own folks to do the writin’
then. They haint none of your folks, nobody won’t expect nothin’ of
you.” (He had reasons for not wantin’ me to tell all I knew about
certain things.)
But I says in solemn tones, “Do you remember that time you fell, Josiah
Allen, and I, bein’ bound down by rheumatizm, couldn’t do nothin’ but
blow the dinner-horn for help, and Sam Snyder come on the run, and
fetched you in, and went after the doctor?”
“Throw that leg in my face, if you want to, but what of it?”
Says I, “Them sufferin’ female wimmen are bound down fur more painfully
and gauling than you wuz. I haint the strength to lift ’em up myself,
but I am a goin’ to toot the horn for help. I am a goin’ to blow through
it powerful breaths of principle and warnin’; and mebby another Samuel,
an uncle of mine, that I honor and admire, may hear it, and start off on
the run, and lift the hull of them poor female wimmen up, out of their
pain and humiliatin’ situation. He can do it if he is a mind to,” says
I, “as easy as Sam Snyder lifted you, and easier, for he sweat powerful,
and most dropped you once or twice. And,” says I firmly, “my mind is
made up, Josiah Allen, I shall holler for Samuel.”
“Wall, wall, holler away, for all I care.” He had strong reasons for not
wantin’ me to speak a word about certain things, and his tone was very
snappish, snappisher than it had been for over seven weeks. But such
trials do great spirits no harm; no, it only lifts ’em up above their
own earthly peace and happiness, and sets ’em more firmly and stiddily on
their loftier spears.
I sithed, but I didn’t contend another word with him, only jest that
sithe, and then I commenced to write my book.