THOSE TIMES AND THESE

By Irvin S. Cobb


New York George H. Doran Company

1917



TO THE MEMORY OF

MANDY MARTIN, whose soul was as white as her skin was black, and who forforty-two years, until her death, was a loyal friend and servant of mypeople.






CONTENTS

THOSE TIMES AND THESE

CHAPTER I. EX-FIGHTIN' BILLY

CHAPTER II. AND THERE WAS LIGHT

CHAPTER III. MR. FELSBURG GETS EVEN

CHAPTER IV. THE GARB OF MEN

CHAPTER V. THE CURE FOR LONESOMENESS

CHAPTER VI. THE FAMILY TREE

CHAPTER VII. HARK! FROM THE TOMBS

CHAPTER VIII. CINNAMON SEED AND SANDY BOTTOM

CHAPTER IX. A KISS FOR KINDNESS

CHAPTER X. THE START OF A DREAM








THOSE TIMES AND THESE








CHAPTER I. EX-FIGHTIN' BILLY

TO me and to those of my generation, Judge Priest was always Judge Priest.So he was also to most of the people of our town and our county and ourjudicial district. A few men of his own age—mainly men who hadserved with him in the Big War—called him Billy, right to his face,and yet a few others, men of greater age than these, spoke of him and tohim as William, giving to the name that benignant and most paternal airwhich an octogenarian may employ in referring to one who is ten or fifteenyears his junior.

I was a fairly sizable young person before ever I found out that once upona time among his intimates the Judge had worn yet another title.Information upon this subject was imparted to me one summery afternoon bySergeant Jimmy Bagby as we two perched in company upon the porch of theold boat-store.

I don't know what mission brought Sergeant Bagby three blocks downFranklin Street from his retail grocery establishment, unless it was thatsometimes the boat-store porch was cool while the rest of the town baked.That is to say, it was cool by comparison. Little wanton breezes thatstrayed across the river paid fluttering visits there before they struckinland to perish miserably of heat prostration.

For the moment the Sergeant and I had the little wooden balcony toourselves, nearly everybody else within sight and hearing having gone downthe levee personally to enjoy the small excitement of seeing thestem-wheel packet Emily Foster land after successfully completingone of her regular triweekly round trips to Clarksburg and way landings.

At the blast of the Emily Foster's whistles as she rounded to andput her nose upstream preparatory to sliding in alongside the wharf,divers coloured persons of the leisure class had roused from where theynapped in t

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