"Well, I'd been doin' a little business there among the folks, and
had jist sot off for the river, mounted on Old Clay, arter takin' a
glass of Ezra's most particular handsum Jamaiky, and was trottin' off
pretty slick, when who should I run agin but Tim Bradley. He is a
dreadful ugly, cross-grained critter, as you e'enamost ever seed,
when he is about half-shaved. Well, I stopped short, and says I, "Mr.
Bradley, I hope you bean't hurt; I'm proper sorry I run agin you, you
can't feel uglier than I do about it, I do assure you.' He called me
a Yankee peddler, a cheatin' vagabond, a wooden nutmeg, and threw
a good deal of assorted hardware of that kind at me; and the crowd
of folks cried out, 'Down with the Yankee!' 'Let him have it Tim!'
'Teach him better manners!' and they carried on pretty high, I tell
you. Well, I got my dander up too, I felt all up on eend like;
and, thinks I to myself, My lad if I get a clever chance, I'll give
you such a quiltin' as you never had since you were raised from a
seedlin', I vow. So says I, 'Mr. Bradley, I guess you had better
let me be; you know I can't fight no more than a cow; I never was
brought up to wranglin', and I don't like it.' 'Haul off the cowardly
rascal,' they all bawled out, 'haul him off, and lay it into him!' So
he lays right hold of me by the collar, and gives me a pull, and I
lets on as if I'd lost my balance and falls right down.
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