From Hell to Breakfast Page: 78
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FROM HELL TO BREAKFAST
classes of immigrants, but the disease has never assumed anything like
an epidemic form. If the editor of the Squabble-town Era would
take the 'beam' out of his own eye, before he makes such a 'to-do'
about the 'moats' in other peoples', it would perhaps be as well.
In other words, he dwells largely upon the ravages of cholera in
this city, but says nothing about the prevalence of small pox in
Squabble-town; and yet we are credibly informed that fell disease
exists there to an alarming extent-not carrying off perhaps as
many as ten a dkayl for that would be an unheard-of-mortality out
of so limited a population as that of Squabble-town. Strangers from
the country may rest assured there is not the slightest danger to be
apprehended in visiting 'Neck-or-Nothing'; the city was never more
healthy-so we say, 'come one, come all," and you will be wel-
comed as ever by the hospitable citizens of 'Neck-or-Nothing.'
Just below this, was the following:
"With its usual talent for perverting the truth, we see it stated
in the "Era," under the heading of "Sad Casualty," that a Mr.
Smith, a "highly respectable citizen of Squabble-town," whilst walk-
ing our streets, fell into a gully and broke both his legs short off
at the knees. Now, it is true that a Mr. Smith, a poor, drunken loafer,
whilst under the influence of intoxicating drink, did wander out
into the common, and tumble into a gully, whereby one of his
ankles, we are told, was slightly sprained, and out of this meager
material, the editor of the "Era" has manufactured a "sad casualty,"
and a most outrageous slur upon the Hon. Mayor and Council of
"Well, you see, Bob," said Uncle Josh, "there I was between two
fires--balancing, as I may say, between pockmarks and the cramps;
but finally I concluded to risk the cramps in place of the small-pox:
for my present wife, you know, Bob, ain't by any means hearty, and
I thought it would be best to save my good looks, for fear I might
want to go a courtin' agin. I have always noticed, Bob, when people
know they don't stand exactly plum on their own pins, they are
eternally picking at the foundations of other folks; and that is the
reason, you see ..."
"Yes, that is true enough, Uncle Josh," said I; "but what about
the fight with the Indians over on the Llano?"
"Oh, yes! well, as I was sayin', we tuck the trail of the Ingins,
and followed it to Snake creek, which we swum not far from where
the town of "Lick-Skillet" now is; and about ten miles beyond there,
we cum to the Llano (Thank God for that, says I) and the first
thing we saw after we riz the bank on the other side, was about fifty
of the yaller devils comin' right down on us, screamin' and yellin'
like so many prairie wolves. We lit from our horses and treed imme-
diately; and just as I was drawin' a bead on one of the foremost
fellows, seven of the ugliest devils 'my blue eyes ever flashed upon,'
with nothing to kiver their nakedness except great splotches of white
Here’s what’s next.
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Dobie, J. Frank (James Frank), 1888-1964. From Hell to Breakfast, book, 1944; Dallas, Texas. (texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metadc67649/m1/86/: accessed March 23, 2018), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, texashistory.unt.edu; crediting UNT Press.