“There ain’t no use in
tryin’ fur to make a little name;
No use a-try’n fur to
gain a little wealth or fame.
The fates are all ag’in’
me, jest ez mean ez they ken be,”
Said Amos Green in
Jones’s store the other day to me.
“What seems to be the
matter, Ame’?” I asked him, settin’ down;
You seem to be the bluest
man I’ve run acrost in town.”
“Guess yur’d be blue,”
said Amos Green, “ef yur wuz in my place,”
An’ sorrer, gloom an’
deep despair jest settled on his face.
Then Amos dug his corn
cob out an’ filled it up ag’in,
The furrers uv despair
writ from his for’ud to his chin,
An’ when he’d got a
decent draft, he slowly shook his head,
An’ with his pipe helt in
his hand, hemmed and then he said:
“I jest repeat what I hev
said, an’ ev’ry one uv you
Will see that I ain’t fur
from right, that what I say is true.
I’ve spent the best days uv
my life right here in this ol’ spot,
An’ after years uv toil
an’ sweat, I say, what have I got?
“Long years ago I saved
some cash intendin’ to invest
In somethin’ that would
drop a aig or two into my nest;
An’ jest about thet time
the world wuz wantin’ uv more speed,
An’ someone hed invented
what they called the V’locepede.
They started then to
build ‘em here, an’ I invested all
The cash I had. It looked
all right fur owners, big an’ small.
Then ‘bout the time we
got well on the wheel craze come along,
An’ stocks in V’locepede
consarns warn’t wuth a tinker’s song.
“The years went on, an’
we saved up, an’ started in once more,
To build bisickles now,
with more cash than we had before.
We thought we hed a dead
sure thing, ez wheels wuz all the rage,
An’ folks wuz ridin’
everywhere, uv ev’ry size an’ age.
Uv curse we wuz a bit
behind the city chaps, I know,
In gettin’ started, but
we thought we hed a right good show
Fur makin’ money, when
one day we heerd a drummer state
The autymobile hed come
in an’ wheels wuz out uv date.
“We wouldn’t b’lieve it,
an’ we fit a’ginst a losin’ game
Fur years to keep the
bisickle ahead, but all the same
It hed to go, an’ with it
went our hopes an’ all our cash;
The wheel concern uv Gungawamp,
you know it all went smash.
Waal then we talked an’
talked an’ talked ‘bout mor’gingin’ the place
An’ startin’ on another
line, an’ not give up the race;
We met an’ met an’ spent
a year a-talkin’ pro an’ con,
An’ some said ‘yes’ an’
some said ‘no’, an’ time jest kept right on.
“Some wanted to start in
an’ build them autymobile cars,
But I jest knocked that
fool idee up higher than the stars;
Says I, ‘O, yes, we’ll
dig an’ scrape an’ jest git started in
When ‘long will come some
new idee an’ knock us out agin!’
Ding hang me ef I wuzn’t
right; we’d no more’n started out
Than ‘long would come
them aryplanes an’ drive us up the spout.
No sir, they ain’t no use
to try, fate’s too confounded mean;
I’m gonter sit here till
I die,” said poor ol’ Amos Green
.
. July 30,
‘09
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