New Hanover High School - Hanoverian Yearbook (Wilmington, NC)

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28 ORANGE AND BLACK English language along certain questionable lines. Whether this was because of the dictates of their con¬ sciences or because of a little jealousy, I cannot say, but such were the facts. The rain continued to fall steadily and away off low thunder was beginning to be heard as I dropped to sleep. About midnight I was awakened by the sound of the door being opened below me. Looking out I saw old Tom by the light streaming out of the room, standing in the door in sleeping attire looking intently down into his corn¬ field to the left of the house. At the same time a tinkle in that direction informed me that old “Red” must have been enjoying a luscious supper while her master “slumbered and slept.” Without a moments hesitation “Know-all Tom,” minus hat, coat, shoes, etc., dashed out of the porch and down the cornrows towards the sound. But the cow had the quickest movements and the greatest knack of keeping out of the way of the pursuer. When he was at one end of the field she was at the other and when he would nearly reach the point that she seemed to be the bell in some mysterious way would sound exactly behind him. According to mountain politness, it was my duty to go down and aid him. Therefore I quickly dressed and proceeded to the field of action. And a field of action it certainly was! “Know-all Tom” was racing from one end to the other, aud was, with every breath, showing me that my memory of his particular variety of English was only baby-talk to the actual thing. It came in one steady stream, only interrupted now and then in an agonized call to his wife to come and help him. Standing by the fence I heard the cow coming my way, so decided to wait till she came nearer; but my as¬ tonishment was boundless to see only one of “Know-all’s” brothers, in heavy boots and with a large

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ORANGE AND BLACK 27 “KNOW-ALL TOM.” BY HAZEL BLACK, ’10. The rain was pouring down in torrents on a late July afternoon when, more bespattered and muddy than my first ancestor could possibly have been if, during the pro¬ cess of his dusty make-up, he had been caught unprotected in a tropical rainstrom, I slowly made my way up the steep hill to old “Know-all Tom’s” cabin, miring meanwhile ankle-deep in the muddy road that seemed wet to the very center. It wasn’t very pleasant to think of, not only my first day of my two weeks vacation, but a good number being spoiled by a rainstorm like this, when I longed to be down on the river fishing under “Know-all’s” unsurpassed guid¬ ance to the best holes, or hunting with his dogs. So I wasn’t in a very congenial frame of mind when I halted at the door to answer the cordial “Howdy, come right in;” but after his wife’s good supper with plenty of fresh milk, tendered as freely as old Tom’s prophecies of “fair weather tomorrow,” I was in a more cheerful spirit as I climbed the ladder to the loft, which was the guest chamber. “Know-all Tom” had become famous as a boy for his wonderful knowledge of the ways of the game of the mountains. No ne knew better where to look for a fish, in just which coves, in the sunny spot or shadowy corner, and his knowledge of the four-foot game was just as great. There was only one-draw back to him and that was that it had gone to his head; by his bragging he made enemies of many of his neighbors who liked nothing better than to get up practical jokes on him, to which marked attentions he answered in language—well, not printable. Indeed he had been expelled from membership in the church by the good members because of his proficiency in the use of the

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ORANGE AND BLACK 29 cow-bell in his hand, pass slowly by. But Tom was ap¬ proaching this end by this time so the brother quietly, with the bell perfectly still, slipped to the edge of the corn while somebody at the other end started another one ringing. The whole thing was instantly clear, another joke at “Know-all’s” expense. I know I ought to have called to my host and put a stop to the proceedings, but at that minute, in a sudden turn towards that “sperrit cow,” he stepped into a deep pool of water between the rows. My love of a joke conquered and I could only join his brother, stuffing my fist in my mouth when “Know-all” was near but as soon as he had passed, shriek with laughter as he stumped his bare toes against the stones or knocked against an especially wet stalk of corn, that seemed like a tank of water running down his back. His particular brand of language, at some such juncture as this, was never sur¬ passed but once—but that comes later. By the time the farmer was out of breath and his brothers really felt that his vocabulary was in danger of giving out, they decided that they had pranked enough for one night. So industriously ringing the bell, they jumped the fence and went down the road. I said he never surpassed this record for wonderful ex¬ pression but once, and that was the next morning. Ac¬ cording to his predictions it was a cloudless and perfect day. As we passed the village postoffice an unusual crowd of men were standing at the door and from among them somewhere a voice, we never could find out whose, called out:— “How many cows did you catch last night, ‘Know-all ?’ ” And that time he broke his record.