Many a time John Marion is compelled to retreat behind a grin when in a
lull "a shot" is taken at him, and his smile is his acknowledgment that
he cannot be expected to add up a charge-slip and at the same time
defend himself against a care-free man upon a keg of horseshoes.
But the storekeeper is never taken by surprize at the badinage of his
patrons. One afternoon after a long wait and another day in the valley
seemed sure to pass with no unusual incident, an old fellow arose from
one of the chairs, stretched himself, and said:
"John Marion, I want a shift o' shirts. Else, I got to go to bed to git
this-un washed."
The storekeeper laid out several of dark color:
"Here's some you can wear without change till the shirt falls off."
"That's right, John; gimme one thet won't advertise thet the ole woman's
neglectin' me."
Another was uncertain about the size of a pair of overalls for his boy:
"Dunknow, John Marion! One tight enough to keep the bees out--a kid
shore wastes energy when a bee gits in 'em."
When it is "good dusk" the storekeeper closes the wooden shutters and
fastens them by looping a small cotton string over a nail. All the
mountaineers are on their way home, but they had not parted without an
interchange of invitation:
"Home with me, boys; home! Ef I can't feed ye well, I'll be friendly.
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