By George!

 By George 

John Clare Stokes 

All our days we suffered the George’s, my fathers friend from college, a fellow pastor from Quincy, Lawrence and his wife and son and daughter. The entire family had the affliction of what we have, do, think is better than you, yours, theirs. It was bad enough that even mamma, one without an unkind word, let us know. That bad.

One Thanksgiving I decided without premeditation to pull a trick on Wesley the son of Lawrence. We went hunting behind the camp in Gulf Hammock Thanksgiving morning and spotted an armadillo. It was there I decided to appeal to his ego. I told Wes it was prized in the camp, akin to a deer, please let me shoot it. Naturally his I’m superior personality wouldn’t allow it and he shot it. Please let me carry it into camp. Nothing doing. So he marched into camp beaming and carried it over to Mr Duane cooking on the bed spring grill.

Mr Fugate promptly said, boy, get that nasty critter out of here! It pleased me greatly to see the look on his face. Mamma would have smiled at that one.