The Last Laugh

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"All kings is mostly rapscallions."

Mark Twain

Well sir, summer's pretty much settled in here at Plumtree Crossin', and though it hasn't been a world beater for heat, the katydids are talkin' about it in the afternoon and the peeper frogs are discussin' it ev'ry evenin'. And I allow as how the topic of weather has jist crept into conversations down at the general store, too.

'Course with the weather bein' so all-fired temperate the fellers were a bit lackin' in inspiration. But, bein' folks who don't discourage easy—and as there wasn't anythin' else they'd rather be doin'—they made the best of a poor thing.

Why only yesterday Doe Thromberg was tellin' the gathered notables that he didn't feel it'd been much of an August, as Augusts go. He pointed out that—though it was the middle of the month already—the pond on his place weren't more than simmerin' . . . and that a three-minute egg b'iled in it still came out with the yolk on the runny side. 'Course that pond of his is mostly in the shade . . . .

As you can see, the jawbonin' was of a desult'ry nature, but before the remainder of the assembled worthies could begin to re-hash their lies from past seasons . . . who should come strollin' up but Lafe Higgins.

Now by the way Lafe was shakin' his head and mutterin' as he walked, all hands present figured that he either had somethin' on his mind or was checkin' the fit of a new pair of dentures.

Not bein' one to miss an opportunity, Clarence Smithers bit the top off a cool bottle of Nehi—jist in case Lafe was concerned about his choppers—before speakin' up.

"Mornin', Lafe," says Clarence—tonguin' his gums where the cap had nipped him—"where you been keepin' yourself?"

Well sir, when Lafe is of a mind to he can be ev'ry bit as stubborn as that mule of his (which, as you know, is so cantankerous he'd starve hisself to death if someone told him to eat). On this partic'lar occasion; howev'r, Lafe was ready enough to answer.

"My wife," he said, "she's got a bee in her bonnet about this Melvin De Mare feller . . . the one who's runnin' hisself for governor? She drug me down to the county seat yesterday so's she could hear him speak. It bein' Sunday, none of the saloons were open . . . so I had no choice but to sit through a coupla hours of his jawin'. Now, I know that a dry man makes a poor audience . . . but I do have to admit to bein' a mite suspicious of the feller . . . ."

"Ain't he the one who's claimin' that he'll reform the state legislature?" Doc chimed in. "From what I hear if he gets in we'll be decoratin' the capitol tree with crooked senators come this Christmas."

"The same," said Lafe, "an' if that's all they was to it, why I'd be hard pressed to see where he could do much harm. But this feller don't seem to think that that partic'lar job is worthy of his talents. Matter of fact, there don't seem to be any limits to what he feels he can handle. Leastwise there ain't any ceilin' on what he's promisin'."

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