Stanzas XCI–C

XCI
And some's a-limpin' round here yit--
a-waitin' Last Review,--
'U'd give the pensions 'at they git,
and pawn their crutches, too,
To he'p Doc out, ef he wuz pressed
financial'--same as he
Has allus he'pped them when distressed--
ner never tuk a fee.

XCII
Doc never wuz much hand to pay
attention to p'tence
And fuss-and-feathers and display
in men o' prominence:
"A railly great man," Sifers 'lows,
"is not the out'ard dressed--
All uniform, salutes and bows,
and swellin' out his chest.

XCIII
"I met a great man onc't," Doc says,
"and shuk his hand," says he,
"And he come 'bout in one, I guess,
o' disapp'intin' me--
He talked so common-like, and brought
his mind so cle'r in view
And simple-like, I purt'-nigh thought,
'I'm best man o' the two!'"

XCIV
Yes-sir! Doc's got convictions and
old-fashioned kind o' ways
And idies 'bout this glorious Land
o' Freedom; and he'll raise
His hat clean off, no matter where,
jes ever' time he sees
The Stars and Stripes a-floatin' there
and flappin' in the breeze.

XCV
And tunes like old "Red, White and Blue"
'll fairly drive him wild,
Played on the brass band, marchin' through
the streets! Jes like a child
I've saw that man, his smile jes set,
all kind o' pale and white,
Bare-headed, and his eyes all wet,
yit dancin' with delight!

XCVI
And yit, that very man we see
all trimbly, pale and wann,
Give him a case o' surgery,
we'll see another man!--
We'll do the trimblin' then, and we'll
git white around the gills--
He'll show us nerve o' nerves, and he 'ull
show us skill o' skills!

XCVII
Then you could toot your horns and beat
your drums and bang your guns,
And wave your flags and march the street,
and charge, all Freedom's sons!--
And Sifers then, I bet my hat,
'u'd never flinch a hair,
But, stiddy-handed, 'tend to that
pore patient layin' there.

XCVIII
And Sifers' eye's as stiddy as
that hand o' his!--He'll shoot
A' old-style rifle, like he has,
and smallest bore, to boot,
With any fancy rifles made
to-day, er expert shot
'At works at shootin' like a trade--
and all some of 'em's got!

XCIX
Let 'em go right out in the woods
with Doc, and leave their "traps"
And blame glass-balls and queensware-goods,
and see how Sifers draps
A squirrel out the tallest tree.--
And 'fore he fires he'll say
Jes where he'll hit him--yes, sir-ee!
And he's hit thataway!

C
Let 'em go out with him, i jucks!
with fishin'-pole and gun,--
And ekal chances, fish and ducks,
and take the rain, er sun,
Jes as it pours, er as it blinds
the eye-sight; then, I guess,
'At they'd acknowledge, in their minds,
their disadvantages.