When I was young and used to roam around over the country gathering
watermelons in the light of the moon, I used to think I could milk
anybody's cow, but I do not think so now. I do not milk a cow now unless
the sign is right, and it hasn't been right for a good many years. The
last cow I tried to milk was a common cow, born in obscurity; kind of a
self-made cow. I remember her brow was low, but she wore her tail high
and she was haughty, oh, so haughty.
I made a common-place remark to her, one that is used in the very
best of society, one that need not have given offense anywhere. I said
"So"--and she "soed." Then I told her to "hist" and she histed. But I
thought she overdid it. She put too much expression in it.
Just then I heard something crash through the window of the barn and
fall with a dull,' sickening thud on the outside. The neighbors came to
see what it was that caused the noise.
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They found that I had done it in getting through the window.
I asked the neighbor if the barn was still standing. They said it was.
Then I asked if the cow was injured much. They said she seemed to be
quite robust. Then I requested them to go in and calm the cow a little,
and see if they could get my plug hat off her horns.
I am buying all my milk now of a milkman. I select a gentle milkman who
will not kick, and feel as though I could trust him. Then, if he feels
as though he could trust me, it is all right.