It is the most objectionable trait in his
character--to reject it altogether would be to vary the portrait he
has given us of himself--to admit it, lowers the estimate we might
otherwise be disposed to form of him; but, as he has often observed,
what is the use of a sketch if it be not faithful?
"Mr Slick," said Cutler.--he never called me Mr before, and it showed
he was mad.--"do you doubt it?"
"No," sais I, "I don't; my only doubt is whether they have three?"
"What in the world do you mean?" said he.
"Well," sais I, "two souls we know they have--their great fat splaw
feet show that, and as hard as jackasses' they are too; out the third
is my difficulty; if they have a spiritual soul, where is it? We ain't
jest satisfied about its locality in ourselves. Is it in the heart, or
the brain, or where does it hang out? We know geese have souls, and we
know where to find them."
"Oh, oh!" said Cutler.
"Cut off the legs and wings and breast of the goose," sais I, "and
split him down lengthways, and right agin the back-bone is small
cells, and there is the goose's soul, it's black meat, pretty much
nigger colour. Oh, it's grand! It's the most delicate part of the
bird. It's what I always ask for myself, when folks say, 'Mr Slick,
what part shall I help you to--a slice of the breast, a wing, a
side-bone, or the deacon's nose, or what?' Everybody laughs at that
last word, especially if there is a deacon at table, for it sounds
unctious, as he calls it, and he can excuse a joke on it.
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