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Page 24 text:
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Maa’ lar i lnrg VERkill a bear, Silas?” asked Zeb, the clerk at Jim Davis’ general purpose store, the other night. ‘Y-yes,” said Silas. ‘‘Tell us about it,” said everybody, ‘Turty long story—and—I reckon you wouldn’t be interested, anyway,” said Silas. ‘‘Tell it! Tell it!” everybody shouted. ‘‘All right, it wus this way,” said Silas. ‘‘Lem Smith had a cousin come to visit him from New York—about thirty years ago. He wus a sickly lookin’ chap, an’ had come here to take pictures of wil’ animals. ‘‘Lem was busy, so he wanted me to take the feller out. Well—I hadn’t heard of any wil’ animals bein’ in the near vicinity, so I tuk the feller out. ‘‘I guess we wus purty near Ned Smith’s sugar house, when—holy smoke!—right in the middle o’ the path wus a great big bar! I tuk to one tree, and Randolph to another, and that bar sot right down underneath o’us and looked with longin’ eyes on Randolph. ‘‘This scares Randolph purty bad, so he sez, sez he: ‘Si,’ sez he, ‘Si, ye git down an drive that bar away.’ “ ‘Powerful sorry tu dissipint ye, but under the circumstances I guess I stay right here,’ sez 1, huggin’ the tree a little closer. “ ‘Why Silas,’ sez he, ‘yu don’t mean tu dissipint me do yu? Any way I’ll burry yu with honors,’ an’ he purty nigh busts out cryin’, an’ then he went on namin’ the things he’d have at my fun’rel; all I remember, now, was that he wus a-goin’ tu git my coffin made o’ mahogany, with two angels on the lid, with their hands pinted up’ards, an’ that the tombstone wus agoin’ to have the words ‘gone above’ chiseled on it. ‘‘ Wal, it wus gittin’ near dark, an’ I wus gittin ready tu clime down an’ sacrifice myself tu that bar, when Randolph remembers his camery. ‘‘‘Silas! Silas!’ squaks he, ‘don’t ye dare scare that bar away—why if I kin git a good picture o’him, it wil be wuth a hundred dollars,’ he sez. ‘‘Wall, partly them figgers and partly that bar persuaded me from makin’ a dash for liberty right thar an’ then, so I hugged my tree a little, an’ I sez: ‘‘ ‘Wall, take your picture, an’ tell the bar tu git way back, fer I’m cornin’ down.' ‘‘Randolph got out his photographin’ things, which he gits ready. “ ‘Hurry up.’ sez I. “ ‘Silas, don’t drap! don’t drap!’ he yells. “ ‘Forces, which I cain’t control, is a-goin’ to make me drap in about two minutes,’ sez I. “ ‘Jist stick on one minute longer!’ squeals he. ‘‘Bang! Flash! Kerplunk! ‘‘The bang was caused by the Hash light or sumthin’ like that, I guess thot wus whot he called it; the Hash was caused by whot comes after the bang, and the kerplunk wus caused by me! ‘‘Whin I lit, I lit so soft I thought I had jist passed into everlastin’ peace, so I jist laid thar with my eyes shut, ’spectin’ tu see an angel with a harp o’gold, come tu wake me up; but, instead, I heard Randolph: “ ‘Is he dead, Silas, is he dead?’ Thin I seed whar I wus an’ I also seed the bar a lyin’ thar, still-Uke, on the ground, so I hollers weak-like:- ‘Yis,’ sez I. ‘‘ ‘Wall thin, I’ll come down,’ sez he. “ ‘We got old Ben Brown tu haul the bar home, thu next day, and Randolph made some pictures frum whot he tuck o’ the bar. The picture showed me and the bar. I had my head firmly planted in old Bruin’s lunch basket, an’ it looked as if I had hit him with considerable force. We held a post-mortum exam’nation, next day, an’ Doc. Suttle examined the bar. Twenty-two
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Page 23 text:
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W (feluj Hmu §iaff. 1312 Editor-in-chief.. Literary Ekiitor Athletic Ekiitor Society Editor.. Joke Editor..... Alumni Editor .. Vinton E. McVicker, ’12 .....Sibyl M. Powell, ’13 .....Samuel Slavens, ’13 .....Louise DeLay, ’ll .....Elizabeth Jones, ’13 .....Crandall Bentley, ’01 Business Manager................................................ Fletcher C. Benton, ’12 Assistant Business Manager........................................Everett Alexander, ’13 Reporters Ethel Eubanks, ’14; William Long, ’14; Jean Jones, ’15 Twenty-one
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Page 25 text:
“
' ‘Wall, to my idea the bar wus killed by the strikin’ o’ some very hard object, cornin’ with considerable force,’ sez he. “Thin Randolph said, ‘Thin, Doctor, the bar wus killed by me, for wus I not the one that caused Silas Hopkins to fall, causin’ his head to strike the bar over the internal organs, causin’ instant death in the bar?” But Randolph wus voted down, an’ I wus said to be the one as killed the bar. “My old woman said whin I thought I wus in heaven, whin I lit on thot bar wus as near as I’d ever git to thar. “Yis, that’s the only bar I ever killed, Zeb—an’ would you mind cuttin’ off a plug o’ terbaccy? I’m nigh out.” H. J., ’15. X X X Sty? “dprilfouf rJMME-l:15p.m„ Friday, March 15.’12. Place—Room I, Jackson High School. “Ancestor”, deliberately pronounced Mr. Kinnison. “Cowsy” grinned, shifted his feet, scratched his head, and finally spelled: “A-N-C-E-S-T-O-R.” And that long-to-be-remembered fray, the Junior-Senior Spelling Match, was on. The prevalence of bad spelling among these two classes had caused the Faculty to instill into minds of the Juniors, the idea (but how those Juniors regret it now!) of challenging the Seniors to a spelling contest. Thus our opening scene. The next few after the start stood up bravely under fire but when it came to Dave Davis, he found his goat concealed in “administration” and went down--the first casualty of the conflict. The next shot to have effect lodged a few moments later in “Tater” Wartenbee, who i-uc-cumbed to the terrors of “adjectival” and went to join Dave. When the first volley was over six of the seventy engaged were out of the fight. Words now flew thick and fast, finding victims among both Juniors and Seniors. But the Juniors fell faster and tho their numbers had been a third greater than the Seniors’ at the start, the opposing forces were soon equal. Eben Jones slipped on an “isotherm” and “oxygen’’ overwhelmed “Cowsy” Morgan. “Phrase” was “fraze” for Hazel Jacobs and other horribly original spellings were produced, as (for example) when I. T. Branson used an “ax” on “accelerate.” So the contest went until, when there was about fifteen survivors on each side, Mr. Kinnison exausted his small arms ammunition and opened fire with his heavy artillery masked behind the covers of Reed’s speller and other orthographical works. Sib Powell, Effa Nickell, Lib Jones, Bill Michael, Earl Peters, Erie Jacobs, Warren Schellenger, and others who had stood gallantly before, now all went down under this frightful hail of words. Louise DeLay’s protests that it wasn’t fair were all in vain and the inexorable fire went on. Everett Morgan, “Happy” Ervin, Nettie Thomas and other Juniors were determined to fight it out to the last ditch, but the fates decreed against them and they dropped out one by one, Nettie Thomas choking on a “leathery” one long after the rest had fallen. And so the Seniors were left in posseasion of the field with ten members, three boys and seven girls— standing, to gloat over the ignominiously defeated Juniors. “By the Osky Wow’s” Correspondent at the front. Twenty-three
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