human
Curious thing about spring. The world of education, reading its examination papers, concurs in silence. The worlds of fashion and of the fine arts also assenting, the Captain goes on:
gpt
Down in South Harvey to-day; kind o' dirty down there; looks kind of smoky and tin cannery, and woe-begone, like that class of people always looks, but 'y gory, girls, it's just as much spring down there as it is up here, only more so! eh? I says to Laura, looking like a full bloom peach tree herself in her kindergarten, says I, 'Laura, it's terrible pretty down here when you get under the smoke and the dirt. Every one just a lovin',' says I, 'and going galloping into life kind of regardless. There's Nate and Anne, and there's Violet and Hogan, and there's a whole mess of fresh married couples in Little Italy, and the Huns and Belgians are all broke out with the blamedest dose of love y' ever see! And they's whole rafts of 'em to be married before June!' Well, Laura, she laughed and if it wasn't like pouring spring itself out of a jug. Spring, he mused,
human
Love --he reflects; then backs away from his discussion and begins anew:
gpt
Less take--say Anne and Nate, a happy couple--him a lean, eagle-beaked New England kind of a man; her--a little quick-gaited, big-eyed woman and sping! out of the Providence of Goddlemighty comes a streak of some kind of creepy, fuzzy lightning and they're struck dumb and blind and plumb crazy--eh?
human
Eighteen sixty-one--May, sixty-one--me a tidy looking young buck--girl--beautiful girl with reddish brown hair and bluest eyes in the world. Sping! comes the lightning, and melts us together and the whole universe goes pink and rose-colored. No sense--neither of us--no more'n Anne and Nate, just one idea. I can't think of nothing but her--war isn't much; shackles on four millions slaves--no consequence; the Colonel caught us kissing in his tent the day I left for the army; union forever--mere circumstance in the lives of two crazy people--in a world mostly eyes and lips and soft hands and whispers and flowers, eh--and--
gpt
And so we bloomed and blossomed and come to fruit and dried up and blowed away, and here they are--all the rest of 'em--ready to bloom--and may God help 'em and keep 'em. He pauses,
human
Help 'em and keep 'em and when they have dried up and blowed away--let 'em remember the perfume clean to the end! He turns away from the girls, wipes his eyes with his gnarled fingers, and after clearing his throat says:
gpt
Well, girls, how about hash for breakfast--what say?
human
Judge Tom gets in a little later every night now. I heard him dump her in at eight, and here it is nearly eleven--pretty careless,--pretty careless; he oughtn't to be getting in this late for four or five years yet--what say?