I stood it as long as I could, then I jist up and says, says I: “Jobe Gaskins, my mother wore a cap, and she made this one with her own fingers, and, fashion or no fashion, I expect to wear it when and where I please. If my dress sleeves haint big enough to suit you, you quit votin the ticket that is causin us farmers to spend five dollars for interest and taxes to one for women’s clothes. If my hat is out of date, sir, you begin to inquire why I haint able to buy a new one, and see if you cant have sense enough to vote for a better system of laws, instid of votin for a lot of office-seekin canderdates who belong to your party for the salary they are a gittin or expect to git. Yes, see if you cant have sense enough to vote for a party that will make laws for the farmer as well as for the banker.” [Illustration: “Started for town bright and airly.”] You ort a seen him tuck tail and sneak. The idea of a man, with the sense Jobe Gaskins has, wantin his wife to put on airs, when he knows it takes all she can rake and scrape to help pay interest and taxes to the leadin citizens so they and their wives can put em on! Well, we loaded in our truck—that is, our chickens and our quilts and our feathers and sich, and started for town bright and airly. We hitched old Tom, the only boss we have since we sold Betty, to the spring wagon. Tom haint purty, and, bein stringhalted in his right hind leg and lame in his left fore foot, I couldent help thinkin of poor Betty as we proceeded toward town. Betty would trot along as though she enjoyed takin us. Tom he limped and jerked along as though he would like anything else. We finally got there, and from the time we struck the superbs of the town till we hitched in front of Urfer’s store people were a snickerin, and a titterin, and a pintin at us. Women would come to the winders and scream out a kind of a holler laf, and then two or three more would come, and they would laf and titter and holler until I was ashamed of them. When we got up to the court-house square a lot of young upstarts, eighteen or nineteen years old, were standin on the corner by Miller’s drug-store, smokin paper segars, and they begin to holler at us and poor old crippled Tom, all sich nonsense as “Git on to that horse,” “See his gait,” “Where’d yer git that hat?” “Have you got any hay to sell?” “See her style!” “Oh, haint she a lolly?” etcetery. I dont know who they were, but they were young men and big enough to have more sense and better manners; but I guess maybe their raisin was neglected and they couldent help it. They dident look like coal miners, or mill hands, or farmers, and I know they wasent sich. They all were well dressed and wore pinted yaller shoes. They couldent a been the sons of the leadin citizens, because one would think they would teach their offspring better sense. Maybe they were orphans, born without parents. I dont know.