But HE ain't my father, nohow.

And he ain't been getting no more'n his come-uppings." "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," the big man remarks, very serious.
Hank, he riz up then, and he says: "Mister, be you a preacher?
'Cause if you be, the sooner you have druv on, the better fur ye.

I got a grudge agin all preachers." That feller, he jest looks Hank over ca'am and easy and slow before he answers, and he wrinkles up his face like he never seen anything like Hank before.

Then he fetches a kind o' aggervating smile, and he says: "Beneath a shady chestnut tree The village blacksmith stands.
The smith, a pleasant soul is he With warts upon his hands--" He stares at Hank hard and solemn and serious while he is saying that poetry at him.

Hank fidgets and turns his eyes away.