He'd jest gi'n these fellers his capital,
and quit, and left 'em to go it alone. They couldn't go arter 'im, and
he couldn't 'a' hearn a word they said. He did what he thought was all
right, and didn't want to be bothered. I never think about prayin' till
I git into a tight place. It stan's to reason that the Lord don't want
people comin' to him to do things that they can do theirselves. I
shouldn't pray for breath; I sh'd jest h'ist the winder. If I wanted a
bucket o' water, I sh'd go for it. If a man's got common sense, and a
pair o' hands, he hain't no business to be botherin' other folks till he
gits into what he can't git out of. When he's squeezed, then in course
he'll squeal. It seems to me that it makes a sort of a spooney of a man
to be always askin' for what he can git if he tries. If the feller that
only had one talent had brushed round, he could 'a' made a spec on it,
an' had somethin' to show fur it, but he jest hid it. I don't stan' up
for 'im. I think he was meaner nor pusly not to make the best on't, but
he didn't need to pray for sense, for the man didn't want 'im to use no
more nor his nateral stock, an' he knowed if he used that he'd be all
right."
"But we are told to pray, Jim," said Mr.
Pages:
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200