Eastport is near about all made up of folks who have had to cut
and run for it.
"I was down there last fall, and who should I see but Thomas Rigby,
of Windsor. He knew me the minit he laid eyes upon me, for I had sold
him a clock the summer afore. (I got paid for it, though, for I seed
he had too many irons in the fire not to get some on 'em burnt; and
besides, I knew every fall and spring the wind set in for the lines
from Windsor very strong--a regular trade wind--a sort of monshune,
that blows all one way, for a long time without shiftin'.) Well, I
felt proper sorry for him, for he was a very clever man, and looked
cut up dreadfully, and amazin' down in the mouth. 'Why,' says I,
'possible? is that you, Mr. Rigby? why, as I am alive! if that ain't
my old friend--why, how do you do?' 'Hearty, I thank you,' said he,
'how be you?' 'Reasonable well, I give you thanks,' says I; 'but what
on airth brought you here?' 'Why,' says he, 'Mr. Slick, I couldn't
well avoid it; times are uncommon dull over the bay; there's nothin'
stirrin' there this year, and never will I'm thinkin'. No mortal soul
CAN live in Nova Scotia. I do believe that our country was made of a
Sunday night, arter all the rest of the univarse was finished. One
half of it has got all the ballast of Noah's ark thrown out there;
and the other half is eat up by bankers, lawyers, and other great
folks.
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