The Yankees all rose to their feet, the others sat still,
all but old Gorges, a Prussian, who, with his two sons, had come to
vote for me. But the old man did not understand English. His son
John pulled him down, but Deacon Beaumont had counted his vote, and
the motion was carried by a majority of one. So I was, in fact, put
out of the school by my best friend, old Gorges.
I went away in a dudgeon and marked off a cellar on my real estate,
30 feet by 18 feet, on the top of the bluff, near the edge of the
western prairie. The ground was a mixture of stiff clay and
limestone rock, and I dug at it all through the month of September.
Curious people came along and made various remarks; some said
nothing, but went away whistling. One day Mr. Jackson and Paul
Duffendorff were passing by, and I wanted them to pass, but they
stopped like the rest. Mr. Jackson was reckoned one of the smartest
men in Will county. He had a large farm, well stocked, but he was
never known to do any work except with his brains. He was one of
those men who increased the income of the State of Illinois by
ability. Duffendorf was a huge Dutchman, nearly seven feet in
height. He was a great friend of mine, great every way, but very
stupid; he had no sense of refinement. He said:
"Ve gates, schoolmeister? Py golly! Here, Mr. Shackson, is our
schoolmeister a vurkin mit spade and bick.
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