"My aunt says this town needs the right kind of an undertaker bad." Mr.Wilcox, the undertaker that town has, is getting purty old and shaky, Looey says, and young Mr.Wilcox, his son, is too light-minded and goes at things too brisk and airy to give it the right kind of a send-off.

People don't want him joking around their corpses and he is a fat young man and can't help making puns even in the presence of the departed.

Old Mr.Wilcox's eyesight is getting so poor he made a scandal in that town only the week before.

He was composing a departed's face into a last smile, but he went too fur with it, and give the departed one of them awful mean, devilish kind of grins, like he had died with a bad temper on.

By the time the departed's fambly had found it out, things had went too fur, and the face had set that-a-way, so it wasn't safe to try to change it any.
Old Mr.Wilcox had several brands of last looks.