The 'Headers In Life & Legend
by Russell W. Knight
Peas, Beans And Windy Truck
| It was an impressive funeral cortege. The glass-sided, spotless hearse was drawn by a pair of matched black horses bedecked with shining harnesses and plumed bridles. As it wended its way slowly through the streets and headed for the Old Burial Hill, the townspeople, out of respect for the dead, paused momentarily. When the hearse was abreast of the Old Town House, two aged barnaclebacks stepped to the curb and reverently doffed their hats. "I wonder who 'tis," asked the first. "I hear tell it's Flounderface Gordon," replied the second. "Naw!" scoffed the first. "It can't be Flounderface ... why, he ain't a day over 77...iff'n he's that." "I know! I know!" nodded the second. "But I hear'd tell he's been diggin' his own grave ... payin no mind to them what's been tellin' him to lay off eatin' peas and beans and cabbage and all such windy truck. "And I also hear'd he near split a gut laughin' at them what told him to quit drinkin' tap water and to stick to Whistlebelly Vengeance and Cunney Lane grog an' every now and then swallow a chaw of Old Navy Twist. So iff'n it is Flounderface ... all I can say is he shoulda listened to them what knows the ropes ... ain't that so?" "Sure 'tis," replied the first with a knowing nod. "But then ... it's a fact, ain't it, that a man's his own worst enemy!?" |
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